#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.

[janluxe]

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.

[aventurineswife]

Hearts Are the Riskiest Suit

Summary: On a luxurious honeymoon cruise, you find yourself caught in Aventurine’s endless game of flirtation and high-stakes gambles. But beneath his charming facade, you know his tells—the subtle cracks in his confidence that only you can see. When a quiet moment turns into a battle of wit and desire, you decide to raise the stakes, and Aventurine, ever the risk-taker, is more than willing to go all in.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Mild Spice (Suggestive Themes), Established Relationship, Playful Banter, Teasing & Flirting, Emotional Depth, Aventurine Being a Smooth Talker

Warnings: Mildly Suggestive Content (Flirty dialogue, close proximity, lingering touches, and an intimate kiss, but nothing explicit), Aventurine’s Emotional Guardedness (Hints of his deeper struggles and vulnerability), Gambling & Risk Motifs (Used metaphorically in their relationship).

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @lixhizy, I hope you love this!! 🥺💖

The luxury cruise liner glided through the cosmos, its crystal-paneled decks shimmering under the soft glow of distant stardust. The honeymoon suite was nothing short of extravagant—floor-to-ceiling windows revealing an endless sea of constellations, the bed adorned with deep emerald sheets that matched Aventurine’s signature hues, and a private lounge with a fully stocked bar for the couple’s indulgence.

Aventurine, ever the showman, had spared no expense. The moment you had stepped into the suite, he had tipped his hat with a playful smirk and gestured toward the lavish setting as though presenting a grand prize.

"Welcome, my dearest, to our little slice of paradise. Care for a wager? How long until you fall hopelessly in love with me all over again?"

You had only laughed, rolling your eyes at his theatrics—but now, hours later, sitting across from him at a private table set for two, you were finding it impossible to ignore the intensity in his gaze.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, eyes glinting behind the tint of his rose-colored glasses. His other hand idly toyed with a poker chip, rolling it between his fingers with practiced ease.

"You’ve been rather quiet, sweetheart," he mused, voice velvety smooth. "Lost in thought? Or just lost in me?"

You scoffed, spearing a piece of the dessert he had so smugly presented earlier. "If I were lost, I’d know better than to follow you. You’d lead me straight into a gamble I can’t win."

His grin widened. "Oh, but that’s the fun of it, isn’t it?"

There was a glint of something deeper beneath his teasing—something almost vulnerable. Though he wore his confidence like a second skin, you had come to know the subtle cracks in his armor. The way his fingers sometimes hovered over his choker, the way he hid his left hand behind his back when a gamble truly mattered.

Like now.

"You’re holding something back," you murmured, setting down your fork.

Aventurine’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. He leaned back in his chair, spinning the poker chip once more before flicking it onto the table. It landed perfectly upright, balanced on its edge.

"Am I?"

You stood, moving toward him with deliberate steps. He didn’t move, but you caught the way his breath hitched ever so slightly as you leaned down, resting your hands on the arms of his chair.

"I know your tells, Aventurine," you whispered. "You might be able to bluff the entire universe, but not me."

For a moment, he simply looked at you—analyzing, calculating, debating whether to let you win this particular round. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he reached up, slipping his fingers beneath your chin.

"And yet," he murmured, tilting your face closer, "you still play the game, don’t you?"

The space between you vanished.

His lips brushed yours with the barest hint of pressure—just enough to tease, just enough to leave you wanting more. His breath was warm, tinged with the faint taste of wine and something decadently sweet. When he finally pressed in fully, it was slow, indulgent, a calculated risk met with an even bolder reward.

Your hands slid to his shoulders, fingers tangling in the soft fur trim of his coat. He hummed against your lips, pleased, smug, and utterly intoxicating.

"Careful, darling," he whispered against your mouth, "or I might start to think you're letting me win."

You pulled back just enough to smirk. "Who says I’m not?"

He chuckled, low and knowing. Then, in a single fluid motion, he pulled you into his lap, his hands settling at your waist, fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over the fabric of your clothes.

"Shall we up the stakes?" he murmured, voice dipping into something more suggestive, more dangerous.

Your heart pounded, but you refused to back down. "What are you wagering?"

His grin was wicked as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your pulse point.

"Everything."

And just like that, you were all in.

[22ayla21]

"Strawberry Cheesecake and Apple Cider"

Event "Sweet Stories, Intoxicating Feelings"

From the Author: again, I accidentally deleted the request due to app lags, but fortunately I saved the anon's hint as a picture. Anon, respond if you read the request.

In the backyard of Night Raven College, a quiet serenity always reigned, as if the very air held its breath in respectful silence. In a secluded corner of the garden, beneath a time-darkened arch entwined with grapevines, Ace sat, lazily swinging his leg. His robe was carelessly open, and his hair was tousled by the gentle spring breeze. Beside him – she was there. A girl from another world, so down-to-earth and direct in this place steeped in magic and strict rules.

He cast fleeting glances at her, pretending to be engrossed in shuffling the cards in his hands. In reality, he watched her read, her head bent over the book, her lips moving silently in focused concentration.

To him, she seemed like a strawberry cheesecake – airy, light, and yet utterly stunning. His fingers seemed to remember the taste of her laughter on their own: a little whipped, a little cheeky, and dizzyingly sweet. Their love didn't need formalities or pompous words. It simply arose. Unexpectedly, like a lucky break on an exam he hadn't studied for. But here she was, and here he was – and between them hung a pause, filled not with silence, but with the sensation of a frozen world, gifting them these precious moments.

"You're looking again," she said, without lifting her gaze from the pages.

"And you're noticing again," he smirked, leaning back on his hands and admiring her profile. "Can't I admire the local beauties?"

She closed the book and turned to him. "You could at least pretend to be busy with something useful."

Ace chuckled, a lively spark flickering in his smile. He felt genuinely good. Truly light and carefree, because with her, he could be himself, not hiding behind sharp jokes and sarcasm.

"Honestly…" he began, "I never thought I'd meet someone like you. So… simple. Like…" He stumbled, searching for the right word, and suddenly blurted out, "Like apple cider."

She blinked in surprise. "Cider?"

"Yeah. The one you made yourself in the kitchen last month. A little tart, natural, with a light fizz. Nothing extra. Just… real."

Her eyes warmed. Ace rarely said anything directly. He usually hid his true feelings behind a mask of irony. But in those rare moments when his sincerity broke through this armor, it sounded especially genuine.

"Then you must be strawberry cheesecake," she said with a soft smile.

He raised an eyebrow. "Me? Why's that?"

"Because you're sweet, but you know too well how delicious you are. And sometimes you can give a real sugar rush."

He laughed. His laughter was deep, sincere, without a hint of pretense. And in his eyes flashed a usually hidden gratitude. For her being there. For accepting him as he was.

The pause between them lingered, but it wasn't awkward. It felt like a warm blanket on a cool evening. In this silence, there was no need for words. She simply looked at him, and he at her. And both knew: even if the world around them became chaotic and unpredictable again, they would still have this quiet garden, these casual words, and this elusive warmth that couldn't be expressed in words.

Ace, without breaking eye contact, reached out and lightly touched her hand. "If you're cider, I wouldn't mind getting drunk on you."

"You're incorrigible," she shook her head, but there wasn't the slightest hint of reproach in her voice.

"And you're already used to my antics," he added with a mischievous grin, intertwining their fingers.

The love between them wasn't a storm of passions; it didn't require loud vows and sacrifices. It was like homemade cider – simple, tart, alive. Or like a piece of cheesecake that you want to savor with small spoonfuls, prolonging the pleasure. And in this world full of magic, transformations, and oddities, it was their love – warm, earthy, understandable – that was the truest magic of all.

[namgyunation]

but not kiss

Pairings: Nam-gyu x fem!reader Summary: You and Nam-gyu fight. You leave. You regret it. Or; a very short drabble about your relationship with Nam-gyu leading up to the games. Warning: toxic relationship, drug use, language and like one suggestive moment, Nam-gyu is an asshole, this is mostly plotless, I honestly just wanted to write about a little piece of my headcanon of pre-game Nam-gyu's life :3 Word count: 3.3k A/N: not proof-read, i just wanted to write bruh

I hope you're okay, but I won't ask.

The bed was warm. Warmer than you were used to in the cold, dingy apartment you used to call home. The home you shared with him.

Heat clung to your clothes and shut you in at all sides, the soft blanket on top of you enclosing you in the pocket of comfort. Despite this, a shiver rippled through your body. You pulled the blanket up to your face and breathed it in. It smelled of fresh detergent. Flowery. Sweet. Foreign. You shoved it to the side and sat up, heart thrumming steadily beneath your ribs in a way that was uncharacteristic for the environment.

The room around you was cute, clean, and unassuming. Safety in the form of pale pink walls. Still, you couldn't shake the anxiety buzzing and zipping through you like a current. He was out of sight but nowhere near out of your mind. You hugged yourself, feeling the warmth of your fingertips through the thin cotton pajamas ghosted over your frame.

It had been a week since you fought with Nam-gyu. A week since you stormed out, your eyes bone-dry and a lump in your throat. A week since your friend yanked you into the safety or her little black car and sped away from your apartment. She'd been your knight in shining armor saving you from the dragon's maw of your now-ex-boyfriend.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand next to you, fanning the dull ache that had drilled its way into your chest. One whole week. The drill dug deeper.

At first, Nam-gyu hid himself behind a wall of pride, the very behavior that often fanned the dysfunction between you. You remembered the weight of his stare as he watched you get smaller and smaller in the passenger-seat of your friend's car. He'd walked back inside with an eerie calm, shutting the door quietly as if you two hadn't nearly ripped each others head off. An aloofness that said 'I'll wait.' He somehow managed to stretch the facade for a whopping three hours. You knew him, and it was a fact that he was nothing short of dependent.

Once the realization dawned on him that you were actually serious this time, the proverbial flood gates opened. Soon, your phone had become a dumping grounds for his many pleas and curses and nonsensical garbage. Voicemail after voicemail. Text after text. Still, you just couldn't bring yourself to block him. You couldn't.

You sucked in a breath between clenched teeth, unlocking the phone quickly before you could change your mind.

