#this aching hole in his knowledge about himself

[un-pearable]

krypton is a gaping hole in kal-el.

clark kent is, according to his driver’s license and his about me blurb that prints increasingly smaller on his corner of the new dailyplanet.com, a classic sweetheart from western kansas with a bachelors in journalism and a one bedroom half bath three streets and a bus ride away from the daily planet in the heart of downtown metropolis. clark kent is celebrating his recent win - getting the printer to work without the hinge suffering a sheer fracture - with an extra sugar packet in his second cup of joe for the day and humoring his next desk neighbor’s heckling over it.

kal-el — superman — is the man receiving the mayor’s accolades with the world and the laser focused glare of the police chief weighing on his shoulders. according to, kal-el is,

clark kent is the well-meaning dork who never quite grew into his size and was bullied in high school, when asked he recounts being too sickly to join the football team and too unpopular to get over it. clark kent arrives early and works late to work off his four and a half years of student loan debt. clark kent has childhood friends, and an ex-girlfriend, and a budding romance with the abrasive, dyslexic, isn’t-she-just-lovely lois lane at the desk next to him who’s recently recruited him as her partner-in-foiling-crime.

superman — kal-el — has a baby blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a hunk of metal in a barn a couple thousand miles away, and a name with syllables even his mother can’t pronounce. a logo on his chest that he does not know and a dedication to love and truth and saving that is deeply, entirely human.

krypton is an aching absence in kal-el. krypton is the word he carries in his mind for when he fumbles his keys and almost breaks the doorknob, for when he hunches and smears his glasses. krypton is the lack of an explanation. krypton is, simply put, not. krypton is to kal-el not what kansas is to clark kent. kansas excuses the overfriendliness and the impromptu vacation days “to care for his ailing mother” and the handiness with a tractor. krypton is the torch they carry alongside their pitchforks when the bludgeoning begins. krypton is the response when the tragedy is unpreventable, when the wariness pitches into fear.

krypton is the world he holds in his heart when he can’t help but wonder. krypton is the sword his enemies hold over his head — a condemnation, a promise, a hope — and lord over him. the world is trapped in memories not his own, preserved in the perverted motives of those who would trade lives for tradition.

krypton is, later, eventually, a bridge. kal-el, an ambassador from a culture he’s borrowed to the one he was fated. clark kent, a haven. krypton is a girl in a spaceship of her own, fleeing from a krypton that was.

[chigirisprincess]

Monstrous Oddities ࿐

— Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Lyney.

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn!afab!reader, monster fucking, diphallia (multiple cocks), dragon dicks, double penetration, marking (Neuvi), knotting, doggy style, semi public sex, daddy/sir kink (Wrio), barbed penis, overstimulation, phone sex, pussy whipped Lyney, creampies, unprotected sex, animalistic urges, dragon!neuvi, dogboy!wrio, catboy!lyney general dick headcanons. ⊹ Run time. 1.2k ⊹ Note. This came to me at 2am after reading some other headcanons I previously wrote. Enjoy <3

Dick Headcanons —

꧁ Neuvillette - Two is better than one ꧂

Specifications: 12”, scaled and slightly ribbed, thin tapered heads that’s perfect for kissing your cervix, and full, heavy balls twitch when you suck on them.

❥ Most presumed that aside from his pointed ears and penchant for plain water, that Monsieur Neuvillette was more human than dragon— they’d be incorrect of course but that’s knowledge only you get to relish in. ❥ Beneath his perfectly tailored slacks lay not one but two cocks. The peculiarities don’t end there, however, his cocks are slightly ribbed and scaly in a way that resembles a fish's scales. His cocks are tinged blue near his pelvis but the colouration is lost amongst the neatly trimmed puff of his pearly white pubes that trails up his abdomen. ❥ In spite of his years, Neuvillette is still rather unaccustomed to human convention. It took seeing your shocked expression to realize that most weren’t as well endowed as he was, nor were they likely to have two girthy cocks. So, it takes him a bit to learn how your body reacts to him and just how much you’re able to take. He’s willing to learn, he’s nothing if not dutiful and gentle. ❥ He learns that to take one of his cocks he’ll need to work you open with a couple of his thick fingers first. That is, of course, after he’s warmed you up with his forked, serpentine tongue that nearly engulfs the whole of your aching cunt. And that you’re sure to squirt if grinds his second cock into your throbbing clit as he fucks you. Since taking even one of his cocks is a challenge, more often than not, Neuvillette uses his second cock to stimulate your clit while his mouth is busy sucking and licking the tender skin of your neck and chest. He can’t help it, the need to leave you covered in signs of him is far too strong, that’s why he cums in and on your pussy. ❥ Once you’ve gotten used to the stretch, can take it with ease, and are feeling a little adventurous, Neuvillette doesn’t waste the chance to split you open on both of his cocks. Seeing you so full of him stirs something primal within him. It’s a feeling he doesn’t often allow himself to indulge him but it claws its way out of his chest with you. The urge to remind you that you’re his, and only his gets muddled between kisses to your tear stained cheeks. You’re his perfect pet, you take him so well, and he’ll be sure to remind you.

꧁ Wriothesley - The duke is a dog ꧂

Specifications: 8”, rosy, round bulbous head, girthy, with a thick knot nestled amongst a thatch of unruly, dark curls that drives him wild when you tug on them.

❥ Wriothesley’s sharp canines aren’t the only wolfish things about him. Below his belt resides a truly monstrous cock. You think it’s rather titillating, your mouth waters just at the sight of his fat knot but Wrio was rather weary, he knew it was a bit peculiar and didn’t want to scare you away. Those worries didn’t last too long. ❥ Jerking off was always a bit tiresome for Wrio. His knot ached to inflate inside of a warm, wet hole so his calloused, spit slick hands never satisfied that need. The first time he fucked you, he nearly came after pushing the tip in. Wrio was so sensitive, he hadn’t cum properly in far too long. He nearly tore your silk sheets from how tightly he gripped them as he willed himself to sink his cock a little deeper into your pussy. He wasn’t much a believer in Celestia but he felt like he ascended that first time … and every time after that. ❥ He didn’t knot you until you’d been together for two years. Though you swore you could take, that you wanted to take it, Wrio always worried he’d lose control. It wasn’t a feeling he liked. Wriothesley liked feeling in control, he liked how you willingly submitted to him, hushed cries of “daddy” or “sir” never far from your lips, adoration pooling within the depths of your eyes. But, he was grateful he loosened the reins. ❥ One stress filled evening snowballed into you splayed across his desk at the fortress, your puffy, aching cunt slick and throbbing with need for him on display. You were so wet, moaning so loudly for him, it was almost too easy for him to slip his knot into your weeping hole. Your wanton whimpers were forever burned into his memory as it began to swell inside of you, his rough skinned hands roaming all over your body as his teeth dug into the flesh of your shoulder. Your eyes glazed over and a shudder wracked through your body as he filled your cunt with his seed. He knew then that he spent far too long depriving himself and you. ❥ Wriothesley was gone after that, he just couldn’t go on knowing how sweet you sounded as you squealed and begged for him while filled with his knot and cum. Maybe he was greedy but you loved being his cockdrunk pup. So, it was a win-win.

꧁ Lyney  - He has more tricks up his sleeves ꧂

Specifications: 5”, veiny, sensitive head, equally sensitive barbs, kissable hip bones, and a leaky tip that’s just begging for your kisses.

❥ While his sister Lynette possessed most of the outward cat-like traits that was carried down their lineage, most of Lyney’s feline genetics poked through in his personality and behaviour, except for his cock. His pretty, blush pink cock was barbed near the base. He once read that they were meant to aid mating but he found that they made his cock far too sensitive to touch. He could only bear to lightly graze the tips of his fingers over his shaft most days. More often than not, Lyney came untouched, blowing his load in his underwear from the friction of the fabric alone. ❥ The first time you sucked his cocked, he cried from how good it felt, pushing your head down until you gagged. He didn’t even realise he was doing it, far too blissed out to notice until afterward (to which he spent the next five minutes fawning over you and apologising). Now, Lyney didn’t fancy himself a hedonist but he quickly became addicted to the way you laved your tongue over his barbs, and grazed your teeth over the sensitive flesh. ❥ Lyney became overstimulated every time the two of you fucked. Though, that didn’t stop him from pushing himself past the point of sanity so that you’d cum on his cock. He felt selfish otherwise, and he found nothing more satisfying than bringing you to completion whether it be with his fingers, mouth, cock, or one of the many toys the two of you seemed to amass. So, even if he was on the brink of blacking out from the pleasure, his cock pink and raw, he was going to fuck you were just as far gone as he was. Even if it took hours. ❥ Sometimes he found himself getting hard just thinking about you. The mind was a fickle thing, it too often loved to play tricks. Like making Lyney’s innocent thoughts trickle into passion filled memories that left him aching and needy for you. He’d call you far too late into the night just to hear your voice as ground his palm against the weepy tip of cock, musing how much he missed the feel of your skin against his. He may have been cumbrained and addicted to your sweet cunt, but he was still a romantic.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[crescenthistory]

heyyyy I’m just so in love with how you write Barty so I wanted to do two request if that’s okay! B6 and D8 (if it is with the series you already making even better!) and I love your writing I so much🤍🤍

hi lovie, thank you for your support<3 i've already written for both of these prompts, so i kinda reworked this, but kept the general vibe of sleepiness and fluff and the dynamic

Words: 2k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, remus pov near the full moon so joint aches and lots of anxiety, breaking curfew, I Need Everyone Near Where I Can Protect Them mindset, some minor suggestive quips, background wolfstar, just fluff really

Note: part of the grumpy!reader universe, set after the reveal to friends in and what about it?, but can be read as a stand alone drabble<3

The nearer the full moon crept, the deeper Remus’ protectiveness seemed to root itself into his heart, spreading out into his bloodstream. A wolfish instinct, if you could call it that, to keep his pack close. If his friends were out of his line of sight or, even worse, out of reach for his smell, anxiety burst through Remus’ body until he was left jittery and dizzy. 

That left him in the Gryffindor common room, a good 20 minutes after curfew on a Thursday evening, leg bouncing restlessly as he watched the portrait hole with hollow eyes. 

Sirius beside him had a hand on his knee, originally intended to quell its tremor, and once he realised that would not happen, it remained there as a support. The black haired boy seemed largely unbothered by everything, but the tension in his body betrayed him – though Remus was growing suspicious he was worried about something entirely different than he was. Namely, about him.

Across from them, James was draped over a grandfather chair, head repeatedly falling as he nodded off before he jerked himself back awake.

“How much longer are we going to stay here, Moons?” he managed to get out in between yawns, already worn out from quidditch practice earlier.

“Until our friend is safe in bed.” Remus squared his shoulders haughtily, leaving no room for argument. Then, “Where is she?” he muttered to himself, so quietly Sirius only barely caught it and had to fight back his sympathetic coo.

“Y/N is fine, baby,” he whispered, the hand on his knee shaking it slightly. “It’s not the first time she’s staying out late. Hells, we do it all the time, too!”

And Remus knew that. Of course he knew that. Every other time of the month, that knowledge would have allowed him to shake his head fondly at your antics, heading off to bed excited to hear about your adventures tomorrow.

Alas; this was not any other time of the month.

“I should go find her,” Remus thought out loud, groaning as he got up from his seat too quickly and his joints gave various sounds of complaint.

“Moony, there is no need–” Sirius started before cutting himself off, apparently thinking better. “My love, if there is anyone who can navigate Hogwarts after dark, it is that minx. The shadows would be scared off by her glare alone. And she won’t appreciate your interruption of whatever she is off doing now.”

“Or who,” James whispered through his sleepiness, horror seeping into his voice.

Sirius’ groan at the thought mirrored him. “Merlin’s beard, yeah, she’s probably off with Junior.”

“I don’t think I will ever get used to hearing that.” James righted himself slightly in his chair, dragging his hands up and down his face, failing at ridding it of sleep.

Remus, still standing, turned his hands outward in a dejected position. His friends’ derailing seemed to be of little notice to him. “But we don’t know. I need to know.”

“Rem,” Sirius whispered in that unbearably soft voice Remus thought himself the luckiest boy in the world to have directed at him. He got up from his seat, hands settling on Remus’ waist, both for comfort and for steading him, he suspected. “She is alright. She always is. And, whether I quite like it or not, if she is with Junior, she is double-y safe. If nothing else, that maniac is protective.”

Remus nodded, allowing himself some comfort as he gazed into Sirius’ silver eyes. “Yeah, she is, I know she is.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at Sirius’ lips. “But?”

“But I’m going to go get her.” Remus’ heart clenched a little in humiliation at how deep the wolf’s streak ran in him in these days, but he also would not let any discomfort get in the way of having his whole pack at home in their nests, where they belong. You can continue your adventures tomorrow.

“Yeah, I know you are,” Sirius relented, pulling Remus into a quick, squeezing hug to ground him. “I’ll go get the map and the cloak and we’ll go.”

Before Sirius could finish his sentence, Remus had accio’d both into his hands.

“No, that’s alright, I’ll go myself.” When Sirius looked like he was about to argue, Remus waved his wand a little in his face as if to say down boy. “As Head Boy, I can get away easier with being out past curfew – you on the other hand, would be shackled up in Flich’s basement before you could get a word out.”

“I have been out past curfew without being caught before, Moons,” Sirius guffawed in true Sirius-offence. 

“Not when picking up one of your best friends from nighttime adventures with one of your least favourite people.” Despite his anxiety and tire, Remus shot Sirius a wink and a small grin that told him I know you, Pads.

Sirius sat back down on the sofa with a huff, crossing his arms petulantly. “Be quick, or I’ll be the grumbly wolf.”

Remus bent down – biting back a small groan as his hip objected – and pressed a wet smooch to Sirius’ forehead and ruffled his hair. “You already are, love.”

When Remus walked towards the portrait hole, map and cloak in hand, he passed a snoring James with his mouth agape. He had a creeping sensation that by the time he came back, Sirius would have woken the poor boy by poking his finger into his mouth.

Cloak around him for extra measure, Remus silently slid down the halls of Hogwarts, fumbling the map open to find you. Just as suspected, a small Y/N L/N was in the astronomy tower with a certain Bartemius Crouch Junior, foot steps almost on top of each other.

He almost cursed his friend for choosing her romantic get-away spot at the top of such an awful amount of stairs before he remembered the spell you had crafted for him with Madam Pomfrey just a few weeks back. You had dedicated your free time to inventing solutions for Remus’ different aches – “what’s the point of magic if not to make your life easier, Moons?” – and while this one was still a work in progress, it allowed the field of gravity around his legs to be lifted enough to take some of the pressure off his poor joints. It worked way better than the countless amounts of times James and Sirius had tried to wingardium leviosa him to class.

