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always-just-red · 6 months ago

Note

I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?

I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).

Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!

My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰) Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!

Wrong Number

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...

Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)

Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”

Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.

“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.

“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”

“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.

“It would have fooled almost anyone!”

“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”

His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.

“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”

“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”

“Sylus!”

The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—

Something rings.

His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.

“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.

There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.

“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.

“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”

“Wha— Sylus?”

“Yes, sweetie,” he drones.

There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”

It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.

“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…

The call cuts out.

Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…

His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.

The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.

Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.

“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”

“Still me, sweetie.”

“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”

“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”

Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, ok? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then leave me alone!”

With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.

He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”

Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”

“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”

“What d’you mean?” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk!”

He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”

You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”

His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”

“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, ok?”

You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?

“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.

His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”

Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.

There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.

“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.

Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you ok?”

“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”

His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”

Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”

“You told me to do something.”

So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”

You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.

Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, ok? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.

I'm leaving. Clean this up.

…

“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”

Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.

“What does Tara think, sweetie?”

“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”

You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.

“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”

“Oh?”

“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.

“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”

“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.

“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.

The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.

“Let’s get you home to bed, ok?”

You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—

No-one has ever looked at you like that before.

And you won’t remember it tomorrow.

“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”

“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”

Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.

No, you won’t remember it tomorrow.

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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pomefioredove · 4 months ago

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There was only one bed troupe w/ Rollo and/or Neige? Maybe we got forced into a road trip again and crowley, the genius he is, didn't order the rooms correctly, and now we have a couple room. Good bc big room, but . 1 bed. Shenanigans/pining or something ensue ❤️

actually scrumptious idea I'll take ten more of these /lh throwing in che'nya as a special treat

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ only one bed

type of post: blurbs characters: rollo, neige, che'nya additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

Night Raven College is hosting its own cultural event, and everything has been going... strangely well. Seriously! No overblots, no evil schemes, just a day of food, festivities, and fun.

Then then sun sets. And then, of course, everything goes wrong.

"Prefect!" Crowley says, throwing your door open. "Something terrible has happened! A complete fool has miscounted the number of beds needed to accommodate our guests!"

You don't like where this is going. "...And?"

"Since the other rooms in Ramshackle are currently under renovation, I told our guest they could stay with you!"

"A complete fool?" a cold voice asks. "If I recall correctly, Monsieur Crowley, you said you were the one who arranged the rooms."

Crowley laughs nervously and steps aside, letting Rollo Flamme in.

"Yes, well... ah, um... good evening!" the headmaster says, dismissing himself.

Rollo waits until he's gone out the front door before turning to you.

"Hello... again," he says. "I apologize for this... reunion. I'm aware these arrangements are completely improper."

You look around awkwardly. "No, it's... okay. You can come in,"

"You're a poor liar. But thank you,"

When it comes time for sleep, Rollo puts an unnecessary amount of distance between the two of you, nearly hanging off the edge of the bed with his back turned towards you. He's stiff.

It looks uncomfortable. "Are you sure you-"

"I'm well, thank you," his tone is sharp, but there's no malice in it.

You fall asleep before him, but he does eventually relax.

You know this, of course, because when you wake up, he's moved across the bed. His face is buried in your side, his arms tight around your waist, as if he's afraid you'll leave.

It's almost cute, in a way. And you let him be.

He looks like he could use the rest.

You can almost see the rays of sunshine before Neige comes in, a cute little suitcase under his arm.

Crowley wishes you a good night and books it before you can ask any questions, leaving you with the boy.

"...My, this is a very dirty place," he says, studying a cobweb in the corner.

"I've been working on that,"

Neige turns back to you with the brightest smile. "Oh, I can tell! You've made a wonderful home here."

It's weird, a compliment without the bite. You don't even know what to say.

After Neige fusses and coos over Grim for a while, he gets in bed at 9:30, an unsurprisingly early time. You follow, exhausted from the day, anyway.

He doesn't ask to cuddle, but he keeps looking at you. Those big, doe-like eyes are even shinier in the dark.

Eventually, you give in. "...Alright,"

Neige smiles, absolutely delighted, and you have to remind yourself that he's not just getting closer to pick your pockets. He just likes it. Your arm rests around his shoulders as he clings to your side, warm and comfortable in his handmade pajamas.

When you wake up the next morning, he's made you (and Grim) breakfast in bed with what little he could find in your collapsing pantry.

And, inexplicably, the entire house is clean.

"Hello again, you~" but the voice is coming from inside your room.

You flinch in surprise, and Che'nya giggles.

"Wha- Che'nya?" you ask, and turn back to the headmaster. "Wouldn't it make more sense for him to stay at Heartslabyul?"

"Nothing "makes sense" about that boy," Crowley sighs. "Well... good luck with that!"

And then he leaves. You stand there in defeat as Che'nya starts looking through your personal belongings.

He also seems to prefer looking at you, rather than sleeping.

"This house is rather drafty,"

"It's winter," you sigh. He's been staring at you for the past hour.

He hums. "I wonder if the snow loves the tree and fields, that it kisses them gently?"

More nonsense, you think.

Finally, you give up. "If you're cold, you can lay on me,"

You can tell that Che'nya likes that, not only because he immediately curls up, purring with his head on your stomach and his limbs taking up half the bed, but because he stops talking.

At least you can sleep in peace.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #rollo flamme x reader #neige leblanche x reader #che'nya x reader

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yovrnewromantic · 6 months ago

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𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐆𝐔𝐘

Benjicot Blackwood x reader

Ben was known for his brutality, receiving the name Bloody Ben from his opponents, but in your hands, he turns to putty. 💌 Based on a tiktok I saw where Ben was shy in the books

Looking that good while swinging a sword is cruel.

It’s borderline criminal how his biceps flex when he lurches forward. The way his eyes glint when he sees the first drop of blood and the absolute beast he becomes when he strikes down on his opponent sends a shiver down your spine.

Lowly grunts fly from Benjicot’s mouth countering his rival’s loud groans. The sound of metal clashing vibrates through the open air, atmosphere. Despite the fighting happening at the moment, it is clear to see that Ben is the better fighter— his harsh blows and agility unmatched. One last exchange has Ben’s foot flying to the center of his competitors armored chest, sending him flopping backwards straight onto his ass.

Applauds were immediate from the small crowd that had formed around the sparring match.

Underneath the attention, Ben flushes, waving at those around him embarrassedly.

You grin, heart full as Ben stares at his feet, approaching the steps where you reside. Leaning against the railing, looking down at him, you can’t help the taunt that slides off your tongue, like poison disguised honey. “Good job, Benny.”

His doe eyes look up at from the steps, the sweetness of your voice easing the tremble in his bones from his post-fight high. Boys have had their jaws broken for using that nickname, but he would never do that to you. Not you. Never you.

When you say it, it makes his blood run hot underneath his skin. Just being in your presence is a thrill, ten times over when compared to fighting. Trying to respond, he clears his throat, hand clenching the handle of his sword as he tries to untangle his tongue and respond to you without making a proper fool of himself. “I— thank you, uh, my lady.”

Ben clamps his eyes shut in shame.

Hunming melodically, you take a peak at the swarms of people behind you, chatting idle. As most know, hesitation was not in your nature. Without a second thought, you snag an empty pail of water. Taking a step down to become eye level, you tilt your head innocently, shaking the bucket on your wrist. “Would you mind escorting me to the well? I’m supposed to fetch some water and I’d much prefer not to do it alone.”

“Oh,” he says, almost disappointed by your offer. At least he gets to hang out with you! he thinks. When you raise a calculated brow, your words dawn on him. “Ohh, of course, my lady,” he blushes, offering an arm.

Your hand grips the meat of his bicep as you saunter past his beaten opponents and warriors unto the path to the woods. The walk isn’t far, daylight guiding your way to the tree line rather than a lantern on your wrist.

Sneaking around with Benji was becoming commoner and commoner. His presence shifting from a want to a need.

As you grow older, the risk of you two being betrothed to another becomes slimmer, seeing as your parents had solidified their place in his court so any rumors that may circulate your virtue no longer mind you.

The silence is comfortable as the pair of you are overtaken by a forest of dark green. Branches snap underneath your feet. Ahead you see two noble women talking together, and walking your way. When they walk past you, they giggle.

One look at Ben and you can see his anticipation rising— his cheeks flushed red, finger rhythmically tapping against his steel chest, and the swift glimpses he takes at the side of your face.

“We’re not alone,” you snide. Benji’s eyebrows furrow and he shoots a look behind him. He opens his mouth to refute, but the words are swallowed by your tongue when you grip his chin and pull him closer.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t restrain the whimper that shrivels up his throat. His hands fumble against your soft skin as your hands push his chest, his back slapping against the bark of a tree.

While your tongue fights for dominance, Benji’s fights to get the taste of you out of your own mouth.

There’s something so addictive about you that Ben doesn’t quite understand. He had felt this way his entire life yet he had only just began to have the grace of kissing you this year.

A stupid part of his thought it would dim this overwhelming feeling to be near you, sedate the heart which you had already stolen, but instead, it heightened it.

Courage, similar to the one he gets from alcohol— when he first was brave enough to kiss you — powers him to grip the curve of your waist and slam your body into his. Your moan encourages him to flip you, your back pressing into the tree.

His hand finds a way under your skirt and the pads of his fingers dig into your exposed thigh, pulling it to meet with his hip bone. He doesn’t want any space between you. He wants you two to be one. Forever intertwined. He really needed to propose your betrothal.

He smells like moon water, blood, and sweat. It only makes you tug his hair harder.

Not far from you, a throat clears.

As your heart momentarily stops, Benji’s lips are separated from yours in an instant.