'going to work. gonna try a bunch of new shit tonight since u don't give a fuck about me anymore lol'

You stared at the screen, letting it grow dim as you let out a long, drawn-out exhale. You sat in silence, trying to will away the pit that grew deeper in your stomach. Without you around to monitor him, force him to eat and take care of himself, and most importantly, discourage his excessive drug usage, who knew what kind of bullshit he was putting into his body. The image of Nam-gyu passed out on the floor surrounded by his 'friends' without you there to drag him home burned itself into your mind. You dragged a hand down your face. It wasn't your responsibility anymore. You had to let him go.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to mentally swat away all the scenarios flashing through your head, all of which ended with Nam-gyu passed out in a strange, dark place with a needle in his arm and pills spilling from his throat. Something hot was pushing behind your eyes. You almost felt like calling him, but you didn't.

It had barely even been a minute before another message lit the screen up again.

'fucking stuck up bitch'

After surviving a relationship with someone like Nam-gyu, the words 'bitch' and 'cunt' barely affected you anymore. You'd heard them so much, they'd practically lost all meaning.

You scrolled up to all the other new messages he'd sent since last night. While you were sleeping, he'd sent you a wall of text, each one stumbling over the other and settling in a puddle of word vomit at your feet. Wherever he was when he wrote them, it was nowhere near a state of sobriety.

You held your breath as your eyes flitted over each one.

'don't do this to me'

'selfish whore'

'who the hell are u with'

'my baby m yprincess mysweet girl'

'you fucking abandoned me'

'no one is going to fuck you like i do so just stop being a dumb bitch and come home. i forgive you'

'iloveyouviloveyouiloveyou imso sorry i love you i loveyou'

'dumb stupid cunt i never needed u anwyays. u seriously think ur better than me???? i don't give a fuck'

'bed's so cold without u'

His emotions were all over the place, bouncing back and forth with each new text. It was so, so pathetic. Your mind was foggy, chest aching as your thumbs hovered unsteadily over the keyboard. If you didn't distract yourself right now, you were sure you'd say something stupid.

"I--" You deflated, voice cracking pathetically, as if you weren't about to cry over the most pathetic bum ass of a man alive. You swallowed thickly, stifling a sob as you choked on your words, "God. I miss him."

Two knocks on the door saved you from the impending breakdown. You straightened, quickly hopping to your feet and letting the phone drop to the bed. You swiped at your eyes, hoping you didn't look like as much of a loser as you felt. Slowly, the door opened, and your friend's head poked through the crack. She smiled at you, one hand on the door knob, another on a plate of food. She slipped in slowly, carefully, as if entering an enclosure with a wild animal.

"Heyyy," she said, awkwardly. You wondered if she'd heard you just moments before. "I heard you wake up! Figured you could use some food." Ah. She most definitely had. She smiled softly, holding out the plate to you. "I made you some breakfast earlier. I heated it up just now for you."

You took it gratefully. "Thank you," you sighed. Where would you be right now if it weren't for her? "I appreciate it, really. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a burden. I would've woken up earlier, but. Ugh. I just feel like shit."

She shushed you and took a seat next to you. "It's fine. I get it. I'm glad you're here with me instead of with that asshole." She rubbed a warm hand on your back reassuringly but didn't say anything more.

Music pounded in Nam-gyu's ears and in his chest as he leaned over his phone, elbows pressed into his thighs and knuckles going white around his phone as the bass reverberated through his bones and reached into the deepest pits of his body. The sensation and noise did nothing to distract from the anger slowly snaking through him and gripping him like a vice.

Nothing. You'd said nothing to him in a week now. It was like you didn't even care. He bounced his leg frantically, mind racing at a million miles a minute. So you didn't care? He didn't either.

He didn't.

The air around him hung thick with the scent of alcohol, smoke, bodies, bodies, and more bodies. He clenched his teeth behind his lips, eyes boring into the screen with an intensity that you would've returned, had you been there with him. He bit at his lower lip, chewing on it anxiously as he continued to scan every pixel like it would reveal something if he stared long enough.

All he got was the last text he sent to you staring right back up at him.

'fucking stuck up bitch'

His fingers hovered over the screen, twitching with the effort of not sending you another message. Or two. Or ten.

So you weren't even gonna deny it?

Weren't gonna say that you wanted him to put down the drugs because you 'cared for his health'?

That you were sorry? That you were a fucking idiot for walking away from the two of you and that you were driving home right now waiting to greet him with a kiss and a hug and an apology for even fathoming the possibility of leaving him when you knew he just needed some time and support and some fucking understanding to get the money back?

A mental image of MG Coin's face drifted to the forefront of his mind. Nam-gyu's jaw tightened. If the universe gave him the opportunity to, he swore to beat the living shit out of him for ruining his life.

He peeled off his phone case suddenly, pulling out the card he'd been given the other day. A man in a suit had found him slumped pathetically against a wall, high as a kite and stumbling around like a toddler. Nam-gyu had gotten lost on the (very, very short) way to his car after work.

Without you there, there was no one to yell at him for trying to drive high. No one checking his location and peeking over his shoulder to make sure he was safe. No one waiting after his shift to buckle him into the passenger seat before driving him quietly home. No calls. No texts. No love. No life.

He ran a finger over the smooth paper, turning it over in his shaky hands. He didn't even get to tell you about this. He's sure you would've told him not to go, that it was a scam. But maybe he would've been able to convince you to come with him after he showed you the money he'd won from ddakji. He wouldn't have told you about the slapping, though, or how quickly any fragment of shame or pride evaporated from his mind the second he was presented with the chance of winning any amount of cash.

Maybe he would've even been able to convince you to stay. To wait for him. To give him a chance to fix things.

He scoffed at the thought, but it came out sounding more like a sob. His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he swallowed around it, his head spinning with emotions that he didn't want to acknowledge or admit to himself. So sad. So desperate. So pathetic.

He envisioned you on the other side of the screen, hands hovering over the keys with something similar swirling in your heart. Any minute now. You'd drop the act. You would, because he knew you, and you loved him. You wouldn't do this to him.

Exhale. Inhale. Clench. Unclench.

He held his breath, hands shaking as the phone screen dimmed.

Nothing. He was alone.

He shoved the card back into his case before popping it back on his phone, his lower lip aching as he bit into it.

To his left, a coworker stumbled over to him. He leaned down, slinging an arm lazily over Nam-gyu's shoulder.

"Man, what are you doing over here, sitting all alone in this dark corner? The guys have been looking for you all night!" he said, a smile in his eyes and the heavy scent of alcohol on his breath. He rubbed Nam-gyu's shoulder playfully and pushed closer into his personal space, loopy and uncoordinated as the music thumped around them. "Hey, you brought the drugs right?"

Nam-gyu grunted but didn't look up, barely even registering the man badgering him.

He stilled for a moment at the dismissal. It was out of character for Nam-gyu, known by his coworkers for his intense enthusiasm over any chance to do drugs and suck up to celebrities that visited their club. He grew impatient, tightening the grip on his shoulder and shaking him back and forth, as if to knock him out of a trance. "Hey. Nam-gyu. If you're gonna bum around on your phone on the clock, the least you could do is just give us the fucking drugs. We have guests to entertain, remember?" He cocked his head towards the side room he'd stumbled out of.

Nam-gyu moved his head to look up at him slowly, eyes not leaving his phone screen until the last second. A pause. He gave the man a strained smile. "Yes. You're right." His lips were tight as he spoke, his hands practically shaking with the effort of not shattering his phone on the ground in front of him.

When he still didn't move from his seat, the man raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to speak again, annoyance written clearly across his face at his timid demeanor. Suddenly, Nam-gyu shot up, phone still held tightly in his hand as he shrugged the guy's hand off his shoulder, now in a rush as he pushed past him.

"C'mon, hurry up! I got some new shit this time, and I'm gonna try all of it," he yelled over his shoulder, a smile in his voice despite the sickening feeling building inside him higher and higher with every passing second. He wanted to break something.

The guy caught up with him quickly, slinging a shoulder around him once again, loose and loopy and cheerful once again with a wide grin on his face now that he was finally going to get some drugs in his system.

"Ayyy, there's our Nam-gyu!" He rubbed at his shoulders roughly, practically shoving him into the side room with all of the guests. "I like you a lot more when you're like this."

Nam-gyu smiled, a lighthearted laugh ripping its way out of him, mirthless and filled with a desperation that only you could fill.

However, you weren't here, so instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled paper bag filled with a variety of substances to poison his body with. It hit the table in front of all the club's VIP guests for the night with a thump.

The scene that followed was akin to dropping a piece of meat into a pirannha tank.

Nam-gyu grinned despite the way his heart hammered and hammered beneath his ribs. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking as he politely waited for his turn with the bag. In a few minutes, the thoughts in his head would calm, and he'd be back on top of things.

There was nothing to worry about. After all, he was going to win enough money to pay off his debt and win you back in one fell swoop.

The card burned a hole in his pocket. Just one more high, one more night of fun, and he would call the number on the back. He was going to fix everything.

Once everyone had ravaged through the bag, Nam-gyu reached forward, wasting no time in filling his hand with a few multicolored pills.

You weren't here to help him right now, but the drugs definitely were.

It was just gonna have to be enough for now.

That night, you dreamed of Nam-gyu in spite of yourself.

It was foggy and blurred. A dream mixed with scattered bits and pieces of the memories the two of you shared in the time you'd been together.

You laid in bed with his arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you as if he was afraid you'd slip away. His chest was warm against your back, each rise and fall filling you with a sense of comfort. The calm, steady movement reminded you with every gentle breath that he was alive, safe, and within your reach. The bed was just barely big enough for the two of you. The curtains old. The walls yellowed. And yet, you couldn't think of any other place you'd rather be.

He whispered something sweet into your hair, his voice quiet and low, soft in a way that he'd only reveal when you two were alone. It was the same tone he'd take on shortly after choking out another shitty apology following one of your many heated arguments together. It was cute. You wished he'd use it more.

You mumbled something back to him, pushing yourself closer to his body heat. You turned slightly to bury your face in the fabric of his sleeve. He smelled of cheap cologne, soap, and most comfortingly: home. A warmth bloomed in your chest.

A few beats of silence passed with the two of you lying there peacefully before his hand drifted slowly to your chest. You exhaled sharply through your nose, feigning annoyance despite the way your lips twitched into a smirk in the dim light. You placed a sleepy hand over his, caressing his skin as he lazily cupped you through your shirt. You traced over his veins and the cool metal of his ring. He mumbled something unintelligible as sleep creeped in on him. You turned your head to look up at him, your eyes locking with a warm familiarity.