As he neared the door that your names were sheltered behind on the map, Remus’ nose was appeased as your familiar scent once more flooded him. Barty’s too, for that matter, and though that was a less welcoming one, Remus had come to find he didn’t much mind it either. 

However, he did not hear voices, which puzzled him. Nor any other sounds that perhaps would have had him turning around.

With a careful hand, Remus opened the creaking door to the very top of the astronomy tower, peaking his tawny curls through the opening and trying to behave as a normal concerned friend and not an anxious, possessive wolf.

“Lupin; to what do we owe the displeasure?”

The voice had all of its usual crass wittiness, but an eight of its usual volume. In the wide windowsill across from Remus, the one that had a view of most of Hogwarts’ grounds, sat Barty propped up with a few pillows and you, sleeping soundly on his chest. 

One arm was held protectively around you, his free hand carding gently through your hair. Your face was slightly smushed against his chest, breathing soft and steady.

Remus doubted he had ever seen you look so serene. It almost made him feel bad for interrupting. Almost.

“Good evening to you too, Junior,” he whispered, as he slowly made his way through the room and over to your sleeping form. He swore he could see Barty tighten his grip on you.

“Should a Head Boy be breaking curfew like this? What would good old Albus say?” 

“Well, when a member of his house doesn’t come home at night, I believe it is a Head Boy’s duty to come fetch them.” Remus tried to seem unbothered, not wanting Barty to know just how anxious he gets when his friends are apart. “Albus would certainly approve.”

Barty hummed, looking from him and down at you. The soft smile that played over his lips did not escape Remus. “I would argue she is home.” Barty’s voice was teasing, but it felt quite real for Remus.

“Is that where your relationship is at now?” There was no teasing in Remus’ voice, just soft curiosity. Support, even, though he could never tell Sirius that.

Barty’s eyes flickered up from you again, facing becoming a bit more stoney as he realised his own sleepiness was making him a tad more soft than he wanted to be in front of the Gryffindor.

“Whatever. Well, as you can see, she’s safe. So you can sod off again.”

“She should come back to the dormitories, Junior. I’m sure she wasn’t planning on spending the night sleeping in a stony windowsill, that can’t possibly be comfortable at length.” 

“Firstly, she is mostly sleeping on top of me right now and I’ll have you know I am super comfortable,” Barty quipped, eyeing Remus. “Secondly,–” a breath “– no, she wasn’t planning on sleeping here, but she did fall asleep. So.”

Remus nodded slowly as he read between the lines, trying to fight his small smile at Barty’s expense – he was sure he would not have appreciated it. “You don’t have the heart to wake her.”

Barty scoffed, but his eyes betrayed him. He was caught. “I don’t have a heart period, Lupin.”

“But?” Remus asked, amusement lining his voice in a way he realised mirrored how Sirius spoke to him earlier. Knowingly, affectionately. 

“But look at her, Lupin. I can’t wake her.” While speaking, Barty seemed to gesture towards your sleeping form with the nod of his jaw, refusing to move his hands from where they were drawing circles on your back and playing with your hair.

Remus hummed in agreement, smile officially bursting free of his hold.

“Oh, sodder off,” Barty grumbled as he saw Remus’ expression, but there seemed to be little to no malice in his voice.

“Sorry, sorry,” Remus laughed softly, careful not to wake you with their conversation. “Just… this was not what I expected to happen three years ago when James confessed his feelings for Regulus to me.”

Barty seemed to scowl at the thought of his best friend and his Gryffindor. “They’re disgusting.”

“Yeah,” Remus said fondly. “And so are you two. Ain’t it great?” 

Barty grumbled, hand in your hair stilling to hold the back of your head. “I’m still not waking her up for you.”

“No need. If you’re careful with shifting her, you could carry her back to the dorms with me.”

“You want me to carry her all the way to Gryffindor?” Barty asked incredulously, looking at Remus as if he was stupid. “I appreciate you noticing my spectacular biceps, but that’s just not happening.”

Remus’ eyes twinkled. “Actually, I’ve got just the spell to make it easier for you.”

And so, Barty carefully shuffled you in his arms while Remus had his wand aimed at the both of you, helping ease the gravity off your form so that it would both be easier for Barty to carry you and for you to continue sleeping.

When you were bridal style in his arms, you shifted a little, burying your face further into his neck. “Sorry, Treasure,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline.

“Fuck off, Junior, let me sleep,” you whined, growing comfortable and tired once more. Remus had to fight not to laugh loudly.

“It’s not my fault, the cops showed up to end our fun.” Barty looked at Remus conspiratorially, who only rolled his eyes in return, as he led the way back to Gryffindor. 

“Stop saying stupid things and let me sleep, baby.” Your voice was already drifting off once more and Barty grinned widely at your slurred words.

“Yes, ma’am.”

It amazed Remus how much this boy loved being insulted by you. Your perfect match, evidently.

As you drifted back to sleep, and the closer your little trio got to the common room where his partner and best friend were waiting, the more Remus’ nerves seemed to settle. Everyone is where they should be.

[blackdollette]

"roses in between my thighs." | spencer reid

honeymoon. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: your body was a temple, which could explain why spencer was on his knees...

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden @emma-e-a @bellasprettywords

⊹₊⋆ pairing: female!reader x spencer

⊹₊⋆ word count: 684

⊹₊⋆ contents: smut, cunnilingus, spencer cumming his pants while he gives you head (yum!)

you had him in this position for hours, pathetically on his knees with his head buried deep in between your thighs, but it didn't seem like he was going to grow tired anytime soon.

your legs were spread with him sitting on the floor between them, his tongue lapping hungry licks up and down your sticky slit. he let out soft whimpers as you tugged on his hair, signalling for him to continue his hypnotic motions.

he moved against the mattress a little, desperate for even the slightest amount of friction against his clothed, aching cock. without a doubt, he would've been touching himself by now if both his hands weren't occupied, kneading your plush flesh as he feasted on the honey between your legs.

little praises would spill from your lips from time to time, granting him the approval that he hadn't even known he had been thirsting for. "y-yeah... just like that, spence... so good.." your words gave him the slightest boost of confidence, leading him to slip two fingers into your wet folds, the slick sound that emitted from your walls summoning a low groan from his sodden lips.

he'd whisper little things in between desperate licks. "you taste so good..." he'd say as he moved his hips into the mattress, whimpering softly as he provided minimal pleasure to his rock-hard bulge.

just the thought of him being able to touch you this way would be enough to send him off the edge, so being granted the privilege of having his face stuffed into your thighs was an experience that no words could describe.

the audible squelches and squirts that your cunt let out sent blood rushing through your veins, along with his simultaneously. he lapped up all your liquids, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a pace that was quickening up rapidly. you pulled his hair as your moans started to become more frequent.

spencer felt his body burn up as the image of you cumming all over his face flickered in his mind. he so badly wanted to be drenched in your liquids. frankly, this whole experience was such torturous bliss for him, for there was now an unmistakable sticky, white puddle smearing across the crotch of his pants.

you rolled your hips slightly into spencer's touch as you felt yourself nearing an overwhelming climax. your clit began to pulsate as you felt blood rushing through your body. spencer lived for the feeling of being used for you, of being nothing more than your sex toy. "...c'mon, baby... use me..." he pleaded into your pussy, strings of spit and cum connecting his lips to yours.

there was a knot rapidly forming in your stomach, growing bigger as each second passed. spencer, using his extensive knowledge of the female body, sensed your orgasm growing near from a mile away and couldn't help but lose himself in your soft, warm body, drinking up every drop of liquid that you produced. he curled his fingers inside of you, beginning to abuse the squishy sweet spot deep in your core.

he felt his restrained cock starting to throb as the sweet sound of your moans filled the room. his fingers reached the perfect spot inside of you, making the knot snap.

you cried out as your orgasm tore through you like a raging flood, spencer stuck his tongue into your hole to get every drop of cum that came out of you. at the same time, spencer's body grew unbearably hot, and before he knew it, he found himself about to cum as well, completely untouched.

he moaned into your pussy as cum leaked out his cock, ruining his already stained pants. the vibrations that came out of his mouth only intensified your orgasm. his head was getting crushed by your thighs like there was no tomorrow. at this moment, he couldn't be happier. for all he cared, this was paradise.

his body trembled as he felt the tension in his pants loosening just a little, his cock finally softening after countless hours of torture. you pulled his head away from your cunt, panting heavily as you sat up to look at him, a few renegade beads of sweat trickling down your forehead. your half-lidded eyes, glistening complexion, and glossed-over, parted lips were all it took to summon yet another erection. great.

you looked down and saw the large wet stain on his pants. you couldn't believe it. you didn't think it would take so little to make his body react in such a way. you had barely even laid a finger on him. "had an accident, spence..?" you laughed, and he just rolled his eyes with a shit-eating grin plastered across his dripping face.

author's note: recycling my old fics??? scandalous!

[silverskye13]

Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

[thedensworld]

Sweet Truth | C.Sc

Pairing: gangster!Seungcheol x reader (ft. detective!Mingyu)

Genre: angst, fluff, action

Summary: The relationship become unstable and lot of things happened. It's time for truth to be revealed

Read Sweets Macaroons for the reference.

Seungcheol's head spun with dizziness as he tried to process the sudden turn of events. The revelation that one of his trusted people was actually a cop, spying on his every move, sent shockwaves through his organization. Now, they were forced to retreat and hide in a secretive location, while the authorities scoured Seoul in search of him.

Amidst the chaos and danger, Seungcheol's thoughts were torn. On one hand, he had to ensure the safety of his people, protect his organization from crumbling under the weight of betrayal. On the other hand, tonight was his anniversary with his girlfriend, you. He had promised to be there, to celebrate your love together.

But as the pressure mounted and the stakes grew higher, he realized that fulfilling both promises seemed impossible. His heart ached with the weight of responsibility, torn between loyalty to his people and love for you. He wanted nothing more than to be by your side, to hold you close and forget about the dangers lurking in the shadows. Yet, the reality of their situation loomed large, forcing him to make difficult decisions.

Seungcheol found himself holed up in their secret sanctuary with Jeonghan and a handful of trusted allies, their presence providing a thin veil of security in the midst of uncertainty. With only a burner phone in hand, he refrained from reaching out to you, knowing the danger it could pose if the authorities traced any connection between you and him. His heart weighed heavy with concern for your safety, yet he couldn't risk putting you in harm's way.

He trusted Jun to check on you, knowing that you would likely still be at your bakery, preparing to close for the night. Jun, once a trusted member of your staff, had been tasked with a different mission—keeping you safe without your knowledge. After you discovered this, Seungcheol had swiftly ordered him to cease all surveillance on you and resign from his position. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that he couldn't get any updates anymore about your daily activities.

For four agonizing months, Seungcheol had been living in the shadows, cut off from any information about you except what you shared directly with him. The void of not knowing gnawed at him day and night, tormenting him with thoughts of your safety and well-being. His life had become a constant dance with danger, ever since the fateful transaction with the Chinese drug seller that had put him squarely in the crosshairs of the law.

The constant threat of being hunted by the authorities cast a dark shadow over every aspect of his existence, tainting even his most cherished moments with you. Gone were the days of carefree meetings and stolen kisses. Now, every interaction was tinged with the heavy weight of survival, as Seungcheol remained on high alert, vigilant against any sign of danger that might threaten both himself and you.

The once vibrant connection between you now felt strained, suffocated by the secrecy and paranoia that enveloped his world. Seungcheol longed to hold you close, to share in the simple joys of your love without the looming specter of his illicit industry hanging over them. But deep down, he knew that exposing you to his dangerous world was a risk he could never justify. The thought of putting you in harm's way was unbearable, and so he kept you at arm's length, shielding you from the darkness that consumed him, even as it tore him apart inside.

"Hyung, Jun has sent an update about Y/n," Jeonghan said, passing Seungcheol his tablet so he could read the message for himself. Seungcheol's breath caught in his throat as he scanned Jun's message. It hinted that you might be returning home earlier than usual, prompting Jun to head to your apartment. Frustration twisted his features as he absorbed the information, a knot of anxiety forming in his chest.

The thought of you potentially arriving home earlier, expecting to find him waiting there, sent a pang of guilt coursing through Seungcheol. He cursed under his breath, torn between the desire to see you and the fear of putting you in harm's way. With each passing moment, the weight of his double life pressed down on him, suffocating him with the knowledge that his actions could endanger the person he loved most.

As he awaited further updates from Jun, Seungcheol couldn't shake the gnawing sense of unease that gripped him, knowing that every decision he made could have devastating consequences for both himself and you. As Seungcheol and Jeonghan calmly discussed their next strategy, a sudden interruption shattered the peace—a phone call from Jun. Seungcheol's heart leaped into his throat as he swiftly abandoned the conversation and answered the call.

His eyes widened in shock as he listened intently to Jun's words, every syllable sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Kim Mingyu took her," Jun's voice crackled over the line, each word striking Seungcheol like a physical blow. He felt his muscles tense involuntarily as the gravity of the situation sank in. Mingyu, a rival in their world, was not to be underestimated, and the thought of him having you in his grasp sent a chill down Seungcheol's spine.

With a sense of urgency gripping him, Seungcheol rose from his seat, his mind racing as he processed Jun's report. Mingyu's actions threatened not only you but also the delicate balance of power within their underworld. As he listened to Jun's account of the events unfolding, Seungcheol's emotions roiled within him—a potent mix of fear, anger, and determination.

In that moment, everything else faded into the background as Seungcheol's sole focus became the safety of the person he loved. With a steely resolve hardening his features, he knew that he would stop at nothing to ensure your return, even if it meant facing off against his most dangerous adversaries.

"Kim Mingyu, the stupid cop!" Seungcheol's voice seethed with anger, his fists clenching at the mention of his rival's name. The audacity of Mingyu's actions, resorting to kidnapping to further his agenda, ignited a fierce determination within Seungcheol. "So this is how he wants to play the game? By kidnapping her?" Seungcheol's words dripped with disdain, his mind already calculating his next move. Mingyu had chosen the wrong opponent, Seungcheol vowed silently to himself, his resolve hardening with each passing second.

Seungcheol's heart plummeted as Jeonghan's phone rang, the sudden intrusion breaking the tense silence that hung in the air. With a sense of foreboding, he watched as Jeonghan's expression shifted from confusion to alarm upon seeing the caller ID.

"It's Mingyu," Jeonghan announced, his voice tight with apprehension as he answered the call. Seungcheol's grip tightened on the edge of the table, his knuckles white with tension as he waited for Jeonghan to relay the message.

The air seemed to grow heavy as Jeonghan's eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Seungcheol's heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation of Mingyu's words gnawing at him like a relentless predator.

"What does he want?" Seungcheol demanded, his voice edged with thinly veiled hostility as he leaned in closer, desperate for any shred of information.

Jeonghan's hand trembled slightly as he held the phone to his ear, his brow furrowed in concentration as he strained to make out the words. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror as he held the phone out for Seungcheol to see.