A boy not much younger than you, awkwardly stands, his cheeks pink with embarrassment for coming across your endeavor.

Before you can blink and before the boy can even speak, Ben has the tip of his sword to his throat, the edge of the silver pressed onto his Adam’s apple. “Get the fuck out of here,” Benjicott sneers, “Or do I have to make you?”

Shaking with fear, the boy shakes his head, eyes wide like a deer and dashing like one when the sword is off his throat and seethed back into Ben’s holster.

Then, he turns to you, a cocky smile on his lips as his hands move to grip your hips. “Now, where were we?”

Giggling, your hand pushes his cheek away from your face, making him stumble in his footing. He pouts, watching as you step off the tree and pull a leaf from your skirt. You tilt your head at the leaf before giddily biting your lip and pulling Ben back in by the collar. His eyes light up, expecting another kiss, but when he closes his eyes, all he feels is your fingers filtering through his hair.

His eyes flutter open when you smack a wet kiss on his cheek. Ben watches you walk away, skirt swaying. Leaves crunch underneath you as you continue down the dirt path to the well, basket throttling in your arm as you disappear and reappear between trees. Dumbly, he touches the spot where you kissed him.

The tip of his finger catches a crunch by his ear. Swiftly, he grabs the object. The leaf looks small and withered in his palm. He can only imagine how much of an idiot he looked like with a brown leaf tucked in his hair— the same space where you usually bury his gifted flowers in your own hair.

“Come on, Benny!” you call out, your sultry eyes finding him from just a glance over your shoulder.

Ben is quick to follow because who is he to oppose you?

ima be honest, i don’t what the fuck this is. this shit is so bad

not edited or proofread ❌ lowkey i refuse to believe in Davos Blackwood so…

Had this in my drafts. Leave me alone if this makes you want to throw up.

#benjicot blackwood #bloody ben #hotd blurb #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #benjicot blackwood x reader #bloody ben x reader #yovrnewromantic

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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Oh shit :D ?

I just remembered! (Thank you, historical fantasy section!) But like? Serving and protecting The King, especially a HIGH KING, is quite literally not just an incredible honor... but it can sometimes be a person's Life Ambition?

Specificly a WORTHY king.

Perhaps they were denied in life. Perhaps they FAILED. And in their dying moments struggle with all they were to LIVE. To PROTECT. Perhaps the PREVIOUS king was a great and worthy ruler... but their heir is...

Unworthy.

Maybe they are born to an age without Rulers. Power shifting between hands in hidden halls. Unclear and murky. All they want is for their loyalty to MEAN something. For things to be SIMPLE.

The universe is large. The Infinite Realms? Unimaginably larger.

And Pariah Dark was a BASTARD.

Who would willingly swear to him? Fools! That's who! Every warrior soul worth ANYTHING gets as far AWAY from his Realm forsaken resting place as they can. Hides. Lest they be dragged in to his infernal, gods forsaken, cess pit of a so called "army"! *disgusted spitting noises*

But what does this mean? It means every trained FIGHTER... got the hell out of dodge. Oh, sure, a FEW refused. Like Pandora and her people. But most? The farthest side of NOWHERE, several layers down! Some still GOING! Better to be decried as cowards then have ANYTHING to do with THAT(said with loathing)!

It also means they weren't where Pariah could get to them when he woke. Couldn't help. Couldn't fight. Couldn't be commanded to kneel. Nothing. They removed themselves completely. Planned on CONTINUING to remove themselves. Preferably to the farthest reaches of forever, far beyond the bastard's gaze.

But! The whole REALM INFINITE felt it? When that... that hissing, acidic, malicious undertone? SLAMS back and away, like somebody's knocked a parasite from their backs. Replaced by coolness and starlight. Delicate balance and blood on your teeth. The pounding in your chest of HOPE.

It flutters so small across their backs, inside their chests. Washing away the old.

The King... feels tiny. Young.

.......what are they doing? Running like this. Hiding away like that will change anything. How long... when did...

There are so many of them now. A veritable army of souls, of all Ages and People's. Every armor and crest imaginable. They'd been so.. so REPULSED by Pariah... nothing else had mattered but to get AWAY. Where even ARE they? What YEAR is it? Does any of that matter?

The King.

Their Obsessions whisper. Loyalty. Service. Protection. Honor. You have left you post! Abandoned your DUTY! What are you DOING!?

They are AGHAST. They turn around at once. The King! How could they have ABANDONED the King!? Who is guarding him if they are all HERE?!

Himself!?

(Yes. Danny is fine. He is eating the "Thank You for keeping us all from dying to whatever the FUCK that was!" tamales Paulina's mom pushed into his arms on his way back home. He didn't even try arguing. He made eye contact and knew he would lose.)

(Why does he feel like something really, really bothersome is headed his way?)

It's UNACCEPTABLE. Unthinkable! The King? Unguarded? Where assassination attempts and nefarious PLOTS could occur?! What if someone tried to steal his eggs!? Or attacked him while his exoskeleton was molting!? They aren't entirely sure which species he is yet, but there are SO MANY NEFARIOUS PLOTS OUT THERE!!

*panicked honor guards*

Just? Imagine becoming king. And thinking "well, aside from the skeleton army I have to figure out, at least I don't have to manage anybody!" Only to *WABAM!* your ENTIRE GHOST COURT shows up like a week later. Turns out they were hiding from your predecessor.

You have a whole ass honor gaurd. Who REFUSE TO LEAVE YOUR SIDE. You have Chefs. Who WILL cry if you send them away. The Literal Best In The Multiverse are all following you around... YOU, a RANDOM TEENAGE, with Excited Shoujo Sparkles in their eyes... because you punched a jackass really, REALLY hard.

There is no way to make this stop. Your friends are laughing at you. The interior decorator wants you to look at swatches. What are swatches and why are you being harrased by them at 1am, you wonder? If you are Mean(tm) they throw themselves upon the floor and blame themselves for their Wicked, Evil, King-Upseting Ways and you can't even TELL if your being played here.

It's like being bullied by house elves. Or Miette.

Your parents are too excited by all the New Research (at least the reveal went well?) To SAVE THEIR SON, and your sister is HELPING THE ENEMY (Traitor!), so now you're being bullied into eating vegetables and studying more.

Then? THEN!! WHO SHOWS UP?! Like... five WEEKS late?! The Justice League. Gee! GREAT RESPONSE TIME, GUYS! Reeeal snappy! But ya, JUST missed the guy!

.......YES HES BEING SARCASTIC!!!

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

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hadesrise · 10 months ago

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## can’t help falling in love !!

summary──── no matter what tragedy strikes, you and jason can’t help falling in love with each other. based on “can’t help falling in love” by elvis presley.

pairings──── jason peter todd x addams!male reader

warnings──── fluff, angst, very suggestive in the beginning, foul language, death and resurrection, mentions of violence, brainwash, hurt/comfort, destined soulmates, possessiveness if you squint, blood

author’s note──── okay, i take back what i said. i probably won’t stop writing addams!reader anytime soon. by the way, i don’t have specific jason in mind so any universe can be imagined for all my jason fics.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you

The chilly air makes goosebumps appear on Jason’s skin as he hugs himself to shield away from the cold. Dark shine of the moon bringing peace to the silence completely surrounding him, Jason admires the statues littered across the graveyard behind the Addams manor in honour of your fallen ancestors. Despite darkness lurking behind every shadow and spirits wandering around tirelessly, this place held utter peace and comfort, warming Jason’s heart by embracing it tightly in their arms.

Each ancestors had extraordinary headstone that fits them best with their statue standing tall and proud, it truly shows how Addams honour their family members the right way. None of their headstones were simple or boring, each having unique traits that Jason was certain they used to have when they were alive. Each Addams have unique traits that differed from one another, but all of them were undeniably extraordinary. They aren’t like any other, much like how his lover’s not like any other.

Jason feels a coat being wrapped around him before two arms sneaks around his waist, shoulder weighing slightly from where you rest your chin on it. He fights back a smile.

“You could’ve called for me, beau. My siblings wouldn’t have minded one less duelling partner.” You softly say, pressing a kiss on his shoulder.

Jason instinctually leans back, snuggling to your neck. “Yeah, but you should spend more time with ‘em. Always with me, they’re gonna start thinking you’re forgetting your own siblings.”

“I assure you, they would not.” You start slowly swaying your bodies together to a non-existent music as Jason follows through with you. “They’re going to start thinking you’re forgetting them. Wednesday and Pugsley prefer you more than me, sweetheart, especially Wednesday.”

“Oh, really?” Jason smirks.

“Yes, really.” You nod with a sigh, though he could tell you weren’t annoyed at all. “She pushed me down the stairs last night after we’ve gotten back from our date.”

Jason throws his head back with a laugh, “Sorry, babe. She might or might not have invited me to throw an axe at Pugsley and I turned it down.”

“No wonder she was beyond irritated with me,” Amusement fills your tone as the corner of your lips twitch up to form a subtle smile. Jason looks at you over his shoulder and you immediately lean in for a lingering kiss, butterflies erupting in his stomach as his heart skip a beat. You then kiss his cheek and forehead before resting your chin back on his shoulder with eyes closed.

Jason sighs in content, admiring your captivating features that somehow reminds him of death. But your presence wasn’t as cold as death, it’s warm and engulfing despite your touch rivaling that coldness of an ice. He leans closer for a moment, only to lift your arms that were around him so he could face you while still being embraced by you, burying his face on the crook of your neck.

“I really love you.” He sighs, arms secure around your back.