It was nice when it was like this. No arguments. No struggles. Just the two of you slotted together in comfortable silence. For a moment in time, the whole world shrunk down in size. It was just you, Nam-gyu, and the four dingy walls of the shared apartment you called home.

You breathed three words into the stillness. He paused, taking a moment to process it before he was pulling you closer. He pushed his face into the back of your neck and muttered the words back to you, his voice gentle and soft and devoid of any hard edges. It was quiet, barely above a whisper and muffled by your hair, but you knew what he said, and that was enough.

You let the dream pull itself over you like a warm blanket, the two of you drifting lazily through time.

The next morning, you woke up early, slinking out of your friend's apartment with a rushed apology that you typed with shaky thumbs. You were already stumbling out of your cab and onto the street of your apartment complex when you sent it. You practically flew up the stairs, your feet barely touching the ground as you hastily shoved your phone into your back pocket.

Your friend would definitely hate you for this later, but that was the last thing on your mind right now.

You fumbled for your keys, finally pushing through the door after what seemed like an eternity. Passing over the threshold felt so good. You could finally breathe again.

"Nam-gyu?" you said. There was no hesitation in your voice. You wanted to see him. Needed to see him.

He was probably still sleeping. You shrugged the small bag containing the few clothes and belongings you'd brought to your friend's house off of your shoulder. It fell to the floor in a gentle heap as you shut the door quietly behind you.

"Nam-gyu?" you said again. You panicked a little, hoping he had gotten home from work okay last night.

Lucky for you, there wasn't much room to search. You pushed into the bedroom, anxiety soaring at its emptiness.

"Nam-gyu!" you were yelling now, as if there was still any chance that he was here somehow. You cursed under your breath, fumbling for the phone in your back pocket.

You guiltily ignored the angry, concerned texts pouring in from your friend and clicked into you and Nam-gyu's text conversation. You sent him a text, and after receiving no reply, quickly punched in Club Pentagon's phone number and let it ring.

Your eyes searched the room frantically for any sign of where he'd gone, your gaze instantly zeroing in on the small card placed perfectly in the center of your night stand. On it was a message in handwriting that you could immediately recognize as Nam-gyu's (specifically when he was high).

You picked it up and cursed under your breath as you turned it over in your hands, inspecting the mysterious number written on the back. Then, as if to punctuate the panic gradually building beneath your skin, the phone call went to voice mail.

'Fixing things. Wait for me <3'

---

namgyunation @ tumblr; pls don't repost! ao3 link (the most updated version will be on here once i get to fixing typos)

more a/n: i have sooo many thoughts about how i hc pre-game nam-gyu's life to be like. prob gonna write more to fill out the little nam-gyu-verse in my head <3 also depending on how nam-gyu fares in s3, i'll write a fic where the reader has a tearful reunion with him OR she ends up waiting for him forever and everrrrrr ^_^ also nobody gaf, but the beginning of this tiktok is what i was thinking when i was describing nam-gyu's 'soft' tone when reader was dreaming

i really love it when nam-gyu is written as the pathetic, clingy loser that he is <3 i hope someone out there enjoys it too

[lovezbrownies]

Better and sexier. (Yandere!Queen)

General Masterlist - Nia's Masterlist.

Synopsis: You've lived most of your career humiliating and hurting yourself for the sake of making other's laugh, but once you move to a different court will it be the same? Or will you begin to crave the horrible obsessive love of a queen?

PAIRING: Yandere!Queen x GN!Jester!Reader.

WARNINGS: Darling is abused by higher powers, making others laugh by the expense of your health and safety, stockholm syndrome, kind of embarrassing first meeting. Request can be found here.

The court of Virelle had no room for soft things. It was not like Xelera, where cruelty hid beneath velvet and roses. No, Virelle’s nobility drank spite like wine and laughed with blood on their teeth. You’d learned that quickly, learned it the way all fools in gilded cages do — through silence, through pain, and through the shattering realization that no one ever clapped for you unless it was at your expense.

You weren’t the favored jester there. That title belonged to another — a man of charm and showmanship, all teeth and showy flips, the sort of performer who could set a room roaring without cutting himself open. They adored him. They gave him gold-threaded capes, silver bells for his wrists, a suite with a window and a bed that didn’t creak like a gallows. You, though? You were the contrast. The other. The shadow. You were called only when the night dragged long and the court grew bored of polished wit. They liked something raw then. Something ugly. Something that screamed if they pulled too hard.

You remember the worst nights not by date, but by sound. Laughter — high and vicious — echoing across the marble halls as they told you to fall again, again, again. A knee to the stone floor. A rib bruised for a snort. The prince once asked you to juggle knives. You weren’t trained in that, of course, but what use was skill to a creature whose only worth was in spectacle? So you did it. You dropped one. It slit your palm open, and gods, they howled. Clapping, wheezing. One of the ladies shrieked with glee when you bowed after, blood running down your sleeve like it was part of the act.

You learned to cry without making sound. You learned to smile while stitching your own skin in your quarters — quarters you shared with the dogs. Literally. They kept you in the servant’s wing, not even among the jesters, because “your kind shouldn’t get comfortable.” And every time you passed that mirror — cracked, crooked — you reminded yourself how to laugh like you meant it. It was your armor. It had to be.

Because they didn’t hit you like soldiers do. They hit you with words, with expectations, with games disguised as orders. Crawl like a worm, they’d say. Break the plate over your head, but make it funny. And if you hesitated — if you paused, even a second, even to breathe — it was considered defiance. That meant punishments. Isolation. No meals. Once, they locked you outside in the snow until your lips turned blue. You danced for them the next day anyway. You had to.

You weren’t permitted to speak your mind, but you were allowed to mock yourself. That was what they liked. A jester who knew their place. A puppet who knew the strings. And every time you dared to look up — dared to think, Maybe I’m more than this — you’d catch sight of the other jester, basking in attention, winking at you like you were in on the same joke.

But you weren’t. You never were.

You were only ever the punchline.

And when the offer came — when the quiet envoy from Xelera whispered that Queen Nia was searching for new court figures — you didn’t ask for details. You didn’t pack your things. You had nothing to pack. You simply left.

No goodbyes. No farewells. Just silence where the applause used to be.

The court of Xelera was everything you had expected and yet nothing like what you had imagined. The grand hall stretched out before you, adorned with tapestries that caught the light in golden threads, the delicate hum of courtly gossip floating through the air. There were whispers of admiration as the courtiers turned their gaze upon you, awaiting your performance. But it wasn’t admiration you wanted. No, it was their laughter. Their approval.

The jester’s mask you wore was heavy, not just from its weight, but from the memories it carried. It had seen too many performances, too many falls, too much pain. Pain you used to bring, pain you had come to rely on.

You stepped forward, and the bells on your shoes jingled with the rhythm of your step, announcing your arrival. The usual routine — the one drilled into you from the moment you had first been given the title — began to unfurl in your mind. It wasn’t enough to trip, to stumble, or fall clumsily. No, you were here to elicit pain. To break yourself for their amusement. You had been trained to hurt for their smiles, to twist your body into ridiculous, contorted positions, to throw yourself to the ground with an agonizing thud, to make them laugh at your suffering. It wasn’t an accident. It was a performance. Your pain was their joy.

You began, letting your body collapse in exaggerated, painful ways, each movement carefully timed to evoke a wince from the courtiers. A sudden twist of your ankle — the kind that should have been impossible — and you gritted your teeth, feeling the strain in your leg but forcing yourself to smile through it, just as you had been taught. You let your shoulder slam against the floor, the bone jarring painfully, and the court flinched, their eyes wide. But they were already beginning to laugh, some gasping, others chuckling in their seats.

It was exactly what you wanted.

But then there was a soft voice, cutting through the noise. A voice so distinct, it stopped your movements in an instant.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

The words were soft, yet they struck you harder than any fall could have. You paused mid-spin, your breath catching in your throat, eyes flicking up to meet the source. It was her — Queen Nia. The regal figure who had been watching quietly from her throne, the one who had summoned you.

The court was still laughing, unsure of what had happened, but Nia was staring at you with an intensity that made your heart race. Her expression wasn’t one of disgust or confusion. It was something more complicated, something more... discerning.

You took a deep breath, shifting uneasily on your feet, suddenly acutely aware of every ache and bruise that marred your body beneath the mask. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” you said, swallowing back the tightness in your throat, your words apologetic but hollow. “I—I thought... I thought this is what you wanted. The performance, the laughter.” You forced yourself to look at the ground. “In my previous court, this is how we entertained them. We made them laugh by... by throwing ourselves into pain. It’s what they expected.” You hesitated, glancing up, feeling an almost suffocating weight on your chest. “This is what I know. It’s what I was trained to do.”

There was a silence that hung heavy between you, the court’s eyes flicking between Nia and you, some of them sensing the shift, some still unsure of what to make of this sudden break in your act.

Nia’s eyes softened, but her voice was unwavering when she spoke. “This is not your previous court,” she said, each word deliberate, her gaze unwavering. “Here, we do not laugh at pain. We laugh with you, but not because you break yourself for us.” Her voice was firm, but there was something else in it — a hint of something softer, something that was more than just concern. It was an understanding, perhaps, or a recognition of what you had endured. “No one here will make you hurt yourself for their amusement. You will not have to suffer to entertain. That is not the way of this court.”

You felt a knot tighten in your throat, the weight of her words pressing down on you. For a moment, you stood there, frozen, the shame and confusion swirling inside you. You had never known anything else. You had never been allowed to entertain without the constant threat of pain, of injury. The idea that you could stand before a court and not break your body to make them laugh felt like an impossible concept, one you couldn’t even begin to grasp.

“I— I don’t know how else to perform,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never been allowed to do anything else. It’s the only way I know how to make them laugh.”

Nia stepped forward, her gaze softening further, though her authority still remained sharp. “You don’t have to break yourself for laughter here,” she said, her voice gentler now, but firm in its intent. “I requested a jester, not a martyr. You’re here because you can entertain, not because you can make people pity you. You are better than this.”

Her words stung, but it was a different kind of sting. It wasn’t the sting of disappointment or disgust. It was the sting of someone finally seeing you — truly seeing you — and recognizing the potential within you. You had never felt so exposed, yet so understood. For a brief, painful moment, you thought you might crumble under the weight of it.