"It's a picture," Jeonghan whispered, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned the screen to face Seungcheol. The color drained from Seungcheol's face as he stared at the image displayed on the screen—a chilling snapshot of you, lying unconscious in the back of a car, your face pale and lifeless.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as Seungcheol processed the sight before him. Mingyu's sinister message was clear—your safety hung in the balance, a pawn in his twisted game of cat and mouse.

A surge of fury coursed through Seungcheol's veins as he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms with barely restrained rage. Mingyu had crossed a line, and there would be hell to pay for his audacity.

"Where is he?" Seungcheol's voice was low and dangerous, his eyes blazing with a fiery intensity as he fixed his gaze on Jeonghan. Every fiber of his being screamed for retribution, for swift and merciless justice to be served.

Jeonghan swallowed hard, his own expression mirroring Seungcheol's steely resolve. "He didn't say," he replied, his voice tinged with frustration as he relayed Mingyu's cryptic message.

Seungcheol's jaw clenched as he processed the information, his mind racing with possibilities. Mingyu may have thought he held the upper hand, but Seungcheol was not one to be underestimated. He would stop at nothing to ensure your safe return, even if it meant facing off against his most formidable adversary yet.

With a sense of grim determination, Seungcheol knew that the time for waiting and hesitation was over. Mingyu had made his move, and now it was Seungcheol's turn to play the game. And this time, he would play to win, no matter the cost.

*

You are innocent, that's what Seungcheol needed Mingyu to know. As his mind divided into two, his people and you, Jeonghan approached him with urgent news – Mingyu was on the line. Seungcheol wasted no time, seizing the phone and pressing it to his ear, the weight of impending danger bearing down on him.

A scream, muffled yet unmistakable, pierced through the phone, seizing Seungcheol's heart in a vise-like grip. Mingyu's laughter followed, chilling and sinister, as he issued his ultimatum: "Come to me or I kill her."

Seungcheol's eyes squeezed shut in anguish as he uttered his defiant response, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and resolve. "No police should harm an innocent citizen."

Mingyu's laughter grew more derisive, his taunts cutting deeper with each cruel word. "She dated you, Seungcheol. How can you be so sure she's innocent?"

Seungcheol's jaw clenched, his resolve hardening as he fired back, "She doesn't know anything about my job."

But Mingyu's retort was swift and cutting, a cold reminder of the tangled web of deceit they were ensnared in. "Oh, she may not know now," Mingyu sneered, "but she'll lead you straight to me soon enough."

A desperate cry tore through the phone, your voice echoing with terror and pleading. "No! Don't come find me!"

Seungcheol's heart clenched at the sound, a swell of guilt and anguish washing over him. What had Mingyu told you about him? Had he already poisoned your mind against him with his lies?

As doubt gnawed at his resolve, Seungcheol knew one thing for certain – he would stop at nothing to protect you, even if it meant confronting the darkest shadows of his past.

"Can I talk to her?" Seungcheol pleaded with Mingyu, desperation lacing his tone. Jeonghan, who watched the whole scene unfold, gasped in surprise. For the first time, he witnessed his formidable superior pleading to someone else.

"Seungcheol..." he heard you whimper his name breathlessly. "Don't you dare come to me..."

Seungcheol sighed heavily, his heart twisting with worry. "How can I not come to you? You're in danger, baby."

"I'll be fine," you said, but Seungcheol didn't buy it. He could hear the tremor in your voice, the underlying fear that threatened to consume you.

"Kim Mingyu..." Seungcheol's words were cut off as the phone call abruptly ended. Kim Mingyu was a menace, a ruthless cop who stopped at nothing to achieve his goals. Seungcheol knew that all too well.

Mingyu's vendetta against Seungcheol stemmed from one simple fact – Seungcheol held a crucial piece of evidence, a file that exposed Mingyu's ties to the Russian organization, Klinok. This organization was notorious for its involvement in drug trafficking and human exploitation, and Mingyu would go to any lengths to protect his secrets.

Seungcheol clenched his fists, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Mingyu's interference threatened not only his own safety but also yours, dragging you into a dangerous game neither of you asked to play.

As Seungcheol paced the room, his mind raced with thoughts of how to outmaneuver Mingyu and protect you from harm. But with Mingyu holding all the cards, Seungcheol knew he had to tread carefully.

Jeonghan watched his superior with a mixture of concern and admiration. Despite the dire circumstances, Seungcheol remained steadfast in his determination to keep you safe. It was a side of Seungcheol that few had seen – vulnerable yet resolute, willing to risk everything for the person he loved.

With Mingyu's threat looming over them, Seungcheol knew that time was running out. He needed to find a way to outsmart Mingyu and rescue you from harm's way before it was too late. But as the minutes ticked by, the weight of uncertainty pressed down on him, threatening to crush his resolve.

"Jeonghan," Seungcheol called out, his voice tinged with urgency, "I need you to help me with a big favor."

Jeonghan turned to face Seungcheol, his expression reflecting a mix of curiosity and concern as he awaited further instruction. "What should I do?" he asked, ready to lend his support in whatever way necessary.

"I need you to handle everything," Seungcheol began, his tone grave and serious. "I need you to choose your assistants carefully."

Jeonghan's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?" he mumbled, struggling to comprehend the gravity of Seungcheol's request.

"I need you to cover for me," Seungcheol clarified, turning to face Jeonghan directly. "I can't do this anymore."

As the weight of Seungcheol's words settled over them, Jeonghan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Seungcheol, the formidable leader of their organization, was entrusting him with the responsibility of leading in his absence. It was a momentous decision, one that Jeonghan never anticipated.

"Seungcheol, are you sure about this?" Jeonghan asked, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I mean, I'm honored, but..."

Seungcheol placed a reassuring hand on Jeonghan's shoulder, his expression grave yet resolute. "I trust you, Jeonghan," he said firmly. "You have the strength and the wisdom to lead in my stead. I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't believe in you."

Jeonghan felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him. To be entrusted with such a significant responsibility by someone he respected and admired meant more to him than words could express. He nodded, determination shining in his eyes.

"I won't let you down, Seungcheol," Jeonghan vowed, his voice filled with conviction. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect our organization and keep our people safe."

Seungcheol nodded, a small yet appreciative smile gracing his lips. "I know you will, Jeonghan," he said, his tone filled with confidence. "Now, go. Our people need you."

With a final nod of acknowledgment, Jeonghan turned and set off to fulfill the daunting task that lay ahead. As he stepped into his new role, he knew that he had big shoes to fill. But with Seungcheol's faith in him as his guiding light, Jeonghan was ready to rise to the challenge and lead their organization into a new era.

*

Seungcheol drove to the address Mingyu had sent him, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. He couldn't believe that a police officer could stoop to such despicable acts. Not that Seungcheol hadn't done his fair share of questionable deeds, but he had never crossed certain lines. Yet, here he was, forced to confront the dark reality of Mingyu's actions.

As he navigated the streets of Seoul, memories of his past deeds weighed heavily on Seungcheol's mind. He had never claimed to be a good person – far from it. But seeing you, with your unwavering love and adoration, had stirred something deep within him. It had made him question the path he had chosen, and whether he could ever truly leave behind the life of crime he had embraced for so long.

Before the chaos ensued, Seungcheol had been meticulously planning the organization's future, laying the groundwork for a smooth transition before he announced his retirement. It was a decision fueled not only by his desire to settle down with you but also by a newfound sense of responsibility and a longing for redemption.

As he neared the address Mingyu had provided, Seungcheol's heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and dread. He knew that confronting Mingyu would be dangerous, but he was willing to risk it all for the chance to rescue you from harm's way. With each passing moment, the weight of his decisions pressed down on him, threatening to consume him with doubt and uncertainty.

But as he pulled up to the designated location, determination hardened in Seungcheol's eyes. No matter the outcome, he would stop at nothing to ensure your safety and bring an end to Mingyu's reign of terror. With a deep breath, he stepped out of the car and prepared to face whatever lay ahead.

Seungcheol entered the old building, his senses on high alert as he scanned his surroundings. The dimly lit corridors were eerily quiet, save for the occasional creaking of floorboards beneath his feet. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in the sight of several unconscious bodies strewn across the floor, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked within.

With each step he took, Seungcheol's worry for your safety intensified. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you, not when you were so close, yet so far from his reach. Determination flared within him as he pushed forward, his mind focused solely on finding you and bringing you back to safety.

As he ascended the staircase to the floor above, the sound of voices grew louder, mingling with the unmistakable echoes of struggle and conflict. Seungcheol's instincts kicked into overdrive as he hastened his pace, his muscles tense with anticipation.

Seungcheol froze in his tracks, the sound of the gunshot echoing through the corridors like a thunderclap. Dread washed over him, threatening to paralyze him with fear as he contemplated the possibility of Mingyu harming you. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of the stakes at hand.

For a moment, Seungcheol's mind raced with a million possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. His breath caught in his throat as he braced himself for what he might find on the other side of that door. But amidst the chaos of his thoughts, one thing remained clear – he couldn't afford to hesitate. Not when your life hung in the balance.

With a steely resolve, Seungcheol pushed open the door, bracing himself for the unknown. But what greeted him was far from the worst nightmare he had imagined. Mingyu lay on the floor, wounded, while you stood beside him, gun in hand, your eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and urgency.

Beside you stood Seungkwan, your baker, his expression mirroring yours as he held his own weapon tightly. Seungcheol's mind reeled at the sight, trying to process the unexpected turn of events unfolding before him.

As your eyes met his, you wasted no time in rushing to his side, gripping his hand firmly and gesturing for him to follow. Seungcheol's confusion gave way to a deep sense of trust in you, and he followed your lead without hesitation, his instincts telling him that you knew what needed to be done.

"We're just gonna leave Seungkwan?" Seungcheol's voice trembled with uncertainty as he glanced back at the injured baker.

You nodded reassuringly, motioning for him to get into the car while you took the driver's seat. Seungcheol's mind was spinning with questions as he settled into the passenger seat. Since when could you drive? It was just one of the many revelations that tonight had brought.

As you drove with determination, Seungcheol's thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of events. How had you survived? How had you managed to shoot Mingyu? And why was Seungkwan there?

Lost in his thoughts, Seungcheol barely registered your voice as you spoke beside him. He turned to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and concern. "You okay, baby?" you asked, your words cutting through the chaos in his mind.

Seungcheol was taken aback. Wasn't it supposed to be his line, reassuring you that everything would be okay now that he had saved you from Mingyu? But the roles seemed to have reversed, leaving him bewildered and uncertain.

You guided Seungcheol to a building, and he followed you inside, his senses on high alert. Once you were safely indoors, Seungcheol pulled you into his embrace, relief flooding through him as he held you close.

"I'm glad you're fine," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, feeling the tension drain from his body.

You chuckled softly, your breath warm against his chest. "Didn't I say it on the phone call that I'll be fine?" you murmured, tightening the hug as if to reassure him once more.

Seungcheol couldn't help but smile at your words, but his curiosity gnawed at him. "What happened?" he asked, his tone gentle yet demanding, a silent plea for the truth.

And as you began to explain, Seungcheol realized that he wasn't the only one with secrets.

*

"Welcome to Sweetie..." Your cheerful voice faded once you realized who had entered your shop. Your former superior, Hong Jisoo, and your colleague Seungkwan stood there, exuding an air of calm and collected confidence. It was clear from their composed demeanor that they had expected to find you here.

"It's been a long time, Agent Sweet," Director Hong said, smiling as he took a seat at one of the tables.

You were relieved that the shop was empty, with Jun out on an errand to the market, getting your weekly stock filled. The timing, at least, was fortunate.

You sighed, maintaining a polite smile. "Is there any sweet that you prefer? We have the viral Cromboloni here," you said, trying to keep up the pretense of normalcy, as if he wasn’t someone you had worked with for half of your life.

Seungkwan walked to the door and flipped the open sign to closed. You opened the drawer under the cashier machine, reaching for the box inside where your gun was stored. Jisoo cleared his throat and signaled Seungkwan to join him.

"Can we have two Americanos and two of those Cromboloni, please?" Jisoo asked, his tone deceptively casual.

You silently took your gun and tucked it into your apron pocket. Noting their order, you began to prepare the coffees and desserts. As you placed the desserts in the microwave, the reflection in the microwave's door showed Seungkwan moving towards you. Reacting instantly, you dropped the dessert, pulled out your gun, and pointed it directly at his forehead.

The sight made Jisoo smile with satisfaction. "Still got those instincts, Y/n," he remarked, standing up from his seat. He gently lowered your gun from Seungkwan's forehead. "Let's not make a mess. Your boyfriend wouldn't like it."

Your gaze shifted to Jisoo, eyes narrowing. "You've been tracking my boyfriend?"

Jisoo shrugged nonchalantly. "He's not exactly hard to find. A bit popular, isn't he?"

There was a pregnant silence before Jisoo finally confessed the true reason for their visit. "We want you to come back," he started. "Our team needs you. We’ve been in a state of emergency since you left."

You put your gun back into your pocket, then bent down to clean up the dessert you had dropped. "You’re the only person who knows why I’m not coming back, Director Hong," you said, your voice laced with frustration.

Jisoo sighed and gestured for Seungkwan to sit back at the table while he spoke to you. "Listen, Y/n, we all need you. The country needs you. You were in the field for 15 years. You’re the only one who can do this."

"Why? Why am I the only one?" you demanded, standing up and looking Jisoo directly in the eyes.

"Because you’re S.Coups's lover," Jisoo reasoned.

You sighed, "That's the exact reason I left this job," you whispered, ensuring Seungkwan couldn't overhear your conversation.

Two years ago, you were assigned to investigate Yoon Jeonghan, a man rumored to be running the largest illegal weapons industry. This bakery was a front, strategically placed near their operations. During your investigation, you discovered that Yoon Jeonghan was just a right-hand man. Then you met Seungcheol, who frequented your bakery a little too often. He asked for your number and managed to distract you from your mission. Soon, you learned that Yoon Jeonghan worked for Choi Seungcheol, the real S.Coups.

You were assigned to capture them, but you refused and left the job before officially dating Seungcheol. Despite leaving the agency, you sensed someone was still spying on you. Boo Seungkwan, your junior, had been watching you under Jisoo’s orders..

"We don't want S.Coups," Jisoo exclaimed. "We need Klinok." He began to explain, his voice grave. "Klinok has been taking over the industry for years, and if they get their hands on weapons, we'll be in big trouble."

"Klinok has been targeting S.Coups since earlier this year. We need to save him; he has the critical data we need to bring Klinok down."

You were baffled by the revelation. "Are you serious?" you asked Jisoo, your mind racing.

Jisoo nodded solemnly. "That's why I said you're the only one who can do this."