“I would do everything for you,” Your reply was instant, resting your head against his. He felt your arms squeeze him as if to emphasise, and he chuckled.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” The silly question slips from his lips, half-joking and half-serious, pulling his head back to look into your nearly lifeless eyes. He’s reminded of how it’s only alive because of him.

Your eyebrows raised slightly in mere question and amusement, but you take his hand and press a tender kiss on his palm.

“I adore you in every universe. I love you just as much as Icarus has loved the sun — even more than he’s loved the sun. I would shatter the ground and raise hell just to find you wherever you go. I would paint the sky with shooting stars to fulfill your wish. I would tear the world apart and watch the universe collapse if you are ever taken from me, for a life without you is a life full of unquenchable thirst and eternal hunger unworthy of surviving. I would worship every ground you stand and walk on to an extent which I wish not to touch the ground you haven’t touched yet, for it hasn’t been blessed with your divine greatness. I would offer you my eyes if your vision fails, my voice if yours can no longer function, my heart if yours cease to beat, my hands if you can no longer hold the world in yours, my legs if yours fail to take you to places you’ve dreamed of. Only death shall keep me away from you, and even so, it would merely be enough to prevent me from either clawing the dirt apart and rising alive to hold you in my arms, or dragging you down with me to rest for all eternity together.”

By the end of your speech, Jason was already crying ocean of tears as his eyes twinkles in overwhelming happiness, extremely touched.

Both of you always make long and romantic declaration of your love for each other in most random times, and while his speech makes you smile from ear to ear and giddy like a high schooler, yours often never failed to reduce him into nothing but a sobbing and crying mess. He hates it, but could never bring himself to hate you for making him cry.

You smile gently at him and press very soft kisses on both of his eyelids before continuing, “Therefore, the answer is yes, my love. I would still love you if you were a worm.”

Jason chokes out a chuckle, sniffing. “Fuck you for always catching me off guard and making me cry.”

Your hands cup his red face as you coo, “Do not be ashamed for shedding your tears, Jason. Quite frankly, I find them very captivating.”

“Yeah?” He smirked. “You like seeing me cry?”

“Ah, yes...” A flirtatious smirk appears on your lips, one arm pulling him close and the other hand sneaking up to gently clasp your fingers around his throat. “Indeed, I do. Especially in bed.”

Jason resists his urge to moan when you squeezed slightly, tilting his head back a little to give you more access. “Why in bed when you can make me cry right here and now?” He whispered, rather lusciously as you stare into his lustful eyes.

You lick your lips before smashing your lips on his hungrily and Jason quickly reciprocates, no longer feeling the chilliness of the graveyard air.

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can’t help falling in love with you?

Jason loves you more than words can express. He loves you oh so dearly that he would turn back to the God that his heart stopped believing after he came back to life just so he could recite prayers for an eternity with you. Jason never thought it was possible to love someone so much so that he’d be willing to both give up everything for you and give you everything you want.

But sometimes, love makes him afraid.

Afraid of losing you. Afraid of seeing you hurt. Afraid of knowing anyone and anything can take you away any moment. He hadn’t thought about what you feel everytime you see him injured, but when you walked into the living room all bloody, bruised and slashed, his heart stopped and the mug he was holding just slipped from his hand to shatter on the floor.

You laid down on the large expensive sofa with a slight wince as Jason ran off to find some medical kits available in the Addams manor, being helped by Thing to locate its whereabout, before running back in with the necessities. He almost got a heart attack when he saw you had your eyes closed, seemingly not breathing, looking paler than usual. Dropping the medical kits on the carpeted floor below the sofa, he quickly checks on your pulse and sighs in relief when he feels it, just then remembering that an Addams is very unlikely to show any physical signs of breathing unless letting out a sigh.

You open your eyes and admire his face twisted in worry and fear, moving up a hand to pat his head twice. “It’s not necessary to be overly concerned, my dear. Nothing to fear of, these are mere injuries that can easily be treated.” You wave it off with the same hand, somehow very calm and nonchalant despite how intense your injuries looked.

Sadness now replacing the look on his face, Jason wordlessly shakes his head and begins to treat the bruises and cuts on your face with careful and soothing hands. You stop him gently to remove your vigilante suit before letting him continue, comforting silence filling the almost grim atmosphere. Jason doesn’t realise you’re watching every bit of his expression, seeing the way his perfect eyebrows furrow and his lips frown slightly every time he moves from one injury to another. It feels like the injury’s getting worse the more he moved to the next, and it made his heart heavy.

Your gaze softens, knowing he was having second thoughts about speaking the things that bothered him.

It seems Jason has quickly gathered the strength to speak because before you can throw encouraging words, his quiet voice interrupts the comfortable silence. “I know you’re not afraid of dying or anything with your culture and all, but it makes me worry a lot.” You nod to let him know you’re listening. “I sound like a real hypocrite ‘cause I go out on mission then come back here looking like a fucking zombie more than I want to admit, so I don’t have the right to say anything like this, but you almost gave me a heart attack.”

The corner of your mouth twitched, silently encouraging him to speak his thoughts more as he cleans your wounds. You don’t miss the way Jason’s hand trembled.

“You’re not...” He trailed off, hesitant to continue as he bit his lip as if to contemplate whether or not to say it out loud. He followed through it, anyway. “You’re not gonna leave me, right?” Jason tries, looking up and meeting your eyes. His emerald irises were wavering in worry and hint of fear.

Your hand gently caress his face, Jason leaning on it immediately. “As I’ve said before, mon amour... Death is merely enough to prevent me from crawling back to you.” Ignoring your freshly bandaged wounds, you pulled Jason on your lap and tugged at the back of his neck to kiss his lips passionately and comfortingly. “Leaving you only means leaving my heart and soul behind, darling. We wouldn’t want me to feel incomplete, would we?”

Jason sighs in content against your lips, before carefully shifting on the big sofa so he could squish beside you and pull you to his chest, initiatively big-spooning you.

“m’just really scared to lose you,” He whispered, burying his face on your hair and hugging you close, but not tight enough to hurt. It’s not like you’re capable of feeling pain, but you appreciated his kindness nonetheless.

You press a tender kiss on his chest, looking up at him and frowning softly. “I sincerely apologize for frightening you, my love. I’ll make an oath to be careful next time.”

Jason nods, basking in your warmth, your scent, your presence.

Gods, he loves you too much to let you go. He could never, would never. You belong to him just as much as he belongs to you and even death has no right to take that away. You were his, and only his — in life and in death.

You feel Jason’s arms tighten around you, and resisted the smile spreading across your face. Death can never intimidate you as your culture revolves around it, but the thought of losing Jason was always triggering for you. It made you dive into insanity and quickly get rid of the problem at hand, as if you’ll suffocate if you’re not quick enough to eliminate the threat. Handling Joker physically, handling Bruce mentally, handling those irrelevant crime lords who nearly hurt Red Hood off the streets violently, all things of sort.

Fall down with me further, mon chéri.

Your mind shall be filled with me and only me, even if it’s the utter fear of losing me.

A dreamy look flashed across your eyes before disappearing fast, burying your face in his chest and embracing him tighter. If you’re both too afraid for the other to die and lose them, then maybe dying together would not sound so bad at all.

You had read once on a book that falling in love is a curse, for you’ll drown in it before you even realise and fail to resurface once you fall too deep, unable to ever get out again.

However, if that is the case, you disagreed. Because it was never a curse, it’s only ever been a blessing.

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

“Where the fuck is he!?” Jason yelled in rage, red clouding his vision as he threw the mug on a wall. Panic, anger, and worry filled his chest that made his frustration grow even more.

Bruce sighed, worry also plastering his face as he attempted to grasp your location with the computer. “He’s only been gone for an hour, Jason. Be patient.”

“Anything can fucking happen in an hour!” He growled back, glaring harshly before the worry and panic began to overthrow his anger, one hand slipping through his hair and tugging at it. “I— fuck, what am I gonna do? I shouldn’t have let him go alone, I should’ve went with him—”

Dick quickly approached his little brother when his breathing started to grow uneven. “Jay, hey... Breathe, calm yourself first. He’s going to be okay, he’s an untouchable badass.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Jason shakes his head, rubbing his face. “I wouldn’t know what to do without him— I can’t live without him, Dicky. I can’t.” His voice broke as he trembled, silence filling the air with everyone frowning in sadness and worry.

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

Jason felt his heart thumping loudly against his chest when he saw you fighting enemies with only sustaining little injuries, relief flooding throughout his body. It’s like the world brightened up again, ironically.

You made eye contact in the middle of the fight, smirking at him. “Can’t get rid of me easily, love.”

A light-hearted chuckle erupts from Jason as he joins you along with the Batfam in fighting the League of Assassins, you and Jason moving in sync as if dancing through the violence. Both of you moved swiftly together, fitting each other perfectly like the pieces of a puzzle, using each other occassionally as a leverage against them.

“This is like dancing in our graveyard,” Jason grinned under his Red Hood helmet, adrenaline rushing in his veins.

“Indeed, it does feel like it.” You responded with subtle enthusiasm, only noticeable by your lover. He laughs at your answer, enjoying the moment even when it was violent.

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

He doesn’t know why he got distracted. He doesn’t know why he didn’t pay attention more to his surroundings. But before Jason knew it, Raj’s Al Ghul’s sword was nearly piercing into him.

Until your firm and cold hand pushed him away, everything feeling like a slow motion in Jason’s eyes as the sword pierced into your chest and through your back, directly striking the heart. Jason’s eyes widened, anguished call of your name slipping from his lips. Blood dripping from your mouth, you tightly held onto the sword before driving one of your sais on Raj’s Al Ghul’s throat, where a vital point is.

The League of Assassins member fell on the ground first, clutching his throat and choking on his own blood.