“You can make them laugh with your skill,” Nia continued, her eyes gleaming now, a spark of something else in them, something dangerous and powerful. “You don’t need pain to make them smile. You need wit, grace, timing.”

Her words sank into your chest like a seed, taking root and slowly unfurling. There was something both terrifying and thrilling about the idea of performing without pain. You had never dared to imagine such a thing before. Could you truly do it? Could you entertain them without the mask of suffering?

The court was silent now, watching you carefully. The weight of their gazes was still there, but now, they seemed... expectant. Nia had set the stage, and it was your turn to rise to it.

You took a shaky breath, adjusting your posture, and for the first time, you didn’t fall. You didn’t hurt yourself. Instead, you stood a little taller, your fingers brushing the bells on your shoes, and you began again. A new performance, one that felt less like survival and more like freedom.

And Nia, watching from the throne, smiled.

Several months had passed since your first performance before the court of Xelera.

What once felt like a foreign and intimidating place had slowly transformed into something more comfortable, even... welcoming. The lavish room you were given was fit for royalty. Velvet curtains in rich crimson, a massive four-poster bed draped in silks, and the finest furniture, all neatly arranged to provide you with the most comfort you had ever known. It was a far cry from the cold stone floors and cramped quarters of the courts you had been subjected to in the past. Here, you were no longer a tool for entertainment, nor a pitied soul in the corner. You were an artist, an entertainer, valued for your wit, your talent, and your cleverness. The food that was served to you was beyond anything you’d ever tasted — hearty, flavorful, rich in spices and textures. Every meal felt like a feast, each bite a reminder that you were no longer starving for more than just sustenance.

But it wasn’t just the food or the luxury of your room. It was the laughter.

The court had embraced you in a way you had never experienced before. Laughter echoed through the halls every time you performed. They didn’t just laugh at your expense; they laughed with you. You didn’t have to contort your body or throw yourself into painful tumbles. You were funny, naturally so. Your wit, your timing, your observations about the nobility’s habits and the absurdities of court life had them in stitches. At first, you were hesitant, unsure if it could last. But it did. Every performance, every joke, every little quip made them laugh with genuine joy, not the hollow, forced chuckles of pity.

And sometimes, when the court wasn’t even expecting it, they would summon you. They missed you. They wanted more. The musicians would start a tune, and soon, you’d find yourself in the center of the room again, making them laugh with nothing more than a clever line or a well-timed flip. Even when you weren’t scheduled to perform, the request for your presence would come, as though they couldn’t bear the silence without the entertainment you provided.

But among all the faces in the court, there was one who stood apart.

Queen Nia.

At first, it had been casual, just a few private performances in her chambers, a few soft chuckles from her as you told jokes no one else would dare to utter. But over time, the requests to entertain her became more frequent, more personal. At first, it had been for her to enjoy your performances in a more intimate setting — no court to hide behind, just the two of you. You didn’t mind it at all. In fact, you enjoyed her company. There was something about her that was different from the others. Something that kept you on edge, yet drawn to her. She was always watching, never quite letting her guard down. But it wasn’t just the way she watched you as an entertainer. It was more than that. The gleam in her eyes, sharp and calculating, had become something you couldn’t ignore. Something... intense.

She would summon you to her private chambers, and you would perform, just as you always had, but the atmosphere was different. The air between you crackled with something unspoken. She would sit, perched upon her throne or leaning against the desk in her room, her gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Sometimes, her eyes would linger a little too long, her lips curling just slightly at the corners as you performed.

There were times when the others weren’t watching, when you would pause in the middle of a performance to see her smile softly, an almost secretive smile. She didn’t laugh as easily as the others. She didn’t even react in the same way. But when she did smile, it was... different. It wasn’t just for the performance. It was for you.

One evening, after a particularly funny performance that had the whole court in uproarious laughter, Nia had asked for you again. It wasn’t unusual for her to request a private show, but tonight, there was something in her eyes that unsettled you. A strange gleam, almost possessive in its intensity, something darker beneath the surface.

“You’re very funny,” she said softly, her tone measured and calm. “I could watch you all night.”

You stopped mid-spin, feeling a sudden rush of heat flood your cheeks. “Your Majesty, I’m flattered,” you said, smiling nervously, trying to brush it off as a compliment. But something about the way her eyes darkened made your heart race in a way that was entirely unfamiliar.

Her smile softened, but there was something else in her expression. “I find it... difficult to look away from you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You bring something to this court that no one else can. Something... genuine. Something real.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at her words. Was it the weight of her gaze, or the meaning behind her words, that made your heart skip a beat? Either way, you couldn’t deny the stirring feeling in your chest, the strange pull between you and her that had only grown stronger since you first arrived.

“I’m just doing my job, Your Majesty,” you said, forcing a smile, trying to keep the nervous flutter in your chest at bay.

But Nia’s gaze never wavered. She rose slowly from her throne, her movements graceful, like a predator who had already cornered its prey but enjoyed the chase all the same. “And I’m telling you, you’re doing more than that.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping low, and you had to force yourself not to step back. “You’re making them laugh. But you’re also making me...” Her eyes flickered to the side, as though weighing her words, before meeting yours once more. “You’re making me feel something.”

You were silent for a moment, not knowing how to respond. Nia was standing so close now, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from her body. The space between you was thin, charged with something unspoken, something that neither of you had acknowledged — until now.

“I...” You swallowed, your throat dry. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You don’t need to,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re perfect just as you are.”

Her fingers brushed against your arm in a casual motion, but it sent a jolt of warmth through your body. Your pulse quickened as her touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

You didn’t know what to make of it, but one thing was clear: Nia’s interest in you was no longer about your talent. It was something else entirely.

She smiled softly, almost dangerously. “Come back tomorrow,” she said, her voice quieter now, as though this was an invitation she didn’t want the rest of the court to hear. “I’ll have a new performance for you.”

And just like that, the moment was gone, slipping away as she turned and returned to her throne, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, trying to make sense of the connection that was beginning to form between you.

The evening was quiet, the last of the courtiers having long since retreated to their chambers. The only sound was the faint crackle of the fire in Nia's private quarters, where you had once again been summoned for a private performance. You had grown used to these moments with her — the private, intimate shows that had gradually become more than just about entertaining. You had become her secret, her favorite, and her audience. The subtle glint in her eyes, the way she watched you with that unblinking intensity, had always made your skin prickle, but tonight... tonight was different.

You had just finished a lighthearted joke, one that usually had the court in fits of laughter, but the room was eerily still. Nia’s gaze never left you. She didn’t smile or laugh as she usually did. Instead, she stood up slowly, her movements deliberate, as though every step was calculated, predatory.

“Your jokes... they’ve been keeping everyone entertained, haven’t they?” Nia’s voice was smooth, almost too smooth, like silk slipping through your fingers. But there was an edge to it, something darker, that sent a shiver through you.

“I... I do my best, Your Majesty,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though you could feel your heartbeat quicken under her gaze.

“You do more than that.” Her voice lowered, becoming a murmur that seemed to vibrate through the air. “You make them laugh, yes, but you make me... feel something different.”

Your throat went dry. You tried to take a step back, to keep some distance between you, but before you could react, Nia moved faster than you could anticipate. In one swift motion, she was before you, her hands gripping your arms with a force that made your breath catch in your throat. She pulled you close, her face inches from yours, her eyes alight with something you hadn’t seen before — something raw, unrestrained.

Her lips parted slightly as she spoke, her voice low and dangerous, yet strangely soothing. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, you know. And I’ve decided that no one else will have you. No one else will touch you.”

You froze, unable to move as she held you close, her fingers pressing into your skin, forcing you to remain in her grasp. The air between you was thick, heavy with something that felt like it could snap at any moment. Her words were a command, not a suggestion, and something about that sent a thrill down your spine.

“You’re mine, and only mine,” she continued, her voice becoming more fervent, more intense. “And I won’t ever let anyone else take you away from me. Not now, not ever.”

Her words were like a poison — sweet, intoxicating, and utterly consuming. The possessiveness in her voice, the way she claimed you as though you were an object she couldn’t bear to share with anyone else, made your pulse race. You had never experienced anything like this before. There was fear, yes, but there was also something else. Something that made your breath hitch in your chest, something that made your heart beat faster.

You tried to speak, to push her away, but the words caught in your throat. Nia wasn’t done. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I know what you need,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost affectionate. “You need to be wanted. You need to be adored, cherished... and I will give you all of that. I will always give you everything you need, darling. And you won’t ever escape m.”

There was something in the way she said it — something final, something that left no room for argument. The possessiveness in her tone should have made you recoil, but instead, you found yourself... leaning into it. Your heart fluttered in a way that both terrified and thrilled you. You couldn’t look away from her eyes, and when her lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile, you felt something inside you snap.

You weren’t sure what it was, but you didn’t want to fight it. The strange, twisted sense of possessiveness, the way Nia wanted you all to herself, felt... right, in a way. It wasn’t just about control. It was about belonging. And strangely, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. You were hers. And, deep down, a part of you wanted to be.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to see your face, her eyes searching yours for any sign of resistance. But all she found was silence. You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything. You were just... there, caught in her gaze, trapped by her words, by the way she held you like you were the most precious thing in the world to her.

Her smile deepened. “I knew you’d understand,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face, her fingers trailing down your cheek, leaving a burning path in their wake. “You’re mine, now. Forever.”

And, to your own surprise, you didn’t argue. You didn’t protest. There was no fight left in you, no resistance to her hold. You didn’t want to escape. You just wanted to be... hers.

[montcumbry-gaytor]

Will you tag me when a Cicero fic comes out please <3

Hysteria

cicero x male reader smut

CONTENT WARNING : GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT, VIEW AT YOUR OWN RISK.

— sooo.. yeah, I had an idea for this, I'm a Cicero lover so I'll take any opportunity to write for him.

tw : main characters are literally assassins. canon appropriate language. whiny insane man. ginger man .. spooky.

The night was young for the Dark Brotherhood, there were killings to be had, sacrifices to be made in the name of the mother.

However, the Listener -you- had taken a night to yourself, dispatching a handful of assassins to do the mother's bidding before retiring to your personal quarters.

The room had a biting chill, the stone cold, but somehow warm in comparison to the outside, which had been pelted in snow for days. The hearth burned, the embers crackling, a white noise that became comforting.

Having already stripped of your steel chest-plate and boots, and the leather armor beneath it, you settled for a dark colored tunic and some trousers, though it felt odd to be dressed so casually in times like these.