"Seungkwan will help you. He'll apply as a baker here. He's quite good at it," Jisoo added, glancing at Seungkwan.

Seungkwan scoffed, "Excuse me, I'm not 'quite good.' I'm very good at baking."

Jisoo chuckled before turning his focus back to you. "It's your choice, Y/n."

You stood there, weighing your options. The peaceful life you had carved out was slipping away, replaced by the dangerous world you had tried to leave behind. But if Seungcheol was in danger and you had the power to help, how could you refuse?

Taking a deep breath, you looked Jisoo in the eye. "Alright, I'll do it. But remember, Seungcheol's safety is my top priority."

Jisoo nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. "Understood. We'll do everything we can to protect him."

You glanced at Seungkwan, who gave you a reassuring nod. "Guess we're in this together, then," you said, a determined glint in your eye.

*

"Baby..." Seungcheol brushed a strand of hair away from your face as he listened to your explanation, his voice barely above a whisper. He struggled to process all the revelations. "So you knew I was hiding my work from you?" he asked, feeling a pang of guilt.

You nodded, reaching for his hand. "It's not like I wasn't hiding something either. So we're even," you said with a gentle smile, trying to ease his heavy heart.

He pulled you into his embrace again, rubbing your back and whispering, "I'm just glad you're okay. That could have been so dangerous, baby..."

You chuckled softly. "I've been doing this for half of my life, love. Danger is nothing new to me."

"Still," he insisted, "what if Mingyu had done something to you?"

You smiled at his concern and pecked his lips. "It was anticipated. Kim Mingyu has been working with Klinok for a long time, and he's been seen around my bakery this month. He was definitely trying to get to you by using me."

Seungcheol cupped your cheeks, rubbing them softly. He kissed your forehead with so much affection before pulling you into another embrace. "Thank you for saving me," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "And I'm sorry that I've been hiding all of this."

You held him tightly, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "We're in this together now," you whispered. "No more secrets."

He nodded, resting his chin on your head. "No more secrets," he echoed, his voice resolute.

In that moment, despite the chaos and uncertainty, you both felt a sense of peace. You had each other, and that was all that mattered. Together, you could face anything.

Ring

"That must be Seungkwan," Seungcheol said, pulling away and ending the make-out session you were enjoying before the night could end.

You groaned and picked up the call. "Agent Sweet speaking," you answered, your tone clearly upset. Seungkwan could easily detect your annoyance.

"Klinok is on his way to the harbor. He expects Kim Mingyu in an hour. Let's catch him," Seungkwan informed you, and you immediately ended the call.

"I'm sorry, baby. But work is calling," you mumbled while buttoning up your shirt and ensuring you had your weapon and necessary gear.

Seungcheol watched you from the couch, a smile playing on his lips. "You look hot like this," he remarked.

You smiled back, "Baby," you called him, "I look hot whether I'm wearing an apron or carrying a gun." You leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

"I'll be back. Wait for me, okay?" you said, your voice filled with determination and affection.

Seungcheol nodded, his eyes filled with pride and concern. "Be careful," he whispered, knowing that you were about to step into a dangerous situation, but also knowing that there was no one more capable than you.

[azrielhours]

Company of Phantoms

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 2k

Synopsis: Azriel has a crush that's overtaking his life. He's so obsessed with her that he starts hallucinating her lol.

A/N: inspired partly by The Haunting of Hill House and this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel sat and watched, thanked the Mother for all his training for the privilege it allowed him to take her in. Hell—if all the knowledge he possessed peaked and surrendered to this, the holy act of observing her, if this was all it was good for, Azriel would be content. He even felt lighter about the horrors of his past, felt an absolved ease knowing it all would end with this act of penitence. An arm’s-length indulgence.   

With her.

But she was starlight, an ectoplasmic celestial body that glowed. She smiled so big and bright it made his breath catch. He’d have to look away sometimes to relieve the ache she carved into his chest.  

If she shone any less, it would be an act of mercy.

But Azriel had always veered on the side of masochism.

He was afraid his darkness would make her wink out. Didn’t want to be the cause of her dimming. Would never dream of contaminating that joy. Even when she’d smile at him, even when he’d struggle to return it, left instead with the sight of hers faltering at his coldness.

He could stand the shame sluicing through his chest cavity, take the sting of hurt all for the assurance he’d insist to himself—that this was the noble thing.

Everyone adored her, and it was what she deserved. The foul-mouthed temptress she was, making males redden at the dirty jokes she told, laughing bright and beautiful. The empathy she dealt like medicine that drew friends to her like a siren luring sailors. Secret keeper. Rhys doted on her, bought her jewelry to watch her face light up. Azriel never missed how his brother’s face would crinkle with adoration, with the ease of loving her when she opened his stream of gifts.

She was easy to love.

It was like she was slotted just right to each person.

He often wondered how she would mould to him should he ever open up, to return her generous smiles that had begun growing seldom.

She was soft with Feyre, creative and adventurous. Often found up to various artistic schemes no one else understood, discussing motifs and strokes, tragedy and yearning. Gone for hours to emerge with bright eyes and paint smears.

She cried to Cassian, and it was an effort to reign in Azriel’s envy, to listen to the drowning voice of reason telling him to be glad she was being comforted rather than to rage at his thieving brother as he’d stroke away her tears with gentler hands than those dealt to him in his life. She’d lie next to Nesta on her heavier days. Read to her, talk about foreshadowing and hope that made Nesta’s eyes light up.

It was always light brought to others. Her contagious aura.

And damn him, it was like his youth all over again, watching his brothers care for Mor, watching how she fit seamlessly.

How she chose Cassian. Never him. How she cried to Rhys, never him.

It seemed Azriel would always be haunted by the ghosts of his past.

And damn him for still possessing that otherness that punctured holes in his chest then, the same holes now that made it impossible to heave in a full breath, to sleep soundly. An undead soldier. It’d been weeks of this incessant torment. His heart would palpitate til his body perceived a threat. No sleep in the night—thoughts of her haunted him, taunting—so he’d pace like a lingering spirit.

He could see her always.

In the dark quiet of the house, there’d be a flash of silk around corners. Someone tossing hair over a shoulder. The echo of a laugh in another hallway. He’d creep to it, try to spy it out only to be met with empty corners.

Yet there in his peripherals, at the ends of hallways in the dark—

Again and again—glimpses.

His ghost.

His bed had become a grave, no peace found in it to rest. No food for the dead, only scraps—libations offered into the fire that was his belly. In the fleeting moments of rest, oftentimes in armchairs in all the wrong rooms, he’d meet her. She glowed even there, that phantom halo that marked a ghost. A beacon of light to his shadowy storm. She’d hold his hands and love him. And when he’d fade back to consciousness, in the early morning hours, if he sat still long enough, he knew he would hear her murmurs echoing down the halls.

Azriel wanted with all his might, wanted like it was his purpose.

Wanted like it could possibly mean something. Do something.

Wanting was all Azriel knew.

Beneath his shadows, beneath the contained lethal capacity of his body, any semblance of sanity, beneath ancient bone and immortal rot, he wondered if his soul was made purely of desire.

It made sense then, he supposed, that if he was wanting at his basest self, he would dream about nothing more than to have the unattainable. A ghost.

A wish.

It was impossible to eat. Sleeplessness stole his appetite. He consumed coffee in the morning and drank on an empty stomach in the evening. Nesta saw—she knew, pressing fruit and bread in his hand sometimes, but mostly she was quiet, which Azriel thanked her for in equal silence.

Tell her, Az, she whispered once. He’d shaken his head, and that was that.

Sometimes when everyone was home, he could pretend like it didn’t exist, the pull to her. He’d try to relax in his flesh and participate in having a family, but then she’d walk into the room, having just come home from somewhere Azriel knew every detail about.

The effort to not stare, to not care nor assess, to calm his heart, his mind—the shift out of the state of pretended calmness to an even worse pretence of calmness—the stream of thoughts that would pummel his brain would jolt so violently, the wanting was so violent that Feyre would flinch.

He couldn’t stand it—the lying. He knew everyone was doing it. Pretending they didn’t see what haunted him. At the first damned prod of a dark talon at his mind, Azriel stood, leaving. Ignoring how she peered at him with a pinch between her brows, stepping out of the path.

Azriel exhaled, watched his breath curl in the cool night air. Closed his eyes in exasperation as he heard footsteps approaching on the balcony. Whatever wise words Rhys may attempt to offer could be shoved up—

“Azriel,” Feyre spoke gently.

He turned, taking in his High Lady. “Feyre, I don’t really—”

“Az,” she cut him off, “I—don’t mean to pry. But you’re not—” she exhaled. “I know you haven’t been eating, and Rhys says—”

“It’s fine, Feyre,” he said softly. It was his own fault for not reigning in his thoughts. He wondered how much more he’d been broadcasting in his state, made clumsy by restlessness. If Feyre knew of the glimpses he trailed after at night—the ghost chasing.

She frowned, concern swimming in her eyes. Insomnia can cause hallucinations, she spoke gently into his mind.

Azriel scoffed. “I’m not hallucinating.”

Feyre stepped closer, caressing his elbow. “You know, if you’d just talk to her—”

“I can’t.”

She paused for a beat. “I can help put you to sleep, if you want.”

He just shook his head. Feyre accepted his boundary, leaving him to linger in his purgatory. He stayed, breathing in the cold until things quieted in the house.

Re-entering the emptied lounge, he sat, meeting wakefulness like a reluctant ally. His shadows curled at his cold ears. In her room, they informed. Saying goodnight.

Azriel listened to the sounds of his family settling in. He closed his eyes, envisioned how she might look, if she was perhaps brushing her hair, how she might look in the dim glow of a faelight. Settled and safe. Or—even better, he imagined her coming down, seeking him out. How lovely she’d look descending the stairs. If he focused hard enough, he could make out the sound—

Azriel opened his eyes, awaiting the gentle creak of wood.

His heart skipped a beat. Was she indeed coming to him?

He rose, quietly making his way to the stairs, wanting to see her descend to him.

Her steps were growing closer, and Azriel peered up the darkened stairwell—

She must’ve turned around, but Azriel caught the glow of an aura at the top, around the corner.

He made his way up, listening with all his might.

There—the rustle of silk. He sent his shadows ahead in the dark, not wanting to frighten her.

Clear, they whispered. He stalked down the hall, turning corners, walking past the low chatter behind various bedroom doors. He was nearly at the end of the hall when—

At her door, a shadow curled at his ear. Azriel frowned, if she was at her door, how could she—

A soft feminine laugh made him turn. Nothing, but he was sure—

There was that silk again, trailing around a corner.

Azriel blinked, making his way over. She was looking for him, he was certain.

More pacing around the darkened halls, trying to catch sight of that silk again.

Azriel.

He froze.

She’d called him.

A few walls over, he could recognize that voice. He whipped his head in the direction, creeping over.

Nothing.

Azriel.

There—again, he turned the other direction, blindly following.

Azriel.

He walked faster, his shadows swarming all around his body and up the walls, trying to catch his name.

Azriel.

Azriel.

“Azriel?”

He jolted, turning to the source.

Y/N stood in her doorway directly to his side, making him halt in his tracking. She took in the agitated churning of his shadows, burying him in darkness.

She was—there she was.

Azriel took a step toward her. She’d called him.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

She looked up at him wide-eyed. “Are you—alright?”

He assessed her. She—how could she be here so quickly, if he’d seen—

He looked around the hall, trying to make it make sense. He frowned, turning back to her. She was partially behind the threshold of the door, apprehension tensing her form under his scrutiny, the restlessness marking darkness beneath his eyes.

He was making her nervous.

Azriel immediately reigned in his shadows, relaxing his stance to a neutral posture rather than his previous mid-prowl stride, tucking his hands behind his back.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke gently. “I thought I…did I wake you?”

She shook her head, stepping more fully in the doorway, making Azriel relax. “No, I—your shadows were under my door, and when I came to them, I could hear…someone wandering outside.”

Azriel blinked. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She bit her lip, assessing him. “It’s alright. Why were you pacing?”

“I, uh—I couldn’t sleep.”

She nodded. “I heard Rhys tell Feyre you’ve been having trouble sleeping,” she said quietly.

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, his head dipped in confirmation.

She nodded again in thought, peering up at him again with that wonder. Azriel should’ve taken Feyre up on her offer, should’ve known better. He should apologize again and stop bothering her— “Would you, um, like to come in?”

Azriel’s breath caught.

She shifted her weight. “If—if you can’t sleep, I mean—I’m awake, and—”

“Yes,” he said.

Surprise lit up her eyes despite her offer, and she nodded and stepped aside to let him in.

Azriel’s heart was in his throat. His sleep-deprived state blurred the edges of his reserve, but he allowed himself to take the opportunity.

In her room, he took in the warm space. She closed the door behind him and came to stand beside him. She was indeed in a nightgown, hair unbound, glowing as usual. He averted his gaze when she blushed beneath his stare.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I haven’t had much rest lately.”

“That’s okay,” she said, stepping closer. “I know, I—usually I can hear you pacing at night,” she confessed. He hadn’t realized he’d been that overt. She beckoned him to walk to her bed, perching at the end of it. She smiled, gently patting the space next to her.

Azriel swallowed, making his way to her.

She looked to her bed and back at the Spymaster. “I, uh—you do look tired, Azriel.”

“Do I?” he was pleasantly surprised to find contentment in her space—in her presence. The longest he’d ever spoken to her, and it turned out to be easier than breathing.

“Mhm,” she nodded, taking him in. She raised a hand to his face, tracing the bruises beneath his eyes with gentle fingertips. “Poor thing,” she breathed, frowning. “I know how hard it can be to have insomnia.”

She lowered her hand, clasping them in her lap. She looked to the pillows again, then back to him. Azriel resisted the upward tug of his lips, seeing how long it would take her to invite him to sleep.

How careless did sleeplessness make him, indeed.

He simply nodded. “It is hard.”

“It helps if you feel someone,” she spoke softly, blushing. “I sometimes sleep with one of the girls.”

Azriel hummed in thought.

“Or—you know, we can get you a sleeping tonic.”

“We could try that.”

She suddenly averted his gaze, crossing her arms across her abdomen. In a small voice, she said, “I know you don’t—like me, Azriel, but—”

He frowned. “I do like you,” he interjected.

She paused, meeting his gaze. “You do?” The vulnerability swimming in her eyes made him shift closer to her on the bed.

“I do.” He thanked the Mother for the inhibition of his judgement.

She was silent for a beat. “But—you leave the rooms I enter,” she said in that small voice.

Azriel’s heart broke. He dared to reach a hand out, gently taking hers. “It’s—it’s because I like you,” he said lowly.

Her mouth parted in an o shape, and she squeezed his hand, a small smile overtaking her lovely face.

“You were my ghost,” he muttered.

Confusion drew her brows together. “What?”