Amusement flickers in your eyes, even at the graveness of the situation. You looked back at Jason and smiled, grabbing the sword’s handle and pulling it off your chest despite Batman’s loud protests. Loud metallic clank echoes within the warehouse as you dropped the sword on the concrete, stepping forward once towards your lover, but your legs giving away made you almost tumble down.

Jason immediately catches you in his arms and lays you on his lap, tears stinging his eyes as his breath quickens, removing his helmet to throw it beside him. Heartbeat rapid and restless, heart dropped to his stomach, nausea forming in the pit due to the sight of blood flowing outwards to your vigilante suit from the hole on your chest. He could feel a panic attack nearing, but couldn’t be bothered to care when the blood kept pouring out even when he applied pressure.

“No— no, no, no, no.” He chokes up, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, trembling hands continuously putting pressure on your chest. “Stay with me, please. Stay with me. I can’t—” He sobbed. “I can’t lose you.”

Your breathing was shallow yet no fear plastered your face. There’s your usual calmness, the nonchalance that Bruce used to be so unsettled when he first met you, your almost dead eyes still sparkling in love and adoration for Jason. You don’t seem to care about your injury nor the outstretched arms of the Grim Reaper.

Your bloodied lips stretches to form a weak smile, captivated by Jason’s beauty under the moonlight. “You’re still magnificent, cherí… A sight to behold… under the moonlight…”

“Baby, now’s not the time.” Jason whined pathetically, tears flowing endlessly from his eyes. Dread, fear, devastation settling in his chest. “Please, baby. Please. I don’t know- fuck, I can’t live without you.” He cried, uncaring that you two were surrounded by his family. “I don’t… I can’t, baby. I— I can’t lose you, please.”

Adrenaline rushing through your veins and motivated by your sheer love for him, you reached up to wipe his tears and grab his other hand to intertwine it with yours. Jason’s heart drops further down the abyss when you then used it to pull out his dagger — the one you gifted him — out of his holster. “You would not lose me, by other’s hands, my sweetheart… I made an oath, to only offer you my life and soul, with no one else to have the privilege of ending me.”

“No— please, baby, no…” Jason weakly shakes his head, sobbing.

You gripped his hand that held the dagger. “You ought to, cherí… It is an honour for me to die by your hands. Please, allow me… to love you, one last time.”

Jason whimpered your name, crying heavily as he leans down to rest his head on yours. You were so cruel, wanting to die by his hands, wanting him to live forever with his hands stained in your blood— but Jason knew that’s how extent your love was for him. He could never deny you, not when it was your greatest wish.

Croaks and sobs escaping him, Jason finally drives the dagger through your chest, right where the sword pierced you. It is only then you slumped against him, hands slowly dropping to your sides with mouth slightly turned up in a smile of peace and satisfaction.

The greatest proof that you love him. Carving yourself deep into his heart, so he could never be alone even when you’re physically gone.

Jason wailed in anguish and sorrow, hugging your now lifeless body close as he brokenly recites the speech you gave him in the graveyard.

You hurt him badly, loved him too cruelly, but it was still better than losing you forever. He would’ve driven the dagger into his own beating heart if only you allowed him.

For I can’t help falling in love with you

Jason lost the brightness he had in him. Emerald eyes lifeless that seemed as if you took his soul with you, still functioning yet lacking in human emotions as if he was a robotic being.

Sometimes, he breaks so suddenly. Utters your name like a curse, sobbing and weeping in his room, scar so deep in his heart he scratches at his chest in attempt to get it out to stop the ache. His emotions were too unstable that left him unqualified to continue the vigilantism, which he agreed emotionlessly when pointed out by Bruce.

Sometimes, he’s shattered too much and far too gone in grief that he sleeps on your grave. Covers himself in blanket and nuzzles on your headstone, as if it would give him the warmth you always radiated despite being as cold as death. He could only sleep that way; the sleeping pills don’t help, but being close to your body does.

He holds his dagger close to him all the time. Stained in your dried blood that he never got the nerve to wash off, afraid that his mind would someday choose to forget your existence to block out the trauma.

He wears everything you used to wear. Uses your weapons, things, accessories. His favourite is your sunglasses. Having your possessions close always made him feel like you were embracing him.

No one ever attempted to get them away from him in fear of shattering his soul furthermore. His entire being seemingly dependent on everything that reminded of you, they didn’t want to trigger something inside of him any more than the scar in his heart did.

“Love truly is the greatest twisted curse in the world, Mr. Wayne.” Morticia mutters in sorrow as she looks out the window of the Addams’ manor, watching Jason curl up against your headstone with tears silently streaming down his face.

Bruce looks down in dejection, nodding his head.

His boy was beyond repair, and no one could do anything about it because you were gone.

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Jason’s eyes were wide in shock and horror. Emotions swirled within his chest; anger, disgust, sadness, grief, disbelief, and joy battling one another that overwhelmed him all at once. His family stood with him in front of the monitor, their expressions just as horrified as him, the familiar situation causing dread to settle in the pit of Bruce’s stomach.

The monitor showed you, alive and well with the exception of your eyes seemingly more dead and lifeless than before. Everything was the same from your emotionless face to your vigilante suit that you died in, but Jason could see right through you. This wasn’t you. This you wasn’t his.

Not when you were standing in the same room as the Joker who you’d immediately kill if you were put together.

Jason was even more certain you weren’t his when he sees you up close, your personality different from that sophisticated, nonchalant yet wonderful one you had before. You’re just… blank. A dead person living without humanity and following orders. You don’t follow orders, you hated being controlled.

The familiarity makes his chest clench and hurt. He’s been through this exact thing, he never thought you would experience it too.

“I don’t want to fight you, baby.” Jason whispered, voice cracking. His helmet hiding the heartbroken look on his face that you were standing in front of him with your sais pointed dangerously in his direction.

You scowled. He’s somehow familiar, your chest erupting in unknown emotions that Talia never taught you about. The urge to hold him close was tugging at the strings of your heart, but you stay glued to your spot. “I do not know you, fool.” You emotionlessly remark.

Hurt flashed across his face. There’s nothing he wanted more than to be held by you and hold you close, but how could he when you don’t recognise him? Did they brainwash you? Your memories lack, but they could come back, right?

“Red Hood,” Batman warningly calls his name when you lowered your stance.

Jason still didn’t pull out his guns.

“Baby, it’s me.” He whispered weakly. “Please, you said you’ll hold me again. You’ll crawl out of dirt to hold me or pull me under with you, remember?” Jason tried again, tears shimmering his eyes. His throat burned.

Your eyes narrowed, brows furrowing. You feel like you’ve told him that, but couldn’t remember. Something was banging on your head from the depths of your mind that made it throb. Gripping your sais, you desperately ignored the pain to focus on your task.

“Ignore it,” Talia’s voice entered your ears. “Kill him.”

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be

“Fuck!” Jason yelps when you managed to slash him on his leg, dodging your next attack quickly. “Wait— please, listen to me!”

“Red Hood, watch out!” Red Robin shouts just as Jason narrowly avoids your sai flying towards his head.

He couldn’t find any other way to get you to listen. The way you attempted to tune him out makes him believe you were feeling something, but there’s nothing he could do when you keep coming at his throat. Desperation runs through his veins, heart still bleeding out for you even as you try to kill him. The coldness in your eyes was foreign that carved another scar in his heart, but he can’t hate you no matter what.

Jason’s heart jackhammered against his ribcage when you finally caught him by the throat and slammed him harshly on the floor, your murderous look that he always loved plastered over your face. He stops struggling after realising he could never hurt you again, and slowly hovers his hand over your wrist. Your grip on his throat was tight, but Jason couldn’t be bothered to panic.

He finally had you again at last. Why should he panic when the source of his life was so near to him?

“Have you gotten exhausted of fighting back?” You calmly tilted your head, curiosity in your eyes. Jason doesn’t miss the split seconds of conflicted look.

“I can’t,” He replies quietly. “I love you, baby. Never stopped.” His other hand raised to remove his helmet, ignoring Bruce’s protest, and your grip on his throat faltered as soon as you make eye contact with the emerald eyes that you adore too much.

“I don’t want to fight you. So kill me,” Jason mumbled with a soft voice. “Allow me to love you one last time and stab my heart with your sai. For a life without you is a life full of unquenchable thirst and eternal hunger unworthy of surviving.” He recited your own quote back to you with a tearful smile.

Closing his eyes, peace overtakes Jason for the first time in a long while since losing you as he waits for the abrupt pain of being pierced through the heart. However, all that came was softness attaching itself to his lips.

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

Jason snaps his eyes wide open in shock at your lips pressing against his, the death grip on his throat loosening just to hover affectionately over it. His body naturally reacts, moving on its own to reciprocate your kiss and relish in it, arms flying up to wrap around your neck.

You pulled away when he yearns for oxygen, a sob nearly escaping him again when he sees the love and warmth in your eyes. You smile gently at him, brightness returning to your previously dead eyes. “I’m deeply sorry, my love. I’m back.”

Jason tearfully chuckled and crushed you in a hug, heart rapidly beating against his chest. Relief wasn’t enough of a word to describe the happiness he felt. The feeling of being embraced tightly by you causing tears to stream down his face for the nth time, his longing and yearning finally being fulfilled. He missed this, he missed you, he missed his only home.

For I can’t help falling in love with you

Neither you nor Jason had left the bedroom since returning, having locked yourselves up in his room that you shared to obtain privacy for yourselves. None of the Waynes were bothered too much as they understood how much Jason yearned for your presence, the only comfort he’s ever had in his life.