You scarcely felt deserving of this time, resting felt like a limited resource. So much to do and so little time to do it.

"You sent for me, dear Listener?" Cicero asked, hanging in the entryway.

A madman, a jester, a fiend. Many names men and women alike had given him, accurate, but they overlooked his potential.

"Yes," You replied, your bones felt heavy, having been carrying out your own duties, the duties of a dragonborn, a tiring lifestyle you'd picked up just when you were seconds away from being beheaded. "Keep me company, will you?"

You had asked, and Cicero hardly hid the joy the request brought him. Spending time with his beloved Listener? who in their right -or terribly wrong- mind would deny such an ask?

"But of course!" Cicero said with a grin, approaching with a gleeful grace before taking his floppy jester hat off and holding it over his heart, bowing to his Listener. "I'm at your service, My dear."

You gave a weary smile, and placed your hand on the back of Cicero's neck to pull him close, the other grasping Cicero's hat, tossing it somewhere to be recovered later.

"Good." You murmured, looking deep into the assassin's amber eyes, like pools of whiskey that stared back in return.

There was a time when you considered killing him for trying to kill Astrid, but a clarity had washed over you as each piece of the Dark Brotherhood's puzzle put itself into place, and in the end, you spared Cicero.

And as a result of keeping Cicero to fight at your side, a little relationship had spawned between the two of you.

You pulled Cicero close, lips meeting, something that was soft at first, something that short-circuited Cicero's brain each time, the tenderness of his Listener set him ablaze.

Cicero's hands tightened on your clothes, chasing the kiss hungrily, he loved the affection, the attention.

So you indulged him, fingers curling into the ginger wisps of hair, making Cicero shudder, pushing his tongue past your teeth, trying to taste you, like a mad, hungry dog.

It was a stumble to the bed, it's wooden beams creaking under your shared weight, but Cicero slumped back.

There were practically hearts in his eyes the way he looked at his lover, enraptured by his sweet.

"What a beauty you are, my dear Listener, what a privilege it is to lay with you.." Cicero praised, a mad grin on his lips, but you had merely smiled at the flattery.

Your knees dug into the mattress as you pulled your tunic over your head, tossing it off somewhere before creeping forward, pressing your lips to Cicero's yet again.

Cicero's greedy hands touched anywhere he could, adoring each scar from his Listener's battles, his triumphs and his killings, every single mark delicious, no more precious than a painter's brushstroke.

You'd settled for petty rutting for the moment, lips dancing as your tongues mingled, Cicero's knee between the your legs, his hands gripping your hips and tugging, hungry for every noise that escaped the your lips.

"Careful.." You said softly, thumb caressing Cicero's lower lip.

Cicero hardly listened though, and rolled the two of you over, a wicked smile on his lips. "I know little about being careful, sweetling." Cicero said, craning down to press a trail of kisses over your neck, down your chest.

His lips caressed every scar in sight, he adored them all, his Listener's skin was a precious thing.

"So pretty..." Cicero sang in a whisper, his breath a warm fan over your skin, which spawned gooseflesh as a shiver ran its way down your spine.

He would do anything to please you, to prove his worth by doing everything he could to satisfy you after such a long day. So Cicero sought out to do just that. His hands pulled the dark trousers down in a slow creep, letting them meet the floor with the rest of the clothes.

What good were clothes anyway? Cicero thought, they hid his beautiful Listener's body away from him, clothing was his enemy.

Your hand crept through Cicero's hair as the jester peppered kisses over your inner thighs, murmuring sweet nothings in deluded rhymes.

His fingers slipped just underneath the hem of your unders, teasing the skin there.

"Oh.. how soft you are, sweetling, like the silk of the night mother's gown." Cicero muttered.

A little odd compliment, but it was sweet in retrospect, it was coming from a deranged assassin dressed like court jester after all.

You had intended to make a comment, but was cut off as the cold air met your groin, Cicero's fingers pulling your unders down and away, leaving his beautiful Listener nude, like a blank canvas waiting to be marked and savored.

His tender hand wrapped gingerly around your length like the hilt of his dagger, and stroked in a terribly slow motion.

"Well then... shit." You had gasped, your breath leaving your lungs in brisk pants, the mere touch sending a pang of heat south, taking your blood to rush down with it.

"My, my, and i thought i was the eager one." Cicero says, his breath running over your thighs, pressing kisses to the innermost skin, nipping when he deemed it fit, all while stroking the Listener's cock.

It felt like a task he was unworthy to take on, to satisfy his Listener was a thought that made Cicero's heart swell, oh, how he loved him.

The sensations were enough to pull a bittersweet moan from your lips, the gentle squeeze of his palm as he neared your tip, the pad of his thumb rubbing the slit, gods above, it felt like it was too much.

But of course, to Cicero, he wasn't doing enough. You needed more, he would provide, he would do anything for you.

His tongue ran over his middle finger, slicking it with spit, making sure to be very thorough. He would not tolerate his Listener in pain if they did not request it.

Then, he pressed the tip of his middle finger to your hole, rubbing gently around the rim, before gently pushing in, grinning at the noise it drew.

"Cicero-" You rasped, but he paid little mind to it, as you did his little rambles and tunes, it meant little.

His slender finger pushed against your walls, opening you up in a beckoning motion. "You sound so cute, Listener." Cicero whispered.

Only a psychopath would call the prophesied Dragonborn cute.

Nonetheless, he pushed a second finger into you, he would make sure you were fit to take him, he did dream of making you bleed, but hurting you without your expressed permission would make him pale.

His mouth fluttered over your thighs, his dominant hand stroking you firmly, and his fingers spread you open. The sensory all combined into that of a raging fire in your loins.

"Cicero.. fuck- slow... slow down." You rasped, getting far to close to your orgasm than you wanted to be, it'd been far too long since you'd done this.

"Your wish is my command..." Cicero said, and he made you regret your words.

He pumped slowly, causing your hips to twitch and desperately try to fuck into his fist, and his fingers spread out in a scissoring motion inside of you, it felt hot, too fucking hot.

Cicero licked warm trails of spit up and down your thighs, bruising them with viscous bites, and whispered praises against your flesh. He loved watching you come undone.

"By Talos..." You cursed, your fist balling into the sheets below you, and you cried out as Cicero dared to push a third finger into you, pushing you open, savoring your voice.

He loved the way you writhed, his sweet Listener becoming undone like a ball of yarn.

Your body burned, you were terribly close, practically shaking as your hips jolted into Cicero's fist.

And then he pulled away, his fingers slipping out, his palm leaving your dick aching, and his lips ghosting your skin.

"Not yet, my dear, not yet." Cicero giggled.

You had laid there, catching your breath, trying to control the way your body raged, and when you looked at Cicero again, he was stripping away his shirt. "Can't have this getting messy.." He muttered under his breath.

He leaned to the side, fetching one of the bottles on the wooden side tables next to your bed, a small vile with a pinkish, syrupy liquid inside.

"I'll have to fetch more of this for you..." He murmured, thinking aloud.

Then, he shoved down his trousers, his erection leaking, the tip red, so ready to take you, to sate your every desire until you could not speak.

He haphazardly uncorked the bottle with his teeth, and spit out the cork. You could still hear it clatter to the ground, but had little care. Your eyes were occupied watching Cicero as he poured the fluid over his length, his free hand stroking it over his flesh.

"Oh, Listener, I cannot wait to make you weep." Cicero giggled, rubbing his tip over your hole, looking deep into your eyes the entire time.

"You can't?" You asked, and Cicero raised a brow, curious. "What if i said.. you had to?"

Cicero frowned oh so quickly. He would never dream of disobeying you, you said jump and he would ask how high. He would never do something you didn't want.

"Please don't sweet Listener... Cicero just wants to have you.." He whined, it was cute, he was desperate.

"I didn't hear that, Cicero, you'll have to speak up." You teased, adoring how Cicero pouted, and crooned over to kiss down your arm and to your palm.

"Pretty, pretty please, Listener. Let Cicero fill you."

Cicero pleaded, his cock twitching between your legs, you knew he couldn't wait, you couldn't either. So you gave him a nod of approval, and Cicero shuddered with excitement.

His left hand pressed your thigh, pushing your leg open, and his right occupied his cock, aiding it as he pushed into you.

Cicero was slow, and through clenched teeth he grunted and huffed. He aches to push in all at once, to revel in your tightness, but he controls himself for your sake. All for you.

It's when your hips finally meet as his length fills your hot walls that he lets out the breath hes been holding.

"Fucks sake.." You whisper. Your eyes are closed as your body adjusts, and when you open them, Cicero is watching desperately, waiting for your command.

You beckon him closer with your hand that isn't balled in the sheets, and he leans forward, and your hand finds his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss where his tongue finds yours again.

That's the permission he needs, and his hips roll into you, slow at first, drawing himself out before pushing all the way back in, pushing deeper each time, but his eyes don't leave you at all.

He's enamored by the mere sight of you beneath him, slicked with a cold sweat and filled by his cock.

He's fucking the night mother's chosen, how beautiful.

His hand that lingered on your thigh unsteadily plants into the mattress next to your head, he towers over you, ginger hair sticking to his forehead as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his hips aim upward to fuck against the bundle of nerves deep inside you.

He's terribly accurate, precise, he knows where it's at from the countless times he's done before, and yet he treats it like a blessing every time.

Cicero practically whimpers at the feel of you, every inhale has a giggle, hes mad and intoxicated because of you.

"There you go... fuck-" You rasp, your mouth parted as noises escape your lips without thinking. "Good boy."

Oh, he loves that. His cock jolts inside of you, his teeth catch his lower lip. He thrusts into you, begging you to praise him more. He craves your approval.

Your hands find his lean, freckled shoulders, your nails dig in, and he adores it. The marks you leave are things he cherishes, and things he mourns when they fade.

"So good for me, Cicero.. ah-" You grunt, if you were close earlier, you were teetering on the edge now.

Cicero can feel it in you, you squeeze down on him and he moans at the very feeling, his hips snap into you, his heart pounds like a war drum. He's merely a loose cannon you've lit.

"Don't you dare stop.." You command, and Cicero shakes his head. He'd never dream of it, no, he'd do this forever if it were possible.

Your stomach burns, and something deep feels so tight that it pulls every muscle in your body taut. All you can think is how badly you want to let go.