Azriel smiled, a laziness creeping up his body that he’d missed for weeks. “I’ll explain it in the morning.”

Her brows shot up, pink tinting her cheeks. “In the morning?” Another glance to the bed.

Azriel laughed. “Unless you want to hear it now.”

She smiled, tentative and sweet, shaking her head. “The morning will do.” She rose, taking his hands in both of hers, prompting him to rise. He held her stare, let her pull him to the head of her bed. She tugged back the covers, sliding under and patting the space next to her again.

Azriel toed off his shoes, took off his outermost layers, placing his belt and various assets onto her dresser. She pulled her knees to her chest, watching intently as he offloaded in her space, basking in the belonging.

When he at last slid beneath the cover, he lay on his back next to her. She reached for his hand beneath the covers, clasping it. Without saying a word, he squeezed her hand. He felt the tension seep out of his body, felt heaviness in his eyelids that matched the one in his chest. She shuffled closer to him so they lay shoulder to shoulder. He didn’t dare move, let her settle against his arm, still only holding his hand under the covers.

As rest crept up on him for the first time in weeks, his restless thoughts were calmed by the warmth of her presence, the kindness he allowed himself to finally taste.

“You know,” she muttered in the dark. “With all your pacing, I was beginning to wonder if this place was haunted.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “Imagine that.”

He could hear the smile on her lips. “Guess it was just our sneaky Shadowsinger.”

Azriel shook his head, smiling. “Guess so.”

She turned, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight Azriel.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

~

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy

[weskie]

His Chosen Pet (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

18+ | restraints, bdsm themes, edging, oral sex (wesker receiving) orgasm denial, biting, author isn't super knowledgeable about bdsm but tried his best | IMAGE SOURCE | Fic Directory

Prompt: Wesker owning a sex/bdsm club and occasionally strolling around in his trench coat with no shirt under, looking for a sweet little sub to play with. That is all

He picked you. God, he finally picked you. 

It was like a dream come true staring up at him, eyes raking over his exposed chest peeking from between that long black coat. The sight of him always did make you squirm in the best of ways, but so close? You were practically salivating. 

And the way he handled you– oh, god… The way he took a handful of your hair, tipping your head back to lick a stripe up your neck, chuckling darkly right against your ear. 

“Wouldn't you like to play with me?” 

You've never nodded so enthusiastically in your entire fucking life. 

And here you are, wrists tied together and bound to the bed, a spreader bar at your ankles to keep you exposed to him. He's been playing with you for hours, edging you to the brink but never letting you fall. Tears run down your face as his fingers dance through your arousal, teasing it in circles over every part of you he's determined most sensitive. 

You're like a little science experiment to him. You can see it in every satisfied smirk and glint of his eyes. 

“Excellent performance, dear pet.” Wesker purrs. He's bare now except for that coat, and you jut your tongue out for a taste of him– yet he denies you and himself. 

“Have you earned me?” He asks, fingers trailing over you once more, smirking at the way your hips buck and your body quakes. You nod for him, but that doesn’t seem to be enough.

“Please!” You mewl. 

He purses his lips as if to show the slightest bit of sympathy for your plight. So starved and aching for him, for release, for anything he might give you– even if it were no more than the tip of his cock dragging across your tongue to taste his need. 

Today, he chooses to be benevolent and does just that. You moan freely around him, savoring him, hollowing your cheeks as he pushes deeper until he's knocking against the back of your throat. 

“That's it, sweetheart.” He breathes, beginning to fuck your mouth slowly. He doesn't have any intention of finishing yet. Not until he's buried in your greedy little hole will he even entertain the thought. But for now you feel so good and warm, swallowing him perfectly… Just like he knew you would. 

And he's absolutely delicious. Even through the haze of tears, you can't help but admire how beautiful Wesker is. It’s those fucking eyes of his. They captivate you endlessly, so much so that you don't even realize it when your prize slips from your mouth. You whine pathetically, missing him already– wishing more than anything that you could savor the taste of taste of him once more.  You need him.  You need him to cloud your senses and dull your mind, to make you his toy and take you apart at his leisure.

But how could you possibly complain at such a loss when you feel him shove your legs back with the bar and line himself up? He breaches you instantly, stretching and filling you like you’ve never been before. You tug against your binds, squirming as you adjust to him, and it's almost enough to send you hurtling into your release to feel him sink so deep. 

A hand gripping your jaw sends the message loud and clear that you're to hold off. Even as he thrusts hard and punishing, you're not to come without his clear permission. 

Every movement, even the roughest of them all, is so goddamn precise. He hits that spot inside you over and over again, staring down all smug and devilish as he takes you apart bit by bit. His nails bite your flesh in all the right ways, surely to leave crescent marks behind for days to come– god he’s so fucking strong.

The warm lighting of the room frames him so nicely.  He’s practically haloed in the glow, looking so utterly ethereal that you suddenly understand why he’s always compared to a god.  Even as his composure starts to crack, teeth gritting and brow furrowing, he’s still so goddamn gorgeous. 

More than anything, you wish you could touch him.  Reach up and feel the ripplings of muscle as he drives into you, cup his pecs, squeeze his biceps, sling your arms around his neck to cling to him as he unmakes you.  He’s so fucking strong…

He comes down to bury his face against your neck, inhaling deep before sinking his teeth in.  You keen weakly, trying so hard to stave off your release– and fuck it’s getting so much harder!  He’s got you pinned, completely spread for him now as he ruts hard and fast.  You can’t help it– you just can’t stop yourself.

The moan that leaves you is broken and completely fucking pathetic.

You tremble and writhe under him despite your restraints, walls milking him for all he’s got, all he can possibly give, as you come undone.  You arch, eyes rolling back, vision going a blinding white, and all you can hear is his dark chuckles in between his own perfect little groans of bliss.  It’s so– he’s so… fuck…

There’s not a single coherent thought in your head as you float back to earth. All you can do is try to catch your breath, try to whisper out an apology for breaking his rules.  You didn’t have permission to come.

He never told you that you could.

You watch him lean back and discard his jacket.  God, if he looked good before… Nothing compares to the sight of him fully bare– save for the leather dancing across his shoulders, that is.  A wonderful accessory to compliment his flawless physique.  Fucking tantalizing just to see.  You wish you could reach up and pull him down and–

“I’m–” 

“Sorry?”  He finishes for you.  “I’m sure you are, my greedy little dear.”  The crimson of his eyes is hypnotic, and you lose yourself in them so easily.  “I suppose you’ll have to make it up to me.”

His lips curl into a smirk far more wolfish than you’ve ever seen.  

“It’s a good thing I’ve got you for as long as I want.”

[nova-amor]

༘☁︎⋆ ◜ 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐬𝐞 ◞

miguel o’hara was not the type of man to lose his cool easily — he spent plenty of time with his therapist to ensure that he kept his temper in check. he dedicated hours to practicing different techniques and exercises to keep his temper at a minimum, ranging from controlled breathing exercises to working out for hours on end.

he needed to maintain a leveled head as the leader of the spider society; after all, he spent most hours along side some of the most annoying people across the multiverse so it was vital for his sanity and everyone’s safety that he kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself.

the only one that could truly push his buttons was none other than you— his beautiful, compassionate, loving wife. after years together, you had learned which words and actions would push miguel over the edge and you often used that knowledge to your benefit.

miguel ran his hands down his cheeks, mental fatigue weighing down his patience as you rambled about some house chore that miguel was supposed to have completed a few days ago. he had just returned from another mission across the multiverse, his muscles aching and mind too tired to form a proper response to the one-sided argument.

he leaned back in his chair, propoing his elbow atop the dining table and resting his chin on his fist as he watched you pace back and forth. surely burning a hole into the carpet beneath your feet from how long you had been pacing. hands flailing around as your words went through one of his ears and out the other.

“would you shut up?” miguel interrupted your rant, his tone cool and lazy. his brown eyes narrowed, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips as he watched an expression of shock paint across your face.

“what did you just say?” you questioned, hands finding their rightful place on your hips. you were completely taken aback— miguel rarely shut you down, let alone told you to shut up.

“you heard me, hermosa,” the dark pupils of miguel’s eyes widened, his face darkening as he sensed a challenge beginning to brew between the two of you. “shut up before i put that mouth to better use.”

it didn’t take much after that for you to end up on your knees, mouth stuffed full with the thick girth of miguel’s cock. tears brimmed the edges of your eyes, a thin mixture of saliva and pre-cum staining your chin as miguel buried his cock into the depths of your throat. the harsh carpet dug into the skin of your knees, your jaw burning and scalp throbbing from how fast and hard miguel was fucking your mouth.

he hissed at the sensation of your throat clenching around his cock’s head, the vibrations of your gag coaxing him to fuck your mouth even harder. he glared down at you, the black of his pupils completely drowning out the chocolate brown hues of his irises.

“told you to shut up, nena, and per usual, you— didn’t— fuckin’— listen—” he growled, your moans around his cock sending a shiver down his spine. he fisted the back of your head, the tips of his talons digging into your scalp just enough to keep you from squirming away. a reminder that he was the one in control of this situation.

“mean girls like you are good for nothing but sucking cocks, right? you’re probably fuckin’ soaking right now from this, gettin’ off on me fucking this good-for-nothing throat,” miguel’s trimmed pubic hairs ticked your nose, his hips starting to stutter as his thrusts grew more sloppy and frantic. he was so fuckin’ close, his nerves tingling as he sat on the edge off his release. “you’re fuckin’ enjoying this, eh? such a dirty girl.”

miguel shoved you away from a rough nudge, glowering at you as he fisted his cock. you watched in anticipation— eyes wide, mouth watering at the sight of miguel pleasuring himself so close to your face.

“close your eyes and stick out that tongue,” his voice was raspy, inching his cock closer to your lips. you obediently followed his orders, the heat between your thighs growing stronger. and then, with just a grunted ‘mierda’ as a warning— white, hot, sticky ropes of cum painted your face, his breaths heavy and labored as his orgasm knocked the very air out from his lung.

you instinctively went to wipe your eyes, swallowing remnants of the cum that stained your tongue. “don’t be wasteful and wipe it off,” miguel hissed, grasping at your wrist with a tight hold. “now be a good girl and bend over the table, i’m not done with you.”

[fraugwinska]

Part 2 of the Alchemist series - No smut today,but I had this idea in my head and couldn't continue NOT writing it. And don't worry - those two will have time enough in Part 3 for some biological studies! :> TW: Emotional turmoils, Graphic depictions of torture and violence Read at your own discretion. As always minors - please exit to the right, DNI, this is an 18+ space

Your assistant flinched when you threw another rack of test tubes against the walls, the black, polished tiles to your feet covered in shards of glass and bubbling, oil-like liquids.

"M-Ma'am, please, ", she pleaded, kneading the pink, naked tail that peeked out of her lab coat nervously in her hands while she backed away as your grabbed the big Erlenmeyer flask still sitting over the bunsen burner, fizzing as if in mockery. "i-it's better than number 52. Isn't that progress...?"

Failed. Again, you had failed.

"Idiots call it progress...", You held the flask up, cold flames of renewed anger licking down your spine. "I call it A FUCKING DISGRACE!"

The rat demon squeaked when the glass crashed on the floor as you howled in frustration, the black gas that evaporated with a hiss and the dark purple flames the substance evoked enough to make her run out the door and out of the laboratory with a sob, the sound of her heels clicking in the hallway a grim farewell and final goodbye to a fairly good assistant.

You slumped back against a work bench and put your hands in the pockets of your coat, struggling with your breathing to calm down. The painful hunger in you scratched at your insides, this insatiable need that appeared ever since...

Ever since you returned to your laboratory that day, ever since your last encounter with the Radio Demon. The image of Alastor and his shadow flashing up in front of you. How you were deceived and subdued by him, outsmarted by him and most humiliating, how you had liked it. It should've left nothing but disdain and anger inside you, instead it left an aching want, a restless desire for filling the gaping hole of knowledge you had been faced with as well as your paradox craving for another fight ending inevitably into your submission. Defiant to do something about the latter, you had begun to at least try to satisfy the first.

You were usually okay with failure as part of the scientific progress. A failed experiment only meant an additional tool in your hand on your surefire way to success. But never did success seem so impossible to you. Every new try of recreating the shadows that had so efficiently overpowered you felt like a rerun of your previous one. You had exhausted your knowledge, rewritten the same hypotheses over and over and burned through five assistants since. These angry outbursts were so unlike you - but as the number of failed experiments rose so did your temper, and the higher your anger, the harder it became to concentrate.

Alastor haunted your mind, infiltrated your rationale with images of a teasing smile, flesh threatening to burst beneath black and sharp claws, burning red eyes staring at you from the wet heat of your core. You hadn't eaten in two weeks, hadn't slept in nearly as long, had spent all your waking hours locked away in here in a futile attempt of fleeing these emotions that were so obstructive to your work. You were obsessively reading your books, furiously rereading your notes, desperately starting test after test, trial after trial to try and satiate this thirst only to be left even more parched. You knew it wouldn't be long before you inevitably would have to drink, even if you knew it waould be poison.

"I can't go on like this..." you sighed into the deafening silence of your laboratory.

There was a certain pep in the Radio Demon's step as he walked through the streets of the Pentagram, humming to himself as sinners parted and hid away wherever he went. Alastor reached into the inside breast pocket of his overcoat, unfolding the little note that had sent him in high spirits and rereading it with impish glee.

'To: The Radio DemonRegarding: Our most recent encounter

Alastor, I hope this note will find you well. I'd like to discuss the possibility of a mutually beneficial arrangement regarding our personal and professional feud. If you agree to a meeting, a table at RAUM in the Entertainment District will be reserved tomorrow at 9 p.m. PST (Pride Standard Time)

Best Regards,The Alchemist'

He laughed to himself at the forced choice of words, the tenseness evident in every neatly drawn letter and the obvious refusal of showing even one hint of familiarity. He had known he'd just have to give the proverbial ball a little nudge - his little note so easily snuck into her lab coat by his shadow companion - and let it roll, patiently waiting long enough to see it finally crush the prideful, stubborn resistance of the little sinner known as The Alchemist in the end. Although, he had to admit it took longer than he had expected.

His spies had been useful in keeping track of her ego crumbling - the chimp, roach and gerbil sinners that she hired as assistants all painted him the same picture - that the poor woman descended more and more into restless obsession by trying day and night to solve the mystery of his shadowy companion. The last one of her henchmen, a meek little rat girl, added a curious detail to the usual report that had Alastor's self-confidence booming: That, on the rare occasion that she fell asleep on her workbench, the Alchemist seemed to writhe and whimper - calling out a name.

His name.