Jason’s been holding onto you for dear life with the fear of you vanishing out of nowhere, his face buried on the crook of your neck and hand resting on your chest directly above your heart to feel it beating through his palm. Your arms securely wrapped around him in reassurance makes him feel more safe and at peace than he ever did. He pulls away slightly to look up, seeing you already staring at him with fondness and comfort.

“Don’t leave me again, please.” He croaks like a lost child, voice cracking.

You kissed his forehead. “I’d return to you in a heartbeat, my Jason.”

Jason stares into your gentle eyes, snuggling closer to you and intwining his legs with yours to feel every part of you. “Can’t live without you, baby.” He whispered.

You smiled. Perhaps, it was time to tell him.

Even death can’t severe the emotional bond and love you have for each other, which leaves one option; together. Falling out of love was never in either of your vocabulary, anyway.

For I can’t help falling in love with you

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sapphireis · 7 months ago

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Dark/Yan Aemond HCs

ೃ⁀➷ TW/CW: DARK CONTENT, 18+ (MINORS/AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DON’T INTERACT), Bad English, Toxic Relationship, Implied AFAB Reader (talk about pregnancy and stuff in a part, but for the rest pretty GN), Jealousy, Manipulation, Breeding Kink a bit, OOC?, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ My blog contains dark content, be careful when interacting/following! ➳ Characters: Aemond Targaryen

⤠ I'd do anything for you, Mrs. Highness (Aemond) ⤟ Masterlist (soon!) ⤠ None ⤟

hello hotd fandom... pls be nice to me since this is my first time posting smth about this fandom hndhhd and I'm also very insecure about my writing rn, anyway... i wrote this mostly for myself so I'm sorry LMAO

He's so possessive and protective of you. To the point where you can't go anywhere without guards who are loyal to him, due to his paranoia. Aemond would prefer to be your guard all the time, but alas he is unfortunately a very busy man so he has to trust the guards

When you are forced to do parties or appear in public Aemond is always around you or watching you, his eye never really leaves your figure. He always has his hands over you either on your lower back, guiding you where he wants, or on your waist. To remind you who you belong to.

Heleana and Alicent are the only one who he lets be around you when he is gone to keep you company, his brother Aegon? AH. No. Maybe Daeron, but Aegon absolutely not. Why would you want to spend time with a drunken fool?

In truth he is insanely jealous about everything and everyone, including his own family. He trusts his sister and mother to not pry too much into your relationship, and in fact his mother is more of an enabler for him. She is just so glad her son finally found someone he loves and cares about, so that he isn't alone anymore. How could she deny him such happiness?

Will try to get the two of you married instant. As soon as he saw you Aemond knew he had to marry you, it doesn't matter if you are highborn or not to him. Much to his mother and grandsire's displeasure of course

Once you are married of course he's gonna make you pregnant if possible. You wouldn't try to get away from him with a child on its way no? When he has endless ways of helping you with a babe, both during the pregnancy, the birth, and the years to come. Why have it the hard way when you can live a life of luxury?

Talking about a life of luxury, Aemond will give you anything you might need and more to keep you compliant. However, some things are not negotiable like for example what you wear: its either green or sapphire blue, no other clothes are tolerated for him. If you want to be more transgressive you can wear something outside of that, though the consequences...

He's so manipulative and wouldn't care to bring the situation in his favour, and would absolutely use your own emotion against you. "If you are hurt imagine how I feel" and stuff like that is often said when you two are fighting often over nothing, if not directly about Aemond's way of treating you.

You think it's unfair, Aemond thinks you don't understand how he feels. There is a war coming and he won't always be there protecting you since he will be on the battlefield. Its only fair that he fears for your safety, no? What kind of husband would he be otherwise?

This work belongs to @/sapphireis, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged♡

#hotd #aemond targaryen #yandere hotd #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #yandere aemond x reader #dark aemond #dark aemond x reader #🌺 ── my.writing #❀ dead dove do not eat

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tovibeornottovibe · 3 days ago

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Deny! Deny! Deny! - Part I

Azriel x Priestess!Fem!OC

Azriel knows Thea is just as attracted to him as he is to her. He's content to only think about her when he's in bed and he's happy to know that she's doing the same. They can spar and meet up in the training ring secretly when they can't sleep. They can talk about sex and revenge and whatever they're reading at the moment like they're things two friends just discuss at the same time. Unfortunately, an external problem forces them to be confined in the House of Wind together, with only a certain Eris Vanserra as temporary company. So, naturally, he ruins everything. [4.5k words]

warnings: explicit sexual content from the very start, masturbation, azriel being a horny mf, various sexual fantasies, swearing

Prefer to read on Ao3?

Azriel’s at his desk in the House of Wind, working, reading reports and writing little notes to himself in red ink along the margins. It’s taking him twice as long to sort through the useful parts because he keeps letting his mind wander to what it he imagines it’s like to come in Thea’s mouth. His shadows are thoroughly banished to the corners of his office, since they tend to whisper things like: when she touches herself, she whispers your name, she needs you, she’s dripping just for you, shadowsinger, wants your tongue and your hands and your… in his ear and they aren’t supposed to be eavesdropping on her. In fact, he’s ordered them not to. Explicitly. Who or what Thea thinks about in bed is not his business and he doesn’t want it to be, even if it’s him.

Because it isn’t really him, it’s just a fantasy of what she thinks he’ll be like. Same way that when he thinks of her, it isn’t her. He doesn’t know what her moans sound like or how intoxicating her skin tastes or what pretty colour her nipples are. He’s content never to find out too. His imagination is good enough.

By the time Rhys pulls that thread in the back of his mind to let him know he wants to talk, he’s this close to coming in his trousers and nowhere near hitting the very high work quota that he sets himself.

Not a good time, Rhys, he says along the thread, and curses himself. He sounds breathy even in his head.

A dark chuckle comes back at him. Am I interrupting?

Technically, no, but Az is about to palm himself through his underwear until he spills with Thea’s name caught in his throat. When he does that, he’ll need time to clean himself up. He’s not walking into Rhys’ office smelling like he’s been in a pleasure hall in the middle of the day—though, it would get Rhys off his back about Elain finally, and then he half-considers the idea before he snaps himself out of it. So, he supposes, Rhys is interrupting, and Az isn’t available to him until he deals with his straining cock.

What do you want? he grits out, kind of like his teeth are stuck together.

Rhys hedges, his tone annoying, Just a friendly little chit-chat between brothers, nothing hugely importan—

You’re an asshole, Az deadpans, I’m not in the mood. The heat curling in his stomach is starting to burn. Shifting in his seat makes him tense just from the friction of the fabric moving against his skin. He’s a fool, he thinks, for not just taking a break and rubbing one out earlier to get his concentration back, but there’s something delicious about clamping his jaw shut so no one hears him groaning if they pass by the door while he gets himself off in here. Maybe Cassian’s right to call him a freak in bed. Or out of bed, as the case may be.

Just finish who you’re doing and meet me in the river house once you’ve had a bath, Rhys says. We’ve had an interesting proposal.

…Damn his curiosity.

From who? he asks.

For the moment his brother hesitates, Az thinks he’s going to fob him off and not tell him anything at all, but then, very carefully, Rhys says, That’ll definitely ruin your afternoon. And whoever it is you have with you. He lets out a huff of frustration that isn’t just because he’s been hard for twenty minutes now when Rhys retreats from the bond and leaves his head. Cryptic bullshit. Makes him anxious. Not great for maintaining a hard-on.

The irritation quickly disappears when he undoes the ties at his crotch and squeezes his cock the same way he thinks Thea will clench around him when she’s close. It’s languid and needy and he’s panting quietly at his fucking desk of all places while he smears the pre-cum thats leaking from his tip all over himself so it’s easier to tug just the way he likes it. He grips the edge of his desk when his wings start to twitch and tighten. His abs ache from the tension that keeps him from bucking up into his own hand; that’s just embarrassing. It’s probably a lewd sight, and the thought of Thea watching him whine is what gets him to come so hard on his stomach that he actually sees stars.

Bliss, that’s what he calls it. Euphoria is reserved for the real thing.

Thea being the subject of what gets him off doesn’t factor into the post-climax guilt he feels. She knows he thinks about her like this; she asked him one time up in the training ring, he answered honestly, and she didn’t tell him not to. She laughed at him for it, coyly, and he thinks about the sound of that too. So it’s fine.

What does get him to second-guess himself is the fact that both Rhys and Mor will skin him alive for thinking about a priestess like that, regardless of whether Thea likes it or not. They’re like that. Principles apply without context. That, and he’s made an utter mess of himself, and this particular shirt, pair of trousers, and boxers are now ruined.

A few minutes having been taken to just be, recovering, his shadows aren’t picky about taking him from this room to his bedroom, where he strips, throws his clothes on the floor (where the House vanishes them. He’s not sure he wants to know where it puts things like that), washes, and redresses himself all in the space of five minutes. They fuss at his shoulders, but know better than to start talking again. He’d sooner fly to the river house alone than listen to them spoil Thea’s preferences. Though a comfort, they’re unnecessarily involved in trying to provide him with more company than they can give. Feminine temptation, they know as well as he does, is an effective way to make him crack.

But not when it comes to Thea.

He lands in the back gardens of the river house where the edge of the land runs off into the Sidra. Rhys and Feyre have a little pier down here where, he doesn’t know, they fish with Nyx or something. It’s all very domestic. Perfect for a kid. He’s happy for them. Really, really happy for them. Sure, the bitter, acidic envy roiling in his chest says otherwise, but he’s not listening to that right now. Or ever, if he can help it.