And despite his exhaustion, Cicero's pace doesn't falter.

All breath leaves your lungs, your hips jolt on their own and your brain numbs for a moment, each muscle spasms as your cock spills out white over your belly. And Cicero chases his release as quickly as possible.

He's a whiny mess, and his hips shudder, your walls flooded in thick ropes of his seed, and he breaths out wistfully as his high comes down.

Cicero can hardly help with how infatuated he feels looking at you, your sweaty body, the cum dripping down your sides and out of your hole.

"So.. So, pretty." He whispers, and cuddles into you like a contented pup. And your fried mind decides aftercare can be handled after you've taken a good nap.

— if it wasn't obvious.. I think Cicero has a deep servitude kink.

[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.

[badbatchdalorian]

Our Brotherhood Endures

MEDIA: The Bad Batch (2021-2024) CHARACTERS: Hunter & Crosshair RATING: T (14+) TAGS: POV Hunter, Good Older Sibling Hunter, Hunter is Trying, Protective Hunter, Soft Hunter, Hunter Needs A Hug, Crosshair Needs a Hug (they both need hugs bc they have so much trauma), Crosshair is Bad at Feelings, Crosshair Gets a Hug, Crosshair Has PTSD, Crosshair Angst, Good Sibling Crosshair, Hunter Angst, Hunter Gets a Hug, Mentioned Tech, Canon Compliant (so unfortunately yes Tech is dead in this and it's talked about I'm so sorry), Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e05 The Return (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Hunter-centric, Crosshair-centric SUMMARY: In which Hunter decides to talk it out more with Crosshair after Barton IV, and they finally fall upon the broken pieces of one another that they'll need to work together to pick back up again. cross-posted from ao3

It was the first Pabu sunset after their return from Barton IV, and it was beautiful—yet the golden light, as radiant and comforting as it was, still brought Hunter back to the chill that had seeped beneath his armor on that desolate world. It was that same light that had illuminated Crosshair’s pained face when he had finally started to open up to him.

And Hunter hadn’t wanted to stop there, but he knew his youngest brother’s limits. That’s why he was the one who had turned away and walked back onto the ship. It had happened on that world, Hunter was sure of it; Crosshair had taken them to the graveyard of his loyalty to the Empire.

While Hunter and Crosshair had made peace there, the sergeant had more he wanted to, needed to, say. There was so little they had actually touched upon. It was true that Crosshair was the last one of them who would ever prefer to talk things out, but this weight was too heavy for Hunter to carry—and he could tell the feeling was mutual.

Because, yet again, Crosshair was missing. He wasn’t sitting by the Marauder with Wrecker, Omega, and himself, shooting them all annoyed glances that barely hid his amusement as their brother and the kid played with Batcher. He wasn’t even sulking in the ship again, pretending he wasn’t staring at the broken set of goggles within the hold.

He was just gone, gone like he had been after Hunter had left him on Kamino all those months ago. This time, though, Hunter wouldn’t leave it that way.

The sergeant rose from where he’d been sitting on the ramp of the Marauder, attuning his senses into tracking mode as he smelled the air and the dirt and listened for that one familiar heartbeat that had been out of his reach for much too long.

“Hunter!” Omega’s voice reached him, even if it was somewhat muffled by the way Hunter was reaching out for his brother’s heartbeat. “Where are you going?”

Hunter waved her off. “For a walk.” Unable to resist, he spared her a warm glance. “I won’t be long.”

Omega’s expression was pinched in hardly-concealed concern, the ball she and Wrecker had been tossing back-and-forth for Batcher shifting between her anxious hands as she watched Hunter leave. He stopped in his tracks, letting out a soft breath as he redirected himself and his senses to her temporarily.

Hunter knelt down in front of her, holding on to her shoulders as he nodded. “I’m alright, kid. Don’t you worry.” He gestured with his head to his previous path. “There’s just something I have to make right.”

Omega looked past him, following the direction he had gestured in, and nodded slowly in understanding. Hunter smiled and patted her cheek.

“Stay here with Wrecker. Like I said, I won’t be long.”

Omega managed to return his smile, and that was all Hunter needed to set himself back on his original path. He shared a quick look with Wrecker, who saluted as if to say I’ll take care of her, Sarge. That only eased the sergeant more as he focused back on his senses.

They were at least getting stronger again. Hunter was still ashamed to admit to himself, much less anyone else, that he had lost control of them enough to weaken them during the search for Omega. He had become so withdrawn from himself that his senses had started to disappear along with the most familiar parts of him, the ones that had softened his edges over time.

By the end of it, Hunter had barely recognized himself. If Wrecker wasn’t there… who knows who Hunter would have become. If he would even be alive.

Thankfully, that was a conversation Hunter had already had with Wrecker since Omega’s return. The sergeant owed his younger brother everything for keeping both of them alive in their darkest hour.

Gods knew Hunter wasn’t capable of keeping his brothers alive anymore.

That was a wound Hunter still didn’t have the strength to face. It was bandaged haphazardly within his chest, festering the more that he watched his squad return to their normal selves, because things weren’t normal. There was a hole torn in the galaxy, in Hunter’s galaxy, that could never be repaired. A heartbeat he could never hear again, nor ground himself to. One that had once been the most reliable for Hunter to listen to.

Hunter shook his head and refocused himself on his current task. Thinking about his lost brother right now wouldn’t help the one who was still alive. He straightened his shoulders and pushed on, searching for that familiar heartbeat.

Thankfully, it wasn’t far. Hunter quickly realized that he was actually on a familiar path, headed back down to where Crosshair had been training the morning before they left for Barton IV. He was sitting on top of the boulder he had once been shooting behind, his back facing the sergeant as his front faced the sunset.

Hunter heaved a breath as he climbed his way down. He was as swift and quiet as he had always been, though he knew it wouldn’t matter. Crosshair may not have had his enhanced senses, but the sniper always knew when he had eyes on him. That at least saved Hunter the additional planning of finding a way to approach Crosshair without spooking him.

It was only once Hunter had actually gotten there and hoisted himself up on the boulder alongside his youngest brother that he realized he’d completely forgotten to actually plan what he was going to say. That was probably for the best, because Crosshair could see through anything that wasn’t blunt honesty, but it left Hunter swimming in his own thoughts for the first few silent minutes of him sitting there.

This was just like what they had done on Barton IV after escaping the wyrm. They were just peacefully existing together, sitting in one another's space, enjoying the fact that the galaxy hadn’t managed to tear them apart the way it wanted to. Things were better. Not perfect, and Hunter wasn’t sure if they would ever be, but they were on their way there.

But Hunter knew they couldn’t make any more progress if he didn’t say what had been on his mind ever since the Marauder left Kamino that fateful day.

Hunter kept his eyes on the fading light of Pabu’s sun but leaned his head towards Crosshair as he finally broke their silence. “I’m sorry.”

Crosshair’s brow rose, and he cut his gaze at his eldest brother. His voice was just as cool and coiled as usual when he responded. “For what?”

Hunter shook his head aimlessly. What wasn’t he sorry for? He had gone against his own word in leaving Crosshair behind, and that had ultimately led to his brother being imprisoned and tortured by the Empire. He hadn’t even been able to help Crosshair escape from that wretched place. To make matters worse, his failed attempt at doing so had led directly to their brother’s death.

Really, there was an endless list of things Hunter was sorry for, and that was just where Crosshair was concerned. But the sergeant decided on one statement that summed it all up.

“I failed you.”

That caught Crosshair’s full attention. Hunter wasn’t brave enough to look at his youngest brother yet, but he could feel those piercing amber eyes lock onto him. The sergeant steadied himself with a breath.

“I should have never left you on Kamino.” Hunter circled his jaw and continued. “I don’t regret going back there for Omega, and I never will. But I do regret the things that happened to you because of it.”

Hunter looked at Crosshair as long as he could bear.

“You were right to feel the way you did when you brought us all back to Kamino.”

Hunter huffed, a self-deprecating sound he couldn’t help as he ran his thumb along his forehead, just underneath his bandana.

“And you were right about Omega on Barton IV. I failed her, too.” He shook his head and let his hand fall back into his lap. “Even back on Onderon and in that cell on Kamino, Crosshair…”

Hunter closed his eyes in pain. For as long as he’d been thinking all these same things, it didn’t make it any easier to admit—especially to the person who had to bear the consequences of Hunter’s own failures.

“You were right about me. I wasn’t fit to lead this squad. Not through anything except war.”

“Will you stop saying that?”

Hunter’s eyes flew open at Crosshair’s sharp, biting tone, and his head snapped in his brother’s direction. He had been so focused on himself that he hadn’t noticed how Crosshair was starting to react. The sniper’s hands were pulled into fists, and his own eyes were closed so tightly that it made the skin on his temples wrinkle.

The sergeant raised a curious yet tentative eyebrow. “Stop saying what?”

“That I was right.”

Crosshair reopened his eyes, letting Hunter see the raging fire of anger, frustration, and guilt that burned within their depths. Hunter couldn’t help recoiling as that piercing gaze landed on him. He’d been expecting a reaction, sure, but not one like this.

“Honestly, Hunter, it’s pathetic to see you acting so spineless.” Hunter frowned harshly, his eyes narrowing in anger that he was valiantly attempting to fight off. “You make a single mistake or two, and all of a sudden, you’re not a capable leader? You really let me, of all people, convince you of that?”

Crosshair snorted, though the sound was anything but amused.

“And worse, you’re still letting it get to you, even after finding out that it was a damn chip in my head.”

Hunter’s own hands began to tighten into fists in his lap. “It wasn’t that second time on Kamino, when you told me yourself that you’d taken your chip out long before then.”

“And you believed me? That easily?” Crosshair huffed incredulously and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then maybe I was right.”

Hunter sat there, wide-eyed and gaping, until at least a few heartbeats had passed. He blinked a few times and shook his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Your… chip wasn’t actually out then?”

Crosshair cut Hunter a look as his shoulders began to fall. His voice grew quieter than it had been before. “I don’t know.” He stared out at the lowering sun, but Hunter could see his grip on his own arms tightening. “I don’t know where the chip ended and where… I started.”

Hunter’s brother turned towards him enough to make the scar on the right side of his head visible to him.

“But I can’t imagine that thing survived this.” Crosshair gave his head an aimless shake. “That’s when I started doubting some things, too.” He let out a lame chuckle. “But you know me. Can’t admit defeat that easily.”