He could hear it, her voice, the usual dismissive contempt replaced with poorly repressed desire and urgency, breathing his name while rendered helpless and at the mercy of his hands and tongue. What a rush it had been, to see his rival and latest person of interest fall apart under his doing, breaking her stoic and methodical facade to reveal the raw and weak creature she was deep down. What a divine image, seeing the haughty, refractory Alchemist beneath him, squirming and gasping and panting beneath his touch that she begged for, seeing and feeling her whole body turn against her, reduced to a groaning heap. How delicious it had tasted, not just her, but the satisfaction in knowing he'd forever carry the taste of her and his victory.

But when the moment approached to end her, to finally wipe her off the face of hell, it spoiled in his mouth, turning from sweet into bitter. He had planned it to be his grand finale: To kill her after showing her blatant inadequacy compared to him, bound by his shadow and thoroughly humiliated - But he found himself unable to.

Rosie was the only one he told about that day, and her reply to his retelling had him brooding ever since.

"You know, Alastor - The only difference between hate and love is that hatred doesn't fear the death of the one at our mercy."

He had almost cursed at his oldest friend. The ridiculous idea alone was unsettling. Alastor never had interest in the concept of loving something or someone - he had felt no need to either. The methods he used were chosen due to this wretched urge he felt every time she had crossed his path. He hadn't been unfamiliar with these emotions stirring in him - but the intensity of them had him struggle, had him furious at the effect she had on everything that made him the powerful, ruthless overlord that he had become. To think this unhealthy fascination with her powers, how riled up and agitated he got just seeing her in her resulote disinterest in power or status, the joy he felt sparring with her as she held her fort against him had been anything other than feelings of rivalry. But hell had a habit of twists like this - that what he thought was hatred turned out just the opposite. He still wasn't certain how he'd handle this predicament, but her note had been the perfect catalyst to explore the potential this little change held for him.

Just as the clock tower of Pride's main city began to strike nine, his destination so close - Something wrapped around his ankles and wrists, and hadn't Alastor been so lost in his thoughts he would've had enough time and mind to dodge the cables that had slithered towards him. A second too late he realized just what building he was in front of, before he was violently dragged by the electrified strings, out of the street and into the darkness behind the blue sliding doors of 'VoxTech Enterprises'.

"I thought" he heard a familiar, suave voice resounding in the pitch black darkness around him as the doors slid close, dripping of malicious glee that had Alastor furious behind his smiling mask "that with old age comes wisdom, Al. Seems you've skipped that phase and went straight to senile."

Alastor heard Vox's laugh, amplified from every direction. His hands and feet were spread apart, leaving him hanging with no sense of direction or solid ground beneath him. Without light, summoning his shadow was a useless endeavor - one of the only things Alastor regrettably shared with what was once a trusted partner not too long ago. And the only light was the laughably negligible red glow of his eyes, losing the battle against the black void around him. His best bet was to be buying time, so he decided to humor the fool until chance would show itself.

"Ah, no, I do quite remember your lack of imagination when it comes to these sorts of affairs." Alastor chuckled, a slight static distortion lacing his voice as the anger within him grew. "Glad to see that's at least one thing that hasn't changed."

Electricity burst from the wires that pulled him even further apart, sending shockwaves through him as Alastor's smile widened at Vox's inability to hide his rage.

"Mighty cocky for someone who's got his ass on the line, eh, old pal?" in the distance, a screen turned on, dim and flickering, showing the face of the smirking tv demon. "Tell me, Al, was it just stupidity that brought you right to my doorstep? Or did you already miss me that much?"

Alastor laughed mockingly, concentrating enough to at least create a shadow in the weak light around Vox's screen to smash it in before it dsappeared. "If I recall correctly, you were the one begging me not to leave, Voxxy. How is your face these days, by the way?"

The screen flickered as Vox's eyes went wild. "You motherf-"

"As to what brought me to these parts of our illustrious city," Alastor continued, gritting his teeth as another surge of electricity shot down his spine, making his shoulders jerk painfully in the tight cable's grip. "I was on my way to meet someone who is actually worth my while."

"Oh yeah? Well, they can send me a Thank-You-Note for saving them the disappointment your 'while' would've brought them." Vox sneered, a mocking smile appearing on the broken screen as he bared his teeth in a snarl. "Face it - You're done, Al. Finished. You can't do shit in here. I created this room specifically for you to die in - thanks for the intel, by the way. And believe me - I could kill you here and now, get rid of a fucking nuisance for everybody, and be called a hero for it. But for old time's sake, I'll offer you my deal once more." His joints cracked under the pressure of the pulling cables, and Alastor yanked in cold fury at them. Vox's voice was saturated with sadistic glee. "Join my team, be my second in command, my real partner this time and not a fucking uptight coward, and I'll spare you the humiliation of a slow, torturous and publicly viewed dea..."

A sudden boom had the cables and the screen shake and flicker, the image of Vox's face breaking up in pixels. Alastor felt his chest filling with a sudden eager anticipation of what - or who - the source of that explosion might've been. With a hiss, Vox's screen was restored to full resolution again, but his eyes were wide in confusion. "What the fuck was that?"

Alastor's laughter echoed across the room as another, louder explosion followed, along with panicked screams of pain and horror and he smiled over to the shocked overlord, heart beating with feverish euphoria. If the intensity of the detonations were any indicator, he was about to see a marvelous show of what true power looked like.

"It seems, old pal, that my date has arrived."

Vox didn't get to say anything else before one of the walls burst into its components and the room filled with the bright light of the neon signs illuminating the district, and amidst the clouds of dust settling, stood his darling alchemist. Her lab coat was stained in every beautiful shade of red, face and skin smeared with soot and the remnants of blood that wasn't hers, a look in her eyes that was so unhinged it made him shudder with all kinds of arousal, the aura around her glowing in a dangerous toxic green. Although her chest was heaving, there was no trace of exhaustion to her, only pure, cold rage.

"What the hell is going on? And who the fuck are you?!"

She didn't pay Vox any attention, walking up to Alastor as he ripped the remaining bits and pieces of cords and cables from his arms, her heels clacking loudly on the polished concrete floor.

"You are right on time, darling."

"And you were not - our table was canceled." Alastor had to refrain himself from giggling in feverish excitement as she walked past him, towards the stunned television demon that had been thrown into the back of the room by the force of the explosion and now leaned with his back against the wall, his expression mortified behind the cracked, flickering screen.

“Polyethylene, glass, sauter, copper, lead, platinum, silicone." Her voice was cold and calculating, each word a step closer and Vox shrunk away further into the wall behind him. Her face was neutral, a mask devoid of emotion and any trace of empathy or emotion, but her eyes sparkled full of life and fire. "But even though there are so many valuable building blocks in your electronic equipment - I can't say I appreciate the use."

She put her palm over Vox's monitor in an almost comforting gesture, her lips curling into a cruel smile as his casing started to melt and Vox screamed.

"Especially when it leaves me hungry and waiting for my dinner partner."

Alastor marveled at the beauty and precision of her strength and the effortless way she wielded it, her mind calculating every atom of Vox's technology, rendering the presumptous perfection of hell's television and phone industry to a wailing mess, his limbs and body twitching helplessly at the mercy of her touch, screen flickering with increasing speed the more damage she did. His pulse quickened, blood rushed deafeningly loud through his ears - She was dangerous and cruel and she was perfect, she was everything and so, so much more of anything he imagined and hoped her to be.

She let off Vox, his face half gone, his remaining speakers whimpering in agony and body trembling as she stood upright, looking down at the demon in disgust.

"Repeat this mistake and I will make sure I'll be there to slowly and painfully disintegrate you every time you start to respawn anew, Television Demon."

Alastor appeared beside her, making use of his shadows now that the requirement of light was covered, looking at the beaten form of his unfortunate rival with an amused laugh before taking his little alchemist's hand, breathing a kiss onto it with a smile.

"I apologize for the missed reservation, darling, but we can't have you left starving, can we? How about we relocate to my townhouse - I'll whip up a nice Pain Perdu while we discuss your... proposal, yes?"

When her face turned to him, her features slightly softened around the edges - barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but all too obvious to him, who had thought, dreamt and obsessed over her likeness enough times to see every tiny shift in her expression, even those one could interpret as her rare, discreet show of joy.

"I suppose that's an acceptable compromise."

It made the gnawing hunger inside him become all the more insatiable when she let him pull her closer, her hand still in his - warm and stained with remnants of Vox's fluids. He gave her the brightest of smiles as the destroyed room filled with radio static and his shadows swirled and wrapped themselves around them, shooting his wounded, rancorous ex-companion a sneering smile.

"I, again, have to disrespectfully decline your offer, my dear Vox. I'd rather invest my time into more..." He looked back at her, giving her an intense, heated gaze he refused to hide anymore, and the smile lingering on her lips growing into one that was just as sharp as his, and yet so much more endearing given its rarity. "...innovative propositions, I think is the right word."

Within a moment, the black swirls faded into the night, leaving nothing but the echo of his laughter and the shuddering, crying mess of the tv overlord behind.

Tagging for scientific purposes (based on comments/reblogs): @minkdelovely @macabr3-barbi3 @depressinglyobsessed @tywrites @mydickisjuicy

@littlebluefishtail @catticora @cosmiccandydreamer @anngray1369 @angeldustharmony

@jurijyuu @liz776 @selenezq

[unofficial-writing]

Brown Eyes

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Warnings: Some angst, fluff, soft Din, that should be it

Summary: After being separated for almost two years, you were finally reunited with Din.

Word count: 1k

Translations: Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum - “I love you”

«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ «̶ ̶̶̶ 　　　　 ̶ ̶ ̶»̶  ̶̶̶ ̶ »̶

One year, nine months, two weeks, and five days since you last saw Din. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you clung to the last words he said to you like your life depended on it. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll see you again.”

Ever since you two were separated a hole occupied space in your heart. Despite the effort to ease the ache, nothing worked. So over time you slowly began to fall further into your own mind.

You had built a small home on a remote planet beyond the outer rim. Remote was an understatement. Other than the animals that inhabited the surrounding trees, you were convinced nobody else lived here. Nobody that would be able to speak at least.

The land was mostly forests. A shallow but fast moving river ran through the trees, coming down from the mountain that sat a few miles from where you stayed.

Over the past year and a half, you built yourself a house and a system that kept you alive. At first it was merely for survival— just to get yourself by one day at a time— but now, physically at least, you began to thrive.

The lifestyle wasn’t bad at all. Most days you roamed the surrounding area, finding anything you could do to keep you busy. But time crawled painfully slowly.

The longer you spent here, the lonelier you got. You’ve already spent a year and a half without seeing another person. And to think of it, you couldn’t remember the last time you heard your own voice.

Now you walked through the trees, mapping your route without much effort. Mindlessly, your feet followed their normal track and allowed your thoughts to slip away from you. Your alert state faded over time since you no longer needed to look over your shoulder every few minutes.

Your bliss was ripped away from you with the sound of a ship flying quickly overhead. An N-1 Starfighter flew over the trees, headed in the same direction as you— which was also the same direction as your house. You cursed to yourself, thinking back to the fire you left running.

The smoke would be easily visible from the ship’s cockpit and the last thing you wanted was an unwelcome visitor. As far as your knowledge— which you couldn’t be sure wasn’t outdated— the starfighter was used on Naboo years ago so you couldn’t imagine who was flying it now.

Your feet were moving before you thought about it and your fingers fumbled for the blaster you kept concealed in your thigh holster. At least you had that. Your preferred weapons were left behind that morning. Approaching your house from behind the trees, you spotted the ship in the only clearing for miles, at least on this side of the river.

Worry trickled into your system, pooling in your stomach while you came up with a plan. As silently as possible, you moved to just under your window to see if you could get a glimpse of the pilot. You saw nothing so you stood cautiously, moving to the door to enter the little structure.

The pool in your stomach filled quickly as time passed without establishing who or where the pilot of the starfighter was. With your blaster in hand, you turned to go through your door, pointing your weapon in front of you.

The breath was stolen from your lungs as your blaster came face-to-face with the familiar beskar armor. “D-Din?” You whispered, your voice trying to get used to being heard again. His helmet came off slowly, revealing himself to you.

The face you had seen seen only a few times but knew more intimately than any other was now directly in front of you. The only thing that broke your trance was the makings of tears in his eyes.

Once your mind had caught up, your arms were around him. He caught you and wrapped his arms tightly around your torso, burying his face into your neck.

You were in tears, overwhelmed by your emotions. It had been so long since you had felt anything more than your usual stoic disposition and empty mind. And now your heart ached in the opposite way.

“I’m so sorry.” Din said, sounding like he was choked up. He lifted his head so he could look into your eyes, without moving his hands away from your waist. You lifted your hands to cup his face. It almost felt like he wasn’t really there, but he was.

His brown eyes gazed at you with guilt, longing, and adoration. Which mixed together to make the expression he presented to you. You examined his face for a moment before pulling him down to you. Your lips met for the first time in almost two years but it felt like no time had passed at all.

Din melted into your kiss instantly, pulling you closer while you sighed into his lips. After a long minute, he lifted his lips from yours and pressed slow kisses onto your cheeks where tears stained your skin.

Your eyes stayed closed while he kissed your face, finishing with your lips again. “Please don’t leave.” You whispered against his lips. Din’s hand went up to your cheek and your eyes met for the second time.

“I’ll never l leave you again, y/n.” He stated quietly. His voice sounded smooth and velvety in your ears. As he spoke, his breath tickled your cheeks. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum”

You didn’t understand all of Mando’a but Din had taught you that phrase when he had first said it to you. It caused your heart to flutter— a much preferred feeling to the previous emptiness.

For the first time in almost two years, you smiled. Din pressed a kiss onto your nose and rested his chin on the top of your head, silently promising he would never leave you alone like this again.

After all that time, all you wanted was to stay there in Din’s arms. Neither of you wanted to let go.