He strolls in through the backdoor with his shadows curling around his figure softly, barely visible in the natural Summer sunlight that streams through the windows of the house. It’s good lighting for painting, Feyre had been telling him. The stairs up to Rhys’ office are short work, he takes them two at a time, and he passes by the portraits on the walls that he’s seen a hundred times in the same way he always does, in awe. Such detail in the brush marks that the ones he can see have to be deliberate, dragging the paint for a specific effect. Az doesn’t know enough about art to know if what Feyre does is common, but he knows what he likes, and he likes what his High Lady paints.

He knocks, but Rhys calls him in before he’s finished and the metallic taste of High Fae magic hits his tongue as the door flicks open of its own accord. Soft, perfect laughter wafts through the threshold before he can take another step, and now he considers if the Mother has been conspiring against him today, because he knows that laugh.

“Ah, decided to finally grace us with your presence, Az?” It’s Mor who’s talking, a bit impatiently, but Azriel’s still snagging on who’s sitting opposite Rhys, eyeing him over her shoulder while she puts down her tea with a clink.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Thea leaves the library sometimes. Her idiosyncrasies stretch further than that, he would assume. It doesn’t surprise him that she’s wearing that wrap of blue fabric that hugs her thighs and around her ankles so that it’s more of a bodysuit than a dress, despite the flowing silk which is draped around her shoulders. The way the light bounces off her terra-cotta skin and makes the bronze in her dark curls shimmer doesn’t shock him either—he’s entirely aware of the fact that she can rival Helion for looking like the sun personified at times, and he knows that sounds romantic but it isn’t. It’s factual. Completely objective.

However, the gold foil, very intentionally flecked on the apples of her cheeks in little scraps which follow the curve of her eyes like stars, that gets him. And now he has a new way to imagine her gasping for him. Why in the world has she done that and how in the hell does it frame her face so well?

…Bad thoughts. He’s blocking them out.

Her being in Rhys’ office, that is what he needs to focus on.

“I…” he starts as he falters into the room, ripping his gaze off of Thea before it can get suspicious and onto Mor, who’s lounging by the window which looks out into the city, “...was busy.” Neither she nor Rhys give him the usual sly, snide comments at the insinuation of that. He directs his question at his brother, letting himself glance at Thea only to nod at her in greeting, like he hasn’t just had a mind-blowing orgasm at the idea of her tittering at him when he whimpers for her, before he sits down in the chair next to her. “What’s going to ruin my afternoon?”

“This is.”

Rhys grimaces before Az turns to Thea. Between her index finger and her middle finger, she clasps a letter written on yellow-ish paper, its red seal already broken, and the page unfolded. She looks at him and tilts her head, a small smile quirking on her lips like she thinks this is funny, and he gently takes the letter from her hand. He ignores it when his fingers brush against hers.

When he sees what’s stamped on the seal, he feels his blood run cold: baying dogs amongst fire. The feeling doesn’t stop until he’s finished reading every single word that’s scrawled in that fucking handwriting on that fucking paper.

“This is addressed to you, Thea. Directly addressed to you,” he says, raking his eyes over the word Hemithea at the top of the page. If Az's familiarity with her strikes Rhys or Mor as odd, they don’t mention it, and he’s too hyperfocused on the letter to notice if they make faces or if their breathing changes. He snaps his head up to her and makes sure she’s looking at him before he asks, “Why is Eris Vanserra addressing letters about…?” He searches for the term on the paper.

“Dissociative stimulants?” she offers, but the look he gives her makes her go quiet and he realises he’s angry. Furious, even. It’s not the cold anger that he only lets Rhys see, not the icy rage that comes over him when he needs to release it. And it’s not with her, never, but with the situation, and he’s not doing a good job at pushing that at anything but her. There’s no fear on her face, thankfully, she just seems taken aback by the strength of his feeling about it. So is he, if he’s honest, but having his friend offer advice to one of his mortal enemies wasn’t what he had on the cards for today.

“Yes,” he bites out. “Those. Why is he asking you about those?”

“Azriel,” Rhys warns lowly. He slides his gaze over to his brother for a second, before it settles back on Thea and he waits.

“It’s fine,” she says to Rhys, waving him off, and then her sole attention is on him and Az can feel the wind get kicked out from under him as she fixes him still. “Eris—” hearing the prick’s name come out of her mouth puts him on edge, “—asked Rhys for information on a certain plant that his father has begun using, and Rhys directed him to me because that’s what I research—”

He cuts her off. “I know what you research, Thea.” Of course he does. He can sit and watch her smash training dummy after training dummy with her impeccable blade skills on those sleepless nights of theirs and happily listen to her talk about medicines and hallucinogens for hours on end. It’s not only useful for when he needs to apply a bit more pressure in the dungeons of the Hewn City, but it’s truly fascinating and the passion in her voice when she speaks is more soothing than any kind of tea Madja has ever given him for headaches. “Why are we providing Eris with access to our scholars?” Her face softens when he calls her that. Scholar. The sight relaxes him, but not enough.

“We aren’t,” Mor says firmly from behind him, still lounging and looking out of the window.

“Mor—” Thea begins, but Rhys stops her softly.

He addresses both Mor and Az plainly. “I want to know what Beron is doing beyond what Az’s spies can tell us.” It’s not meant as an insult, but it hurts like one, and Rhys sends him an apologetic look. Not a reflection on you, brother. Even Az knows that there are limits to what someone paid to betray their home Court is willing, or able, to provide. “If he’s found a substitute for faebane now that we’re inoculated, we need to be prepared. Eris is giving us information about that whether he thinks he is or not.”

Realisation dawns on Azriel so quickly he’s certain the rest of the room can feel it. He has to shut his jaw before it hangs open for too long. “You’re tricking him.”

Thea, again smiling at him, nods. “In a way, yes.”

Is that pride blooming in his chest?

“I’ve been plying him for as much information as I can get. Obviously, he knows we’re gaining from what he’s telling us, but he thinks the details I’m asking for are just out of curiosity.”

Then… why is this an issue?

He hadn’t said a word, but Mor answers his question anyway. “If you let him into the city,” she snaps, “he wins. You do get that, don’t you?” In her voice is the wet rage of a person who cares too much. It’s righteous rage, after everything that happened to her.

Wait.

Double take.

“Let him into the city? ” he snarls at Rhys, who’s watching for his reaction with a kind of impassive, neutral face.

Thea sighs beside him. “If we want to understand what it is this plant does,” she says coolly, “I need to see the physical effects of it on the body. Eris is capable of giving me that, and I’m not leaving Velaris to get it.”

The admission knocks him out of his anger so completely that his spiking shadows drop flat to the floor before they whirl up to his shoulders again. Gods, of course she won’t leave the city. Eris has to come to her. She’s a scholar, but a priestess too. The library is her sanctuary and he knows exactly what happened to her for it to have become that. Only he, Mor, and Rhys are aware of the story, Mor actively being the one to bring her to Velaris, and the other two don’t even know that Thea told him one night in the House of Wind. Leaving the library to come here is bravery enough; he’ll physically stop Mor pushing that boundary if he has to.

“Then get someone else to meet with him,” Mor says, and Az understands. Thea, knowing her, will too. It’s an unfair scenario, but he’s already shaking his head at the notion. No one else understands this substance like Thea does, and try as he might to comprehend all of the things she tells him, she’s the expert. The depth of her knowledge would take years to teach someone else so they could perform whatever study she needs to, and by then, Beron might be using this stimulant for something nefarious. They can’t have that.

“He’d stay in the House of Wind, Mor,” Rhys explains kindly. He too gets it, why she’s so irate about it. “He’s not getting anywhere close to the city.”

“Punt him off one of the balconies,” Thea says. “Let me strap him to a table and make him bleed for what he did to you, Mor.” The imagery of that, and Thea being the one to do it, pleases Az more than he cares to admit. “It doesn’t matter to me what happens to him, but only after I’ve wrung every last bit of information out of him. This—” she waves the letter in the air, “—scares me. If it does what I think it does, then we need to know how to combat it as fast as possible.”

Mor swallows, purses her lips, and returns to the window. Az can’t tell if that’s quiet acceptance of Eris’ presence, or angry acceptance of the fact that Rhys is going to let him into the city with or without her approval. Something about that sits uncomfortably in Azriel’s stomach. Willfully ignoring your second-in-command is a bold, if stupid, move.

“What do you think it does?” he asks, noting the real, shaking fear in the way Thea spoke. It’s not something he ever wants to hear again. Even Rhys sits back as he watches her take a breath.

“The classification of it: dissociative stimulant, tells you a lot,” she says. “It stimulates brain function. Makes you forget the limits your body puts your muscles under to stop you tearing yourself in half. Makes you more aggressive, heightens every basic instinct you have. And the dissociative part…”

“You’re out of your mind while it’s affecting you,” he finishes for her.

She makes a little hum of approval. Inappropriately, he stores the sound for a different context. “Hallucinations. Delusions. Totally abnormal emotional responses,” she continues. “Reading between the lines of what Eris says, it has a side effect of making a person more… malleable. Think being controlled by a daemati but you can give it to thousands and thousands of soldiers who won’t feel pain, don’t want to eat, and have no concept of their morals, all without breaking a sweat. Eris—he’s terrified of it.”

Sounds a lot like the Crown, he thinks absently.

Rhys must have caught the thought, because his voice rings in Az’s head. But far worse.

Does Feyre—?

A nod. Thea came here and explained everything to the two of us already. I thought she was going to break the front door off its hinges.

If this weren’t so serious, he’d laugh at the image. Thea went down the ten thousand steps and crossed the city for this, instead of trying to find him or Cassian and ask them to help her. Then again, if she had decided to get him, she’d have found him with his hand around his cock, probably sighing her name, so it’s for the best that she didn’t. Besides, it’s obvious to him that the exertion of the journey hasn’t affected her. She’s wide-eyed. Excited, even. It’s a strange thing to note.