“So you tried to convince yourself that you had still done all the right things.” Hunter finished for him. “With or without the chip.”

Crosshair nodded. “I focused on the loneliness I suddenly felt, and the hurt, and I justified it. I needed somewhere else to put the blame.” He cut his gaze towards Hunter again, but this time, it was guilt that was darkening the light in his amber eyes. “So I put it on you.”

“That’s the thing.” Hunter faced his brother, revealing his own guilt in the tight lines of his serious expression. “That blame belongs to me, anyway.”

“Hunter.” Crosshair all but growled his name out. His fiery stare finally met Hunter’s. “Stop being so dense.”

The sniper gave his brother’s shoulder a rough nudge. Hunter frowned again, this time more harshly. Crosshair didn’t seem to care as he pointed a finger into Hunter’s chest.

“Being a leader doesn’t mean taking responsibility for the actions of everyone in your squad.” Crosshair moved his finger, pointing it against his own chest. “Mine included.”

Hunter’s hot frustration, though he couldn’t tell who it was aimed at, threatened to boil over as he closed his eyes and covered the tattooed side of his face with his own hand. “But they weren’t your actions, Crosshair! Not at first!”

Hunter steadied himself with a deep exhale. He let his hand run down his face until it ultimately fell back into his lap. He kept his eyes closed.

“You were helpless to that chip, and we just… I just… left you there. Left you to fight it alone.”

Crosshair remained quiet after that. Too quiet. The drawn-out silence eventually got unnerving enough for Hunter to finally reopen his eyes, just to find that Crosshair had closed his own again. This time, though, they weren’t shut as tight.

“I was alone a lot, Hunter. Especially in my cell.”

Crosshair’s eyes opened, and they watched as his right hand started to tremor the way it so often had ever since Tantiss. Hunter resisted the urge to steady it himself, instead keeping his hands where they were in his own lap.

“And it gave me time to think. One of the things I thought about the most was you.” Crosshair spared his older brother a quick glance. “What I would have done differently if I were you.”

Crosshair paused. Hunter was holding his breath, and he hadn’t even realized it. He was hanging from his youngest brother’s every word.

“After the Empire betrayed me, and that insufferable kid failed to leave me alone,” Hunter almost smiled at the hardly-concealed fondness with which he regarded Omega, “I realized that there wasn’t anything you did that I would have done differently.”

Hunter’s brow wrinkled at that. He was genuinely confused. All this time spent tearing apart every decision he had ever made since Kaller… and Crosshair wouldn’t have changed any of it?

“Because I finally understood.” Crosshair looked up at the sunset, which was streaked with deep reds and violets as the sun sunk lower and lower into the horizon. “I understood who the Empire truly was, and who the kid truly was. I understood why you did everything you did to keep her, and everyone else, safe from them. From me.”

Hunter couldn’t accept this. He started to shake his head. “Crosshair…”

“Not done.” Crosshair held up his hand to keep Hunter from speaking. “Tell me, Hunter. All this time spent wallowing in your own guilt, did you ever ask yourself what I would have told you to do if I knew I was going to try to kill you against my own will?”

Hunter blinked a few times at the sheer bluntness of his words. He eventually found his voice again. “Can’t say I ever thought about it like that.”

“Thought so.”

Crosshair stopped, but only for a heartbeat. Hunter’s chest tightened when he heard his younger brother’s voice waver.

“I almost killed you in that hangar.”

Hunter froze.

“When you were bringing Wrecker onto the ship, I had a clear headshot, and I would’ve made it if Omega hadn’t stepped in at just the right second.”

For a moment, Hunter couldn’t breathe.

This shouldn’t have been such a shock to him, though. After all, Crosshair had nearly killed all of them inside that ion engine on Bracca. But that was different, because at that point, they really were fugitives of the Empire. And it was all of them.

Chipped Crosshair had targeted, and nearly killed, him. Hunter. His squad’s sergeant. His brother.

He could have been dead before he even got to know, and love, Omega.

“What if that were you, Hunter?” Crosshair’s voice suddenly sounded parsecs away, despite the fact he was still sitting right beside him. “If you were being forced to kill us, would you have wanted us to stick around, or would you have wanted us to get out alive?”

Hunter shook his head slowly, and he didn’t stop. He kept opening and closing his mouth, intent on saying something, but every word he wanted to say died in his throat. He was imagining himself in Crosshair’s place, aiming a blaster in his youngest brother’s direction and flexing his finger on the trigger—and not being able to stop it.

The thought alone was enough to make Hunter nauseous.

But that couldn’t be it. Hunter had been ruminating on this for months, years, now. He couldn’t forgive himself that easily, and neither could Crosshair.

“Still.” Hunter watched himself fold his fingers together and squeeze them hard. “There had to have been another way.”

“There wasn’t.” Crosshair’s gaze was trying to find Hunter’s, but the sergeant didn’t have the faith yet to look up from his own hands. “You really think Tech would’ve let you make a choice that wasn’t the most ‘optimal’?”

The sound of their brother’s name alone drew a shuddering breath from Hunter’s lungs.

“You have to accept it and move on. Just like I did on Tantiss.”

Adapt and move on. Hunter knew whose words those were, because he remembered listening to Tech reassuring Omega with them mere months before he died.

Hunter was quickly losing control of this conversation. He had come here with the intention of comforting Crosshair, but instead, he could feel himself spiraling the way he so often did on board the Marauder when it was just him and Wrecker.

Because now, it was so much more than just Crosshair. They were crossing into dangerous territory, poking at the unhealed wound within Hunter’s chest. The infection was spreading, latching onto every one of Hunter’s nerve endings and making it harder and harder to breathe.

“There had to have been another way.” The words were spilling out of Hunter’s mouth too quickly for him to catch. “Because… because if there wasn’t, then that means we’d always lose you, and if we always lost you, then that would mean that we’d always lose…”

Crosshair may have been able to say his name, but Hunter couldn’t.

“Him.”

Uncomfortable silence sat between them for a few moments. Hunter was trying to listen to anything other than his own heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat, and without even realizing it, he started to grasp onto his brother’s. The sound of it, especially after so many months without it, comforted him more than he ever thought possible.

But the sound of Crosshair’s voice threatened to make that effort useless.

“Good thing that was never your fault.”

Hunter finally looked back up at Crosshair. He furrowed his brow, trying to search his younger brother’s gaze, but it was Crosshair’s turn to avoid Hunter’s stare. “What are you talking about? You weren’t even here when that happened.”

Crosshair hissed. “Exactly.” His eyes met Hunter’s, blazing with the same darkening lights as Pabu’s dusk sky. “You’re finally getting it.”

It only took a few seconds for Crosshair’s words to register. Once they did, Hunter’s eyes widened, and he shook his head vigorously. “Crosshair.” He secured a steady hand onto his brother’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault that your chip activated back then. I saw what the chips could do when Wrecker’s activated on Bracca. We were just talking about this. You couldn’t have controlled it.”

Crosshair scoffed. “The chip can only excuse so much. Or are you going to start making excuses for me saying no to your offer to return to the squad?”

Hunter gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t blame you for saying no, because we’d already left you behind once.”

“And I’m the one who made you do it a second time! Don’t you get it, Hunter?” Crosshair was practically sneering, now, but Hunter could see the tears that had started brimming his waterline, as hard as the sniper was trying to fight them back. “I’m the one who left you behind, and Tech died because of that.”

Hunter cursed to himself. “No, Crosshair. Tech died because we didn’t listen to your warning, just like you said on Barton IV. You did everything you could.”

“After I had already failed by getting myself trapped there in the first place!” Crosshair grabbed Hunter’s wrist and threw his hand away from his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have needed to attempt a rescue mission if there wasn’t anyone to rescue!”

“We wouldn’t have needed to rescue you then if we had done it months before!”

“You tried to, and I said no!”

“Then we shouldn’t have even left you the first time!”

Crosshair suddenly rose and practically threw himself off the boulder, hitting the sand beside it and throwing his arms up in the air. “Kriff, Hunter! Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?”

Hunter parted his lips to speak, ready to rip out his retort, but Crosshair’s hands slamming down against the boulder silenced him—as did the practical scream his younger brother let out.

“Tech is dead!”

The harsh and horribly true words were enough to startle both of them into silence. Crosshair was panting from his outburst, and Hunter was still breathing heavily from his own. The two of them stared each other down, now more shocked than anything else, until Crosshair continued.

“The reality is, whether you want to believe it or not, Tech died because he was trying to rescue me. He took that risk because of me. Blame the Empire, blame that extremist, blame whoever the hell you want, but the truth is that Tech died because of me.” Crosshair tightened one of his hands into a fist and hit it against the rock. “Not you.”

Hunter wanted to say something, but he had no idea what he would, or could, say. Crosshair would have cut him off again, anyway.

“His blood isn’t on your hands. It never has been. It’s on mine.”

The tears were back in Crosshair’s eyes, this time wobbling along his waterline the same way his lips were. It was because of that that the sniper’s next words were a mere whisper Hunter might not have even caught if he didn’t have enhanced hearing.

“And I never even got to say goodbye.”

That’s when Crosshair collapsed behind the boulder.

Hunter was back on the sandy ground in an instant. He ran over to Crosshair’s side, seeing his brother keeled over on the sand. He had fallen onto all fours, and Hunter could both hear and see the way his body was fighting the sobs that threatened to wrack through his entire weakened body.

The sergeant fell onto his knees beside his brother. He set a hand on his back and another on his hand. Hunter ignored the way his own vision was blurring as he spoke in the softest tone he could manage. “Cross…”

“He’s dead, Hunter.” Crosshair looked over at Hunter with reddening eyes. “Our brother is gone.”

Hunter could count on one hand the amount of times he’d actually seen Crosshair cry before. There had been plenty of tough times both on Kamino as cadets and during the war, but Crosshair preferred to process things in his lonesome. It was only when things got very, very bad that he ever went to Hunter for comfort, and allowed his older brother to see him so vulnerable.

This was becoming one of those rare times, and it was possibly the worst Hunter had ever seen. For that reason and many more, mostly to do with the love he had never lost for his youngest brother, Hunter eased Crosshair into his arms.

And he relented.

Crosshair’s arms wrapped around Hunter’s waist and held him tight enough for Hunter to feel the way he was trembling. Hunter held on just as tightly to his younger brother, because if he was being honest, he needed this just as badly. He needed to hold on to a brother he could get back, a brother he had missed for so long that Hunter wasn’t sure that hole in his heart would ever be fixed.