[konigsblog]

warnings: corruption kink, age gap (40s and 20s), virginity loss, female anatomy and use of ‘girl’, mdni.

price and his new rookie... 18+

price who adores how niave you are, how inexperienced you are in both this line of work and sexual experience. it almost makes him laugh when you lick a stripe up his shaft meekly, nervously sucking on his leaking tip as he pushes you down onto his wide dick. “c'mon, dollface - you can take it all.. ain't that right? these pretty lips takin' it whole...”

his cruel grin makes your panties wet, cunny slick and sloppy as you begin sucking his thick cock. it's a struggle, especially with his girth; wide and veiny and stretching the sides of your mouth before you gag down on his length. a low and guttural chuckle emitting from his chest as he teases you for getting teary eyed.

you should be glad that he doesn't mind the sounds of gagging... face fucking you 'til you're pushing at his hips and whining, nose forced into his musky pubes as he spurts deep into your throat. his large hand cradles the crown of your skull, his hard and stiff cock shoved down your strained, sore throat with his free hand pressed against your nape as he feels himself bulge out.

bent over his desk with his heavy, sloppy cock pressed against your slit, rubbing it against your lips while teasing you for not being able to answer basic questions about the military. he slaps his tip against your sensitive clit, a mewl flowing through swollen lips before gasping, his calloused and rough hand colliding with your tight ass whenever you get the answer wrong. you should know this already, how did you pass selection with your knowledge?

he'll drag out your orgasm, taking draws from his cigar and blowing the smoke into your face, your head tilted to the side as he forces you to maintain eye contact with him. each vein dragging against your soft, gummy walls, full balls smacking against your aching pussy. your captain is ruthless with his pace; rutting into you and rubbing your clit in soothing circles whilst you beg for his cum, pounding against you before slowing down, continuing to deny your desperate release.

only when you're begging, fucking yourself down onto his size frantically will he let you cum. squirting all over important files and reports, your slick and cum coating his hairy, musky balls as he thrusts deep into you - shooting hot strings of load into your tight, virgin hole. “god- fuckkkk..- look at you, rookie. this pussy tightenin' right 'round me.. what a greedy, sweet girl.”

maybe, if you'd been so sweet to him, he'd eat you out. sat on his desk with your legs spread wide open, his face between them as he sucks on your slick covered clit, stimulating the nub with the tip of his tongue. his tongue presses between your wet, sopping slit as you buck into his face, rubbing your sore cunt against his beard and covering him in your scent. god, his beard practically stinks of your pussy afterwards; covered in the aroma of your sweet, nectar juices and the arousal from your needy hole, his tongue curling inside as you moan softly, screaming his name.

“that's captain to you, rookie.”

[takami-takami]

hihi!! would you ever do a drabble focusing on hawks and his dumbification kink?? was reading thru some of your works and i /need/ that so bad :((

Pretty Predictable.

includes— hawks x fem!reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— dumbification. degradation. praise. keigo loves you so bad.

A gentle flick to your forehead nearly shocks you out of your stupor; nearly, but not quite.

"Oi. Did you hear a fuckin' word I just said?" Keigo sweetly drags the question, already aware of the answer. The droop of his eyelids paints a portrait of dissapointment; but the glimmer that shines in the gold of his irises tells a different story. His stare is practiced, perfectly fashioned to burn holes, and you ache with the suffocating knowledge that no matter how far you avert your gaze, his will remain fixated on you.

The deep creases of his frown twitch upwards at the corners, a smirk threatening to spill and break the illusion of this little game.

This is fun for him.

He always did tend to play with his food before devouring it.

"Sweetheart," he sighs in feigned dissapointment, plunging deep into your heat once more and pulling out to the tip, just to watch you thrash against his bruising grip at the bend of your hips. "I know you're not the brightest bitch of the bunch, but ya' gotta work with me, pretty girl."

A hitch of your breath, a simple squeak, is all he needs to hear to know you love this just as much as he does. He hides his smirk in the crook of your neck. You're so predictable.

The wood of the bed creaks and aches below, a constant reminder of his dominance over your trembling form. You're a drooling mess at more than just your pouting lips, he notes. The mess between your thighs, the glaze in your teary eyes; it's all because of him.

A dark chuckle falls from his mouth as he resumes fucking the last remnants of your brain out of your sorry, little head. Keigo adores you for all your wit, reveres your intellect and personality; it's just one of the many reasons he fell so deeply in love with you. But with each hiccup you sputter from the thrusts of his hips against yours, the further your eyes roll into the the back of your head, the more he realizes just how much he loves this side of you.

The slick drip, drip, dripping from between your thighs coats his cock, makes it unbearably loud. When all you can hear is the schlick of his flesh against yours ringing in your ears, your poor mind can't register the condescending filth of his words; it cannot begin to process just how much it drags you deeper down.

"Awww, baby girl, c'mon," he coos, lifting your calves up and over his broad shoulders with practiced ease. "You can still think with somethin' other than your pussy, can't you?" He punctuates the ask by burying himself to the hilt and swallowing your gasp with his lips.

Keigo would spend just about the rest of his life watching you fall apart on his cock, if it were up to him. He fantasizes about it, spends countless commission board meetings daydreaming of a life where he can spend his days memorizing the way you fall, lost in ecstacy that only he can provide; but nothing could prepare him for the responses you give.

"N-No– Too good. Can't think, Kei'," you whimper against his mouth, too far gone to notice the way his breath sticks in his throat, the way his hips stutter. "You're right, a-always right. 'M sorry, y'make it really hard to think."

You can feel the lopsided smile pressed against you more than you see it, can feel the vibrations of his knowing, boastful 'mhmm' more than you hear it.

This is his own, personal heaven. Your delirious, lust-drunk, absolutely empty smile sends a sharp current to his heart, the charcoal fuel for the fire of his little fetish.

"Show me that pretty face, princess," he murmurs, dazed and heavy, tilting your chin with his thumb to lock eyes as you fall apart again. He gulps down the sight of those teary, babydoll eyes. Not a thought behind them, not a hint of anything but pleasure; glossy like glass, as only his reflection remains in that lovestruck look.

"There we go," he praises while doubling his efforts, the bed frame threatening to splinter, if either of you were lucid enough to care. "Good fuckin' girl. Show me what you look like when you cum nice and pretty for me. C'mon, give it to me."

When your spine stiffens, when you scream into the crackling air, he resolves to make good on his promise.

He's not stopping until you're fucked dumb.

[gojipink]

virgin!Alhaitham

ஐ summary. Alhaitham masturbates thinking about you!

ஐ warnings. NSFW, fem!reader, masturbation, mentions of: fingering and oral (f. & m. rec.)

virgin!Alhaitham who was never interested in women or sex until the two of you became an official couple. He had much more important and pressing matters to tend to and didn't need to worry about becoming involved with frivolous things like relationships and pointless one-night stands. But then you showed up and now suddenly he has someone by his side, someone to cherish and love, someone to… satisfy. 

virgin!Alhaitham who has to face Kaveh's sarcastic and teasing comments about if Alhaitham even knows how to please a woman. Alhaitham didn't bother to entertain Kaveh with an answer but throughout the day, the annoying comment embedded itself in Alhaithams’s head. Sure, Alhaitham knew the female anatomy and biology but to utilize that knowledge in a way that would make you see stars? 

virgin!Alhaitham who begins to consume all there is to know about erogenous zones and sex tips. Watches porn purely as an educational source and barely bats an eye at the scenes. Sitting at his desk, arms crossed, mind focused, dick not stirring in the slightest. 

virgin!Alhaitham who comes across a video of a girl that has your hair and eye color. His mind flashes to you and how you would look doing the same actions as the actress. His heart rate picks up a bit imagining you in the same little lace number, on your knees, mouth open waiting for him. How will your voice sound when he’s marking up your skin? How far will your back arch when he slides his fingers inside your tight hole, curling his fingers up and abusing that spongy spot? How hard will your fingers grip his hair when uses his tongue to spell his name on your clit? How will your face look when he sheathes his thick cock inside you in one fluid thrust?

virgin!Alhaitham who stops the video to shut the whining pornstar up. His mind is now completely flooded with thoughts and images of you. Mind filled with all the things that he wants to do with you, to do to you. Alhaitham doesn’t masturbate often but recently he’s been finding it harder to not deal with the insistent throbbing that has been popping up more frequently. He actually finds it somewhat annoying, having to take time out of his busy schedule to tend his aching cock. Opting for quick rough strokes that allowed him to finish in less than 5 minutes so he could get on with the rest of the day. But as your relationship progresses, he begins to realize why he’s been getting so worked up. The shy look you give him when the two of you are alone or when your fingers have a slight nervous tremble in them as you trace the protruding veins along his arms and hands, it awakens something primal in him. 

virgin!Alhaitham who takes his time touching himself for once. His jaw clenches and his dick twitches at the imagery his brain creates. Vivid scenarios dance behind his closed eyelids as he imagines what your first time together would be like. Finally freeing his pulsing cock from his tight pants, Alhaitham firmly grips the base and languidly strokes up and down. He thinks about how your smaller hand would offer the same slow almost hesitant movement, forcing him to feel every sensation. He envisions the way your eyes would be fixated on his dick, at the way it twitches and leaks from your attention. Pictures the way your pretty eyes would look up at him as you tentatively open your mouth and kitten lick the tip. 

virgin!Alhaitham who has to take a breather because he almost came at the thought of your mouth on him. Pausing for a second and inhaling deeply before his hand resumes its position, setting a faster pace than before. Thinking about the way you would try to fit all of him in your mouth while using your hand to stoke the part you can’t reach. Alhaitham focuses on rubbing his cockhead to simulate the feeling of you gagging around him when his tip grazes the back of your throat. His eyes screwed shut as he imagines little tears gathering along your lashes as you bob your head faster, throat repeatedly constricting around him as you try to take him deeper. His balls feeling heavy with the need of release as he picks up his pace even more. The final straw is the vision of you swallowing around him as he cums down your throat. You would try so hard to not let a single drop leak out of your mouth, milking him for every last bit. 

virgin!Alhaitham who cums all over his stomach with deep guttural grunts. Riding out his high by stoking himself almost to the point of overstimulation. Looking down at his mess, he can't help but wonder what you would look like cleaning his cum off his abs. The vulgar thought has him fisting his twitching dick again, craving to see more lewd daydreams of you.

[impala-dreamer]

Louder

A Supernatural Story

~ Dean's got you right where he wants you...~

Dean x Reader

1,209 Words

Warnings: NSF W. Bondage. Overstimulation. Smu t. 

Originally Posted to Patreon May '22

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The rope burned across your wrists but you tried not to struggle too badly. There’s really no way to escape even if you wanted to. As it was, you were right where you wanted to be, right where you’d asked to be: caught in Dean’s web, bound by his ropes, totally at his mercy.

Years of hunting had given him a nice knowledge of knots, being tied down himself more than once showed him what hurt and what hurt just right. Even though you’d only done this a few times, he was quite good at it. Most of all, he enjoyed the look of anticipation on your pretty face as he neared the bed, loved to hear all the precious moans and blasphemous curses he could pull from your gut.

“Comfy?” he asked, standing at the foot of the bed, naked from the waist up, flexing his biceps as your eyes traipsed over them.

You twisted again, showing him how well he’d tied you down. Ankles and wrists were spread open and locked to the bed posts. You shimmied your ass and wiggled down into the plush comforter.

“Quite,” you answered, making him grin and lick his juicy lips.

He set one knee and both hands on the bed, preparing to pounce. “Good… You remember your word?”

“I’m not going to need a safe word, Dean. It’s just rope.”

“Rope that you can’t get out of,” he reminded you, now fully on his knees on the mattress. His fingers danced over the binding on your right ankle and a shiver hit your spine. “What’s the word?”

With a sigh, you tipped your head to stare down at him. “Robin.”

“Very good.” His hand slid down your calf, massaging gently as he went. When he reached your thigh, you tugged at the ropes, trying to hide, to close your legs and shy away from him. “Where ya goin’, Princess?”

Wetness slid down the crack of your ass and you bucked your hips against the air. “Nowhere?”

Dean grinned. “That’s right. So stop squirming…” His index finger traced the crease of your thigh. “I ain’t even started yet.”

“Oh, God…”

The bed creaked as Dean plopped down onto his belly and pushed his shoulders between your legs. “God has nothing to do with what I’m about to do to you, Y/N. Just remember that.”

Biting your lip, you held back a moan as Dean licked a stripe up your cunt. So very lightly, he repeated the motion, using the tip of his tongue to glide through your slick folds without actually pushing inside or giving you pressure to make anything happen. It was infuriatingly mesmerizing.

“Dean…” Your arms pulled at the ropes. “Please.”

His breath was hot on your clit as he spread you open with his thumbs. “Already begging? Wow. I’m good.” He laughed against your flesh and the vibrations made everything tighten. Your arms and legs pulled inwards, but there was still nowhere to go, no way to run away.

“So good,” you moaned, hoping to urge him on.

With a smirk, he went at it, lightly circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. He swept over the top on every third circle and then changed direction, driving you absolutely insane.

Your thighs shook aside his head.

Your wrists twisted in place.

“Dean!”

“Love when you scream my name, baby,” he growled, nose bumping your clit as he licked at your hole. “Wanna hear it louder.” He pushed his tongue inside and your muscles clenched.

“Dean!”

“Louder…”

He lapped at your aching clit while pulsing two thick fingers at your entrance.

“Dean!”

“You can do better…”

The fingers slipped inside and your vision blurred. Tossing your head back, you screamed his name to the ceiling as he sealed his lips around your throbbing bud.

“Dean! Fucking fuck!”

Again, he grinned against your skin. “Much better.”

The digits curled inside and Dean stroked your sweet spot, petting it quickly as he suckled on your clit. His free arm reached up and grabbed hold of your tit, squeezing the nipple hard and giving it a good tug.

You came with a blunt cry as if something had snapped open inside of you.

Dean held on, fucking you on his hand while your body pulsed around him.

“Please…” Your hips thrashed up against his face but Dean kept on, lightly toying with your cunt with tiny kitten licks all over.

His pace slowed but the pleasure did not. He added another finger, stretching you further, and the edge was lost. You came again without warning and Dean removed his fingers, licking tenderly until your breathing slowed again.

“God, you’re amazing,” you whimpered, twisting downwards to grind on his mouth.

“And I’m not done yet,” he said, thumbing your clit softly.

“But, I-”

Green eyes looked up and Dean eased himself onto one elbow. “You haven’t given me what I want yet.”

Your body tightened and he increased the pressure of his strokes.

“W-what do you want?” Breathing was hard, words were harder.

His lips curled into a sly smile. “I think you know.”

“I can’t cum again,” you insisted, shaking your head.

He laughed gently and his thumb turned faster. “But I know you can. And you can cum harder…”

Before you could protest or think to squirm away, Dean dove back down, immediately replacing his thumb with his hot tongue. The tightness inside formed again. The pleasure built and built until your breath was clipped and your throat was raw. Dean held you on the edge, watching carefully as you writhed above him, listening intently to each whisper and groan lest he hear your word.

“Please, Dean. I need- I need it.”

“What’s that?” he teased, tapping his middle finger on your swollen cunt.

“I need it,” you groaned, tugging on the ropes again.

“What do you need?” His finger pushed inside an inch.

“Need your cock.”

He crooked his finger. “Then give me what I want…”

The pressure increased and your mind melted. “I can’t!”

“You can.”

Finger stroking your g spot, Dean set his lips once more against your clit and sucked hard, tongue flickering over the tip inside the warm cave of his mouth.

“Please, please, please…” You could feel the moment approaching, but it was so hard to let go, so difficult to just let it happen.

“Do it.”

His growl shoved you right over the edge and you clenched down on his hand, pushing it from your body with a gush of wetness that soaked deep into the sheets.

A proud smile lit his face and Dean pumped his hand harder, coaxing another wave of cum out.

Panting, you clawed at the ropes, fingers digging into the fibers, body twisting, trying to get away.