He swallows thickly. Refocuses. He hates everything about this. He hates that Mor is the one who has to bear the brunt of it. He doesn’t want Eris within ten feet, no, ten miles of Thea, and Cassian… Logistically, it doesn’t seem possible. “Cassian will kill him before he even steps foot in the House of Wind. If Eris breathes near Nesta, it’s over before it begins,” he says.

Measured, detached, Rhys replies, “Neither of them will be in the House of Wind when he’s here.”

The plan, Azriel realises, has been set out before he’d even arrived, and he’s just walked Rhys and Thea through it the same way they probably formed it. Clever.

“And you want me to play chaperone,” he concludes, not bothering to ask it as a question. “Again.” Mor perks up at the word, but it’s for Rhys and him to know. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Rhys asks, almost splutters, like he was expecting more pushback.

But it is fine. It’s the only way any of this is fine. If he isn’t there, then Thea has no safety net, and no one would be around to keep Eris in his place. That fucker will try something, he feels it. He’s not about to give Eris unfettered access to her. That sounds like possessiveness, but it isn’t. While they might be training the priestesses in the House of Wind, and though Thea is the best of them, Eris has five-hundred-years of experience and the power of an heir to a Court. So, yeah, he nods, it’s fine. Not good, not okay. Fine.

To Thea, he asks, “How long do you think you’ll need?”

She shrugs. “A few days, maybe more. I don’t know.” At that, Mor huffs and stands abruptly, walking out without a word, and Thea winces. “That doesn’t feel great,” she says.

“She’ll get over it,” Rhys says carefully as he stares after where she’d disappeared behind the door. Thea offers him a weak smile, like she knows that’s a lie. For Mor, this is an unforgivable situation—but the fact that Feyre agreed to it so readily is a marker of how important it is; it’s probably driven a wedge between them. Family dinners are going to go back to being awkward.

“I think I need to go clear my head.” Thea stands, pushes herself up delicately with her fingers pressing into the leather arms of the chair. “I’ll write to Eris once I’m back at the library,” she tells Rhys.

“As soon as he—” Rhys starts, but Thea nods.

“I know the plan, Rhys,” she says. “I’ll see you soon.” And then she’s turning to Az and saying, “You still owe me from this morning.” Over the other side of the desk, Rhys’ eyebrows shoot up.

He owes her ten marks because he bet her that she couldn’t nick him in the neck when they sparred after general training was finished with earlier. Usually, when they practice swordplay, the goal for him isn’t to win, it’s to facilitate Thea practicing her skills and keep her reflexes honed. Her goal is, always, to land a hit that grazes his skin, because she’s the only priestess besides Gwyn who has the control to use a blade with a sharp edge. Training swords, he explained to her once, don’t hold the weight of the real thing. So, he ends every morning training session with another mark on himself, usually on his torso, or his arms, occasionally his thighs, but this time, he challenged her, and she rose to meet it. Illyrian healing has made the cut heal over already, but he and Thea know it’s there.

“Do it again tomorrow. Double or nothing,” he says, ignoring the look Rhys is giving him.

In response, Thea scoffs a laugh. “Deal,” she says, shaking her head at him. “See you later, Az.” She passes by him and her hand twitches like she’s going to run her hands through his hair. She's in the habit of doing that to annoy him, but it doesn't annoy him; he practically keens every time. She restrains herself for Rhys’ benefit and he doesn’t watch her go. When she leaves the room, Az lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

The silence from his brother grates on him.

“Say whatever it is you want to say, Rhys,” he says calmly.

Rhys flicks his eyes between him and the door. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” Az glowers at him, and he sags back into his chair, the final bit of High Lord in him melting away. “I didn’t know you and Thea were…” He looks away, searching for the word. “...close,” is what he settles on—bitingly disapprovingly, but with some reluctance too.

“She’s my friend,” Az states, because it’s true. His shadows darken around his forearms.

“She’s a priestess,” Rhys says, and it reminds Az of a parent. Now Rhys is a father, he has that stern, paternal tone to him when he’s scolding them like children.

“So?”

He knows what Rhys is getting at, but, pettily, he wants him to say it. Wants him to admit that he thinks he’s incapable of keeping it in his pants.

However, Rhys so rarely gives Az what he wants these days, and changes the subject. The warning has been understood regardless.

“Who were you with earlier?” he asks, smirking. “Do we know her?”

Azriel folds his hands in his lap and crosses his legs. He’s never answered that question before, not even if Mor asked him, and he’s not about to start now. “I don’t need you meddling in my sex life, Rhys,” he says, thinking bitterly to himself that he doesn’t actually have one currently, and he has no plans to change it. It’s not that he can’t get one. He could go to Rita’s tonight, be flooded with offers from males and females alike, and he could easily have two at a time; he’s not naïve of that. He’s just not going to, especially since Rita’s makes him nauseous when he’s there alone.

“Forgive me for being curious,” he says. “Cassian tells me you haven’t taken a lover for years.”

Of course Cassian tells you that. Brotherly love extends a long way and it's the reason Azriel doesn’t wring Cass’ neck for being a busybody. “I don’t need Cassian meddling either.”

Rhys runs his tongue along his teeth and relents, throwing his hands up in surrender. “For what it’s worth,” he says, a feline grin gracing his face, “when you do get another lover, it’ll be gratifying to keep him and Nesta up all night in revenge, no?”

That makes Az exhale a little laugh despite himself, and Rhys clearly takes it as a victory. “Maybe,” he says, shrugging. “I was in the middle of something.” He still has a lot of work to do, and now his previous problem is dealt with, he can get back to being efficient about it.

“Go on,” Rhys says, nodding to the door. “Make sure Thea gets back safe, will you?” he adds, but the warning is back in his tone, as if to say do that and don’t dare do anything else.

On the flight back to the House of Wind, he sends his shadows to find her. She’s in The Rainbow, shopping, chatting with vendors. She doesn’t get back for another couple of hours, and he leaves her be while he works.

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honestcompassion · 7 days ago

Note

may you do a shadow milk cookie version of the yandere headcanons?

𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒. having strong feelings of romantic love

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 yandere shadow milk cookie headcanons

warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, physical abuse, psychological abuse, stalking, manipulation, brainwashing, implied forced relationship, potentially ooc

A/N: Of course I can! When Shadow Milk Cookie first debuted, I fell in love instantly. There’s just something about theatrical villains, especially the eccentric jester types, that captivates me. One order of yandere Shadow Milk Cookie headcanons, coming right up!

Shadow Milk Cookie as a yandere would be like a dark chocolate truffle—rich, alluring, and just a little bitter beneath the sweetness. His charm wraps around you like velvet, a perfect blend of theatrical flair and quiet intensity that feels as intoxicating as it is unsettling. His love is a shadowed waltz, beautiful and haunting, leaving you unsure whether to be captivated or cautious. It’s the kind of affection that feels like a dream you can’t wake up from—both a sweet escape and a lingering trap. You’ll find yourself drawn into his world of dramatic devotion, but beneath the warmth of his smiles lies a possessive hunger he can’t quite hide.

He thrives on grand, theatrical gestures to express his devotion, leaving you gifts with cryptic yet poetic notes signed with an elegant flourish. These gestures range from elaborate displays of affection—like lighting up a dark field with glowing lanterns in your honor—to eerily personal offerings, such as items he’s "acquired" from your daily life. Every act is calculated to make you feel like you’re at the center of his universe, even as it slowly closes in around you.

He views your relationship as a masterpiece, with himself as the playwright and you as the star. Shadow Milk Cookie meticulously plans each moment to keep you enchanted, ensuring you never have a reason to stray from him. If you ever seem distant, he’ll orchestrate events that pull you back into his embrace, from accidental encounters to dramatic rescues that only he could have staged.

Shadow Milk Cookie takes his role as the playwright of your love story to sinister extremes, orchestrating every detail of your life to align with his vision. His stalking is meticulous; he knows your schedule, preferences, and even your deepest fears. He uses this information not just to keep you under his watchful eye, but also to manipulate your circumstances, ensuring that you rely on him entirely. Whether it’s sabotaging relationships, creating accidents, or isolating you from friends and family, everything he does is designed to sever your ties to the outside world.

Anything proving to be a psychological feat are one of his most insidious tools. Shadow Milk Cookie weaves a narrative that convinces you the world outside is full of dangers and betrayals, leaving him as the only one you can trust. He’ll gaslight you into questioning your own memories and perceptions, using his silver tongue to twist reality into something that serves his control. "Surely, you don't actually believe their words? Ignorance is a sin only a fool can commit, dearest!"

His manipulation extends to planting seeds of doubt and fear in your mind. He’ll isolate you with subtle cruelty, belittling your connections to others or hinting that they harbor ill intentions toward you. At the same time, he showers you with affection, creating a jarring cycle of emotional highs and lows that leaves you dependent on his approval and affection.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s possessiveness becomes physical when his control is threatened. If you attempt to defy or leave him, his charm will shatter, replaced by a terrifying intensity. He won’t hesitate to use force to keep you by his side, gripping your wrist hard enough to leave bruises or blocking your path with an unsettling grin. "This was not part of the script, silly. You should know better than to anger me."

The brainwashing is relentless, as Shadow Milk Cookie works tirelessly to mold your thoughts and feelings to fit his narrative. He’ll whisper sweet lies in your ear, repeating them until they feel like truth. Over time, you’ll find yourself questioning your own desires and autonomy, your sense of self eroding under his constant pressure.