Now, there was a new hole there, and it wasn’t going to be filled ever again. That wound was going to sit there for the rest of Hunter’s days, and as much as Crosshair wanted to take the blame for it, Hunter wouldn’t let him.

But that didn’t mean it would hurt any less.

So, as Crosshair buried his tears into Hunter’s shoulder, he buried his own into Crosshair’s head, letting his younger brother see just how raw his own wound still was.

This moment was different from that which they shared on Barton IV, even if it was so achingly similar. They weren’t sitting in their own respective spaces anymore; they were quite literally leaning on one another, grieving. And although it was the devastation of Tech’s loss that got them to this point, that wasn’t all they were grieving.

Hunter knew they were both grieving the time they had lost with one another, and the truth that there wasn’t anything they could have done differently to prevent it.

Time was precious for them. Their rapid aging would steal quite literally half a lifetime away from them. That meant it wasn’t just a single year or so they had lost together, but years. And for Crosshair… those were the last years of Tech’s life he hadn’t gotten to be there for.

Just when Hunter thought his heart couldn’t bear any more than it already had, he fell upon that realization.

Hunter recalled those days on Kamino before they had even seen the rest of the galaxy for themselves, when he would hold his younger brothers or simply be in their space, strengthening himself for them to get them through the tortures of cadethood—the constant teasing, exhaustion, and the cruelty of experimentation. There were so many times Hunter himself felt as if he was on the brink of collapse after being tested, but he set his own weariness aside to be strong for his brothers.

And here, Hunter was doing it again. He collected himself and lifted his head from Crosshair’s, steadying his corrupted lungs with a breath to make his voice more stable as he spoke in a gentle voice—the same tone he used to use all those years ago in their barracks on Kamino.

“I’m sorry, Cross. It may not be my fault, or your fault, or anyone’s except the Empire’s, but I’m still sorry about what you’ve had to go through, and that we couldn’t and didn’t do anything to stop it.”

Hunter squeezed his eyes closed and forced himself to go on.

“And I’m sorry you weren’t here to say goodbye to him. You might not believe me, but it wasn’t your fault. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, not in the slightest, and neither did you.”

Crosshair sat up at that. Hunter let him go, though he kept a hand on Crosshair’s shoulder. The sniper harshly wiped his eyes with his sleeve and averted Hunter’s gaze. “Maybe he didn’t, but… I did.” He looked down at his right hand, which had started shaking again.

Hunter reached his free hand out and set it over Crosshair’s to steady his. “No, you didn’t. It was the chip’s fault, and the Empire’s.”

“Not always, Hunter.” Crosshair was frowning as he looked out upon Pabu’s twilight. “I still made mistakes after the chip.”

Hunter refused to look away from his younger brother, and he kept his voice just as soft as it was before. “That doesn’t mean you deserved everything that happened to you.”

Crosshair huffed and cut his gaze at Hunter. “Let’s agree to disagree on that.”

Hunter raised his brow and let out a huff of his own. He lowered his hands from Crosshair and kept them in his lap, finally facing the twilight sky as he sat beside his youngest brother.

Now, it really was like Barton IV all over again, sitting peacefully in each other’s space and letting the sight of the galaxy around them soothe them. Surprisingly, though, Crosshair was fairly quick to break their silence again.

“You want to know why else I thought of you when I was alone, Hunter?”

Hunter gave his brother a curious look. Crosshair returned it before he looked down in shyness.

“Because I knew that you would’ve known exactly what to say and what to do, and I missed that.” Crosshair took a breath and closed his eyes. “I missed you.”

The corners of Hunter’s mouth began to rise in a small smile as he gently nudged Crosshair’s shoulder with his own. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Crosshair’s eyes flew open as he frowned at Hunter. “If you ever tell anyone I said that…”

Hunter laughed and nudged his brother again. “Your secret’s safe with me.” Hunter bobbed his head a few times. “For now.”

Crosshair grabbed the collar of Hunter’s tunic, but the sergeant could see the amused twinkle in the sniper’s eyes. “Don’t think I won’t kill you for that.”

Hunter was still laughing as he wrapped his hands around Crosshair’s wrist and shoved him away. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

Once they both calmed down from their brotherly bickering, Hunter let himself grow serious one more time. He set a steady hand on Crosshair’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze to earn his brother’s attention.

“Crosshair?”

The sniper looked up, returning his stare. Hunter nodded and moved his hand to the back of Crosshair’s neck.

“I missed you, too.” He leaned his forehead against his brother’s in a gesture they so rarely used. “We all did.”

Crosshair closed his eyes, and that was all Hunter needed to see to know just how much his words and actions truly meant to his youngest brother.

After a few more heartbeats of peaceful silence, the two brothers drew away from one another. Hunter let out a soft sigh and gestured with his head back towards the Marauder’s dock.

“C’mon. The kid’s probably worried sick about both of us, now.”

Crosshair pretended to scowl as he accepted Hunter’s help in getting off the ground. “She better not be. She gets even more insufferable when she’s worried.”

Hunter huffed and raised his brow at his brother. “And who do you think she learned that from?”

Crosshair hummed and cut his gaze at his brother, failing to hide the small smirk that started spreading on his lips. “Probably the same person who bothered to find me here.”

Hunter nudged his shoulder against Crosshair’s, and his brother returned the gesture. For the first time in too long, it was all lighthearted and playful, despite the heavy truths that had spilled out of both of them under Pabu’s lowering sun.

Like Hunter had acknowledged, things would never be perfect, but they were on their way there. They were both broken, but they were picking up the pieces together now, because there was one thing no one, not even the Empire, could ever take from them: their brotherhood.

[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

[silver-inked-quill]

I didn’t see them, but would you be up to doing morgenthorn? (Ash/Dru) from tda ^^

Pair: Drusila Blackthorn x Ash Morgenstern (platonic) Word count: Almost 900 Summary: Ash and Dru moment

masterlist

Drusilla Blackthorn leaned against the edge of the balcony, her eyes watching the dark horizon, where the faint glimmer of distant lights flickered in the night. The air was thick with the scent of rain, and the quiet hum of the Institute’s ancient stones beneath her feet was oddly comforting.

Ash Morgenstern stood nearby, his posture rigid, as always. His hands were clasped behind his back, his jaw set in that familiar, brooding way. Drusilla couldn’t help but wonder how someone so seemingly cold could have such a fire burning inside. He was a Morgenstern, after all—a name stained with history. A name that carried with it a legacy of darkness and betrayal.

And yet, there was something about Ash that was different, something that made him stand apart from the rest of his family.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” she asked, her voice soft yet challenging. She didn’t look at him, but she felt his gaze, as sharp as a blade, lingering on her. She could almost hear his thoughts: The Blackthorn girl, always looking for a reason to fight. But Drusilla wasn’t here to pick a fight tonight. She was just… waiting.

Ash’s voice broke the silence. “It’s a nice view. You don’t appreciate it enough when you live here.”

Drusilla raised an eyebrow, finally turning to face him. He looked almost... hesitant. Was it possible? No. Ash Morgenstern was never hesitant. Not in the way she was.

“Does that mean you plan to stick around long enough to enjoy it?” she asked, her words light, but there was a challenge in her tone. Ash was always difficult to read. The typical Morgenstern mask hid so much beneath its cold surface.

Ash didn’t answer at first. His eyes, dark like the night sky, studied her with an intensity that made her uneasy in an unfamiliar way. He was trying to figure her out, just as she had tried to figure him out for the past several months.

“I’m not planning anything,” he finally said. “I never do.”

She considered his words carefully. Drusilla had learned that Ash never said anything he didn’t mean. His bluntness was a sort of armor, a wall between him and the world. Still, she knew enough about him to know that it wasn’t that simple. No one was as cold and distant as he made himself out to be.

“Then why are you here?” Drusilla asked, her tone softer now. “What’s the point of all of this if you never know what comes next?”

His lips twisted into something that might have been the faintest trace of a smile, but it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“To survive,” he said. “Sometimes that’s all there is.”

Her heart twinged with a strange sense of understanding. It was a sentiment she knew all too well. The Blackthorn name came with its own burdens, and surviving in a world full of enemies, both Shadowhunter and otherwise, often felt like the only thing that mattered. She’d spent so many years pretending to be indifferent to the world around her, hiding behind walls of her own making, just like Ash.

“You’re not really as indifferent as you like to pretend,” she said, more to herself than to him. But of course, Ash heard it. He always heard everything.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “And you are?”

Drusilla smiled, but it was a smile of understanding, not mockery. “No. But I try to be.”

There was a long silence, both of them standing at the edge of the balcony, looking out over the Institute. It felt strangely comfortable, the quiet that had settled between them. For once, there was no pretense, no games. Just two people standing in the same space, carrying the weight of their histories, yet choosing to share this small moment of stillness.

“You’re different from the others,” Drusilla said, after a long pause. Her voice was quieter this time, almost reflective. “Most people are afraid of me.”

Ash turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable. “Are you afraid of me?”

Drusilla met his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, she saw something flicker in his—the same flicker she had caught in his eyes on rare occasions. It was an emotion he rarely allowed to surface: vulnerability.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I’m not sure I understand you.”

Ash’s lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. “No one does. Not even me.”

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. There it was again—that strange kinship between them. Two people whose lives had been shaped by forces beyond their control, two souls who had been taught to hide what they felt. Yet, in this moment, standing side by side under the weight of their shared silence, Drusilla felt a connection she hadn’t expected.

“I don’t think we need to understand each other,” she said, her voice steady now. “We just need to survive.”

Ash turned toward her fully now, his dark eyes locking onto hers, and for the first time, Drusilla saw something like respect in his gaze. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “But it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

They stood there for a while longer, side by side, with only the sound of the wind to fill the space between them. It wasn’t a friendship, not really. But it was something. Something more than just surviving. Something that could, one day, grow into something else.

As the rain began to fall, soft and steady, Drusilla turned back to the horizon. Ash, without a word, followed suit.

For now, that was enough.

hey there,

i know it has been a month, I'm alive and back at it :)

Academic stress got me a bit hard, soo i hope you like it, i always appreciate your feedback and your opinion whatever you have to say, good or bad as long as you are polite.

Take care of yourselves,

yours Silvermist

[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.”