“There’s my girl,” Dean whispered, mercifully pulling away and kicking his shorts off.

“Please…”

Your whine was pathetic and desperate and Dean drank it down like fine wine.

“Did so good for me…” Back on the bed, he shifted between your legs, hand grabbing your ass to lift you up a bit. “Giving me what I wanted…”

A breathless ‘yes’ was all you could answer as his cock nudged at your cunt.

“Now you can have what you want…”

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[idontknowwhattoputasmyusernameee]

Intimidation

Word Count: 3K

Pairing: rots!Anakin x fem!reader

Warnings: none just fluff, but let me know if I've missed anything.

A/N: I have had this sitting for so long and I've been itching to post it. It is my very first imagine, so we'll see how this does. Probably have many more to come.

He was intimidating.

There was something about him that was hard to place. 

The way he looked was something out of a fairytale; his eyes were hard and steely, his jawline strong and sharp, his lips pink and pouty. He moved with confidence in the room, his steps controlled yet graceful. His presence seemed to demand respect from those around him.

He was definitely attractive.

Too attractive to be a Jedi. 

You felt a heavy, electric pressure on the side of your face. Every time you tried to sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eye, he would be looking downward or up towards the ceiling, avoiding any kind of eye contact.

You tried to ignore the magnetic pull of Anakin's gaze, but it was impossible. Every time his eyes met yours, you felt a wave of heat wash over you and your heart seemed to skip a beat. You knew deep down that this couldn't be real, that perhaps your infatuation with him was causing you to imagine things that weren't really there.

Mace Windu's deep voice cut through the daydream,“That's all for today," he said firmly. He gave you all a slight nod. “May the force be with you,” he added before turning away.

You stood up stretching your aching limbs. You hated these debriefings, feeling drained after every one. A quick glance showed the faces of the Jedi Knights in the room were heavy too, etched with fatigue. Reports flashed on the hologram in the middle of the room, grim reminders that loss and death had become unavoidable realities in this war and there was no end in sight.

Not something you would want to hear at eight in the morning. You were just glad that you had the day off, so a nap sounded like an amazing idea. 

The crowd around you began to surge forward, and you were soon engulfed in a sea of people, all jostling for the exit. Suddenly, your foot caught on something and you stumbled, throwing out your arms as you tumbled forward, into the broad chest of a large man. He caught you quickly, his grip strong and sure.

As you started to apologize, you looked up into the face of none other than Anakin Skywalker himself. He was standing there holding your arm, smiling kindly.

"Careful there," he teased, you felt his fingers slowly slid from your forearm to your shoulders to steady you.

A flush crept up your cheeks as you tried to look away, the intensity of his cerulean eyes too much to bear. You were suddenly acutely aware of the sound of your own breathing and the warmth radiating from his body.

You avoided eye contact, mumbled an apology, and scurried away from him as you felt your face heat up. You tried to disappear into the background but could feel his piercing gaze burning a hole in your back.

Anakin Skywalker, the Jedi Knight renowned for his exceptional piloting skills and his connection to the Force, had always intrigued you. From afar, you had admired his bravery and determination, but up close, his presence was overwhelming. His mere gaze sent shivers down your spine, and his captivating smile left you momentarily breathless.

It was safe to say that Anakin Skywalker intimidated you.

…

The Jedi library was a grand room, encompassing almost an entire section of the temple. Shelves adorned with ancient manuscripts, scrolls, and books lined the walls; each tome a repository of knowledge from across the galaxy. The scents of parchment paper and aged ink filled the air, while glowstones illuminated the space in a soft, ethereal light. Tables were arranged in circular clusters like small islands in a sea of knowledge, beckoning exploration. It was as if all the secrets of the universe had been contained within these walls, offering solace and tranquility for those who sought it.

And yet...

There had been another encounter earlier in the afternoon.

It embarrassed you to no end how awkward you were with the man. But something about him made you freeze, run away, and hide. 

Earlier before coming to the library you had just left the meditation chambers, relaxed and fully focused for whatever study sesh you were diving into. Stepping into the elevator , you hit the button for the ground level. Not even two seconds later a voice called out to you. 

“Hold it for me please.” The voice, you recognized to be Anakin’s called out for you.

Maybe it was a slip of your finger, or the instinct to run away. Whatever it was, the doors closed right in Anakin’s face.

The moment you realized what you had done you let out a sigh of frustration. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal? 

Now the situation was eating you up inside as you flipped each dusty page of one of the thousands of books in the library. The frown on his face engraved in your mind. He probably thought you were a freak. 

You groaned into your hands, earning a shush from other people around you. 

“What’s got you in such a sour mood?” A female voice suddenly questioned, causing you to jump slightly. 

Ashoka Tano stood above you a brow raised at your stressed out figure. Although she was barely sixteen and you nineteen, the two of you were very good friends.

“Kriff Ashoka, why are you in here? Aren’t you banned from the library?” You questioned.

She rolled her eyes,”Actually it was a one year ban, and not that it matters but it was mostly Anakin’s fault.”

“Right, he knocked half of the shelves down and destroyed a quarter of the ancient language books.” You snickered. 

“He started it !” She exclaimed defensively.

“Shh!” You whispered harshly. “Keep your voice down, unless you want to get banned again.”

“Okay okay,” she whispered back,”what are you working on?”

“Master Yoda asked me to give a quick rundown on a newly charted planet, so far I haven’t really found anything worth mentioning.” You answered, flipping open another book.

“Boo, sounds boring,” she said, with a mischievous gleam in her eye. She grabbed your wrist and tugged you up from the chair. “Let’s go get lunch.”

“Right now?” You asked in shock.

“Yes now, I heard they’re serving pasta.”

Your eyes widened with excitement and you leaned forward, intrigued. "What kind of pasta?" 

A mischievous grin spread across her face and she ticked off on her fingers, "Lasagna, fettuccine Alfredo, spaghetti carbonara..."

“Alright I’m sold,”you grabbed her hand,”let’s go.”

…

“Then he had the audacity to ask me if I’ve been paying attention,” Ashoka shook her head,”The nerve.”

“Mmm,” You hummed in agreement,”Well were you?” you asked, taking a sip of blue milk.

She gave you a coy smile,”Well…I was staring at Enzo's ferociously large biceps.”

You choked on your drink, taken aback by the words that slipped out of her mouth. 

Ashoka gently rested her hand on your back and gave a few light pats as you coughed. She smiled with amusement,"Oh look, how convenient."

She pointed over to Anakin who had just walked into the cafeteria. His eyes swept across the room, then stopped when they met yours. He started walking towards you with a determined stride. You felt all the air in your lungs disappear, and your stomach seemed to somersault inside of you. Every step he took felt like an eternity as his gaze stayed locked on yours.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest and a wave of nausea fill your stomach. As every ounce of common sense told you to bolt away from the table, you were physically unable to move anything except for your hands, which trembled as your fingers tightened on the edge of the table.

What was happening to you?

“Sorry I took so long, I got caught up in conversation with Master Mundi," Anakin sighed heavily, sitting down across from you and Ashoka. "Also the elevator took a while ,” he added, looking directly at you.

You almost went into another coughing fit. 

“Master, what a nice surprise,” Her face then broke into a mischievous grin. “You remember Y/N, right Anakin?”

Your cheeks flushed red as he looked your way.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “How have you been Y/N?”

You smiled politely, “Good.” 

“Y/N was just about to-"

"Leave, actually," you interrupted her.Your plate was still mostly full, but you couldn't bear the tension and discomfort that had already set in. You didn't dare meet Anakin's gaze again, and instead busied yourself with gathering your things. 

Ashoka shot you a confused look, but didn't try to stop you as you stood up from the table.

Anakin looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Oh, alright. See you around, then," he said with a small smile.

"Uh, yeah. See you." You managed to squeeze out the words before practically sprinting out of the cafeteria.

Once outside, you leaned against the closest wall and took deep breaths to steady yourself. You couldn't believe how much power Anakin Skywalker had over you - a mere acquaintance at best. You had never been so thrown off balance by anyone before.

...

With your overthinking mind, you had concluded that they were playing a prank on you. It was probably your sleep deprived mind or your coffee addiction that fueled this thinking. But, Anakin and Ashoka were up to something.

Every time you showed up to see Ashoka, she would beam from ear to ear and let out an excited, “Oh, Anakin’s here!” You could feel your cheeks flush as the Jedi Knight appeared and you scrambled to come up with a plausible excuse to leave.

Even when you weren't with Ashoka, he would somehow be conveniently around you. It was as if he were seeking you out.

No matter where she went, Anakin seemed to materialize out of thin air. In the vast hallways, as soon as he appeared at the corner she'd quickly turn around and hurry in the opposite direction. When walking around the temple grounds, there he was again; standing tall against the rising sun, his features illuminated by a solitary ray of light.

It's been two weeks, and quite frankly you were starting to become exhausted with this charade or whatever thing this was. 

The only places where you could find solitude were your quarters and the library. 

So that's were you found yourself today, in the Temple Library.

Your fingers were tangled in your hair, which fell wildly around your face. Crisp pages of books lay open amongst a scattering of pens and highlighters on the table.

Two hands slammed in front of you, making you look up. You jumped in surprise.

“Alright spill,"Ashoka demanded with impatience.

“Spill what?” You tried to act nonchalant.

Ashoka rolled her eyes, “You know what. Why are you avoiding Anakin?"

“I’m not avoiding him,”You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, looking away from the other girl. 

"Not what I heard," she countered, folding her own arms, matching you stance. When the silence continued, she sighed,” Y/N, I know you like him."

You stared blankly at Ashoka with disbelief clear in your stare. She knew. Of course she knew. It was so obvious. 

"Plus he's been whining to me for the past couple of weeks."

"Whining?" You repeated, taken aback.

Ashoka nodded, "Yeah, he's been complaining about how you've been avoiding him like the plague. He thinks you hate him or something." Her voice grew n octave lower, trying to imitate him,"Does she not like me? Am I being too forward? Did I do something wrong?"

You couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Anakin Skywalker whining to Ashoka about you.

"I don't hate him," you finally admit. "I just...don't know how to act around him."

"You act the same way you always do," Ashoka shrugged. "He's just a person,Y/N. It pains me to say it but... a really attractive person." she made a quiet gagging noise.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but feel a small flutter in your chest at her words.

"Just talk to him," she encouraged. "I promise he's not that scary." 

"Alright," you nodded,"I'll try."

...

This was not what you were expecting. You hoped to corner him in one of the many hallways, but instead you were stuck with him and Ashoka in an elevator.

"How long has it been?" Anakin asked.

"Five minutes,"Ashoka answered.

The air inside was starting getting thick from all of the carbon dioxide being exhaled from your lungs. You shifted uncomfortably, finding yourself caught between Anakin and Ashoka. The small space felt too intimate, and you could feel Anakin’s eyes on you even if you refused to look his way.

"Alright, I've had it," Ashoka quickly stood up, igniting one of her sabers to cut a large enough hole to jump through. "I'm going to get help, be right back."

"Ashoka!" Anakin yelled,"That's not smart."

But she ignored him, jumping above the elevator and vanishing out of sight.

You had just been left alone in an elevator with Anakin Skywalker. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you couldn't help but wonder if this had all been a setup. Ashoka's sudden exit made it feel like an ambush, as if the two of them had planned to leave you alone together.

The silence between the two of you was agonizingly uncomfortable. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Anakin, so you kept your gaze trained straight ahead.

"So," Anakin finally broke the silence. "You've been avoiding me."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. It wasn't like you could tell him that he made you nervous just by existing.

"I haven't been avoiding you," you lied, feeling guilty for not being truthful.

Anakin let out a small laugh, "Right. Because turning around and walking the other way every time you see me is totally normal."

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment. He had noticed after all.

"I'm sorry," you finally admitted. "I don't know what to say around you."

Anakin turned to face you, his expression softening,"That's alright."

"I've been meaning to talk to you actually,"you started, finding a sudden burst of courage. "I um... well Ashoka said that, you..."

He waited patiently, raising an eyebrow in encouragement. You took a deep breath before continuing.

"Ashoka said that you might have feelings for me," you blurted out, feeling your face heat up even more at the admission. 

"Well its about time you noticed,"he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I've been waiting weeks for you to figure it out."

Even though you knew it to be true, you couldn't help the wave of shock that passed over you at his confession. You had never expected Anakin Skywalker to have feelings for someone like you.

"So you do like me?" you stupidly asked.

He laughed, his eyes lighting up in a way that made you feel like you were the only person in the galaxy. "Of course I like you," he said, slowly stepping towards you. "Was it not obvious?"

You felt your heart beating faster as Anakin drew closer, finally standing right in front of you. You could smell the musky scent of his cologne and it sent shivers down your spine.

"I never realized," you admitted sheepishly, feeling ashamed for not noticing something so obvious."I honestly thought it was some cruel joke."

His smile was soft and warm as his hand reached up to slowly smooth a piece of your hair out of the way.

"Do you like me," he softly asked,the intensity in his eyes making it hard to form coherent thoughts.

You nodded your head, unable to find words as you stared up at him. His hand trailed down from your hair and cupped the side of your face gently, bringing it closer to his own. 

"Can I kiss you," he whispered,his breath hot against your skin. Your heart was beating wildly and you could feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Please," you breathed out, barely louder than a whisper. 

His lips brushed against yours tentatively, hesitantly testing the waters. You closed your eyes and parted your lips slightly, giving into his advances. A tingling sensation rippled all throughout your body. It was almost electric as you ran your hands through his short curls, his fingers curling around the back of your neck. He pulled you closer to deepen the kiss, and it only fueled your desire.

Every inch of your body was on fire as Anakin's hands started trailing up and down your sides, sending shivers through you. 

You could feel his need for you in the way he kissed you - a sense of urgency and raw hunger that made it clear this was not just any ordinary kiss.

As the intensity grew, so did your own desire rippling through your veins like an inferno. The air around you felt electric with attraction as if nothing else mattered in that moment except for each other.

You broke apart gasping for breath, Anakin's voice husky as he spoke quietly into the space between you. "I've been wanting to do that since I first met you."

A dazed smile broke out on your face,"Me too."

A loud bang from outside drew both of your attentions away.

"Alright lovebirds, I'm busting you out." Ashoka yelled from the other side.

The loud groaning from the metal doors echoed throughout the elevator. Revealing the light from the hallways on the other side.

"Alright come on out,"Ashoka yelled, hidden and out of sight.

Anakin made one last move, kissing your cheek, your nose, and lastly a longing kiss on your forehead before leaving the elevator.

He paused looking back with a smirk,"Until next time." 

Feeling the warmth radiating from his parting words, you smiled and watched him disappear into the hallway.

"Well, well, well,"Ashoka said with a grin as you stepped out of the elevator. "Looks like someone had a good time in there."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, trying to hide the blush that was creeping up on your cheeks."Shut up."