Any attempts to resist the relationship are met with overwhelming force, both emotional and physical. He’ll guilt you into compliance, framing your resistance as a betrayal of his devotion. "I've given you everything, and yet you still pull away. Why would you hurt me like this?" If guilt doesn’t work, his darker side emerges, and he’ll ensure you understand the consequences of disobedience.

Shadow Milk Cookie’s forced relationship is a gilded cage, beautiful on the surface but suffocating beneath. He’ll use every tool at his disposal to keep you trapped, from fabricated crises that require his intervention to veiled threats disguised as declarations of love.

Even as his behavior grows more extreme, Shadow Milk Cookie maintains the facade of a devoted lover, his gestures of affection as grand and theatrical as ever. He genuinely believes his actions are justified, that his obsessive, controlling love is the only way to keep you safe and happy. To him, your relationship is a story of fate and devotion, and he won’t let you rewrite the ending.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a sickly pale light across the room as Shadow Milk Cookie paced back and forth, his hands tightly gripping the edge of his staff. His usually 'composed' demeanor was shattered, his face twisted with a mixture of rage and disbelief. His eyes, once full of affection, now burned with something darker—a madness that had been building for far too long.

"You insolent fool," he muttered to himself, his voice a low growl. "How dare you? How could you…"

His steps quickened, his once graceful movements that he kept up in front of you for so long becoming erratic as the fury inside him bubbled to the surface. His calloused fingers twitched as he thought about the escape. Your escape. The idea that you, his beloved, could leave him—leave him—was something he couldn’t fathom.

The room around him seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as his mind spiraled. Every crack in the floorboards, every rustle of the curtains, every shift in the shadows—it all felt like a reminder of your betrayal.

"You think you can escape, silly?" he snarled, his voice rising with each word. His normally playful tone had vanished, replaced by a harshness that echoed through the empty room. "You think you can get away from me? From me?"

His hands shook as he slammed his staff against the ground, the sharp crack splitting the silence like thunder. The smile that usually lingered on his lips was gone, replaced by a grimace of pure, unfiltered anger. His heart raced as the image of you slipping away haunted his every thought.

"You silly little pest," he hissed, his words a venomous whisper. "Running from me? After all I’ve done? I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me? You think anyone else could ever love you the way I do?"

He turned toward the window, the glass reflecting his distorted expression—twisted, obsessed, consumed. His breath came in ragged gasps as he gripped the edge of the windowsill, staring out into the night as if willing you to appear in front of him. The world beyond the walls was a blur, a fading memory he couldn’t bear to face.

"You can’t run from me. I won’t let you," he whispered, his voice soft but laced with a chilling promise. He slowly turned back toward the center of the room, the room where he had kept you, the room where you belonged. "You’re mine, and you will stay mine, no matter how many foolish attempts you make."

A low, manic laugh bubbled from his throat, sharp and cold. "Stupid puppet, always trying to run away," he muttered. "I'll break you down if I have to. I’ll remake you. You’ll beg me to stop." He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wild, pupils dilated. His breathing became erratic as he stood, still trembling, his body humming with an anxious energy.

The thought of you—of you being free—drove him to the edge. Every second that passed without you in his arms felt like a lifetime. He couldn't fathom it. You, slipping away, making your own choices. You, defying him. His chest tightened with panic and rage.

"You’ll never escape me. Never," he snarled. "And when I find you, when I pull you back into my arms, you’ll understand. You’ll thank me for making you stay."

His eyes glazed over as he imagined it—the moment when you finally realized that the only way to feel safe, to feel loved, was in his arms. His arms, where you belonged. He could already feel the rush of relief coursing through him, the sweet, intoxicating satisfaction of having you back under his control.

He turned away, his fingers twitching, a smile finally creeping back onto his lips. It was small, but it was there—twisted, deluded, and soaked in madness.

"I'll have you back. You’ll come to me, silly little thing," he whispered, his voice slipping into a dangerous calm. "And I will make sure you never forget how much I love you."

You're going to wish you never met him after he's done with you.

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paulyenvol6 · 2 months ago

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A Dragon's Toy

Daemon Targaryen x Arlis Hightower (oc character) OS

Arlis is taken captive by Daemon's army during the war and can only await the Rogue Prince's next deeds in horror…

Contains: rape, non-con, smut, oral (f & m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, virginity loss, forced orgasms, degrading, angst, crying, choking, gagging, objectification, captivity, dark themes, hotd themes like death and violence

Wordcount: ~6.62k

Masterlist

Daemon inhaled deeply.

He tried not to seem too annoyed but they really made it hard for him right now.

"We need more men by the eastside of the camp." "They are tired, my lord. Give them the chance to rest or they will lose their will to fight." "The Greyjoys could use our ignorance after our victory and surprise us. We need these guards." "They won't attack us tonight. They're weakened as well."

Daemon once again rolled his eyes at this draining atmosphere and hissed out. It was a quiet sound, merely audible and yet the men surrounding him stopped the conversation to turn their attention to the rogue prince.

"My prince.", Ser Rickard Manderly spoke and Daemon tilted his head.

"Gather the men you need by the eastside. But let them celebrate. They can guard the camp in shifts."

A few lords nodded but others looked uncertain while exchanging glances with each other. For some reason it made the blood in his veins boil and he fisted his hands. Gods, why were these men always so tiring and dull. All Daemon wanted after this long fight was a possibility to reduce the adrenaline in his body that always kept him aroused after a battle. Preferable with a whore but as the next whorehouse was tens of miles away he knew that he perhaps had to fall back to his own hand this time. The fact was that he needed quietness, maybe had to spill his seed, get rid of the tension in his center and find some good sleep afterwards.

That was why this conversation with his bannermen and commanders was exhausting him right now because all he wanted was the peace and privacy of his tent in order to act according to his desires.

"Is there anything else?", he therefore asked the group and when they shook their heads Daemon crossed his arms in front of his chest. The had hesitated but it didn't matter to him.

"Good. If you would excuse me now.", he sarcastically smiled and intended to leave the council.

To his tent now. His blood was throbbing, he had the urge to hit something or squeeze something. He just had to do something. Daemon was so close to it when someone called his name. So fucking close that he had almost been able to feel the fabric that served as the door to his tent and that he had been about to shove to the side. But of course not. Of course it was Ser Enies who made him freeze in the motion and Daemon couldn't hide the displeasure on his face.

"My prince. My prince, there is an urgent matter that needs to be discussed."

He inhaled deeply again and bit his buttom lip in fury. "What is it?", he snapped.

Ser Enies held his side trying to calm his fastened breath.

"We… We've captured Otto's daughter. She intended to flee but a few of our riders found her on her way to the west."

Daemon raised his eyebrows. "Alicent?"

"No, her sister. The lady Arlis."

He didn't know her. He had only briefly known that Hightower, the old cunt had several sons and daughters. Well, now he was dead and as were many of his children but seemingly not all.

"Where is she?", Daemon unwillingly asked. He wished someone else would just take on his tasks so he could finally rest but of course as the prince it was him who had to solve every single problem.

"Right there in the tent. She was so wild and upset, we had to chain her to a chair. She screamed and shouted and bit several of our men but we have her under control now."

Daemon couldn't surpress a dark chuckle. Were these his warriors or fools? Not being able to catch a little girl… Nevertheless the rogue prince turned his body away from the tent that he had wanted to enter so dearly and decided to take care of this matter now.

"Fine.", he grumbled and followed Ser Eries to the mentioned tent. The knight pulled the tent flap aside and Daemon stepped in.

The first thing he saw was a lot of hair. Brown, messy hair that stood up to all sides. She was moving, desperately trying to free herself from the iron chains that held her in place but obviously she wasn't able to.

Ser Eries, who was the only person in the tent now beside him and the girl came forward and roughly grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back so Daemon could take a look at her.

"The lady Arlis, my prince. Otto's youngest daughter from the lady Ellena."

She was pretty, was the first thought that entered his brain in this moment. Big round hazel eyes with thick lashes that made them appear even more intense, a heart-shaped face and full pink soft-looking lips. A button nose sat in the middle of her face which was swollen and flushed from her crying. The light freckles on her cheeks only added to her young and innocent looks and even now tears were swimming in her flashing eyes. With those she observed him now. The girl looked angry, aggressive almost and blared her teeth at him.

It was a brief moment. Daemon hadn't even properly thought about it and didn't really know where it was coming from but suddenly he heard himself say those words that made Eries raise his eyebrows.

"Leave us."

The knight obeyed, bowed his head and then only Daemon and Arlis were staring at each other.

"Let me go.", she spitted and he chuckled quietly.

"Fuck you and the whole pack of you.", she then added and shook the shackles that held her in place.

Daemon looked her up and down with relish and pursed his lips. "I would say the same thing about your pack, but well… They're all dead."

Arlis' expression hardened and she bit her lower lip in order to swallow her tears but she only partly suceeded.

"Fuck you.", she repeated but this time it was a lot more quiet which made Daemon smirk.

Then he approached her and the girl stiffened at once. He could see the fear in her eyes and it filled him with a profane desire and satisfaction. He didn't care how fucked up this was, but Daemon wanted this. He wanted to scare her, make her eyes go round as coins when she stared up to him and preferably see her cry. And he thought that he might have good chances because she seemed to be the crying type.

Daemon grabbed her hair and yanked her head back just like Ser Eries had done a few minutes ago.

"You're a pretty girl. It surprises me, quiet frankly. That your father, the stupid cunt was able to sire such a beauty. Perhaps you come more after your mother."

She grinded her teeth and pouted at him while squirming in his grip.

"Let me go. At once. I swear to you I will bite and hit you until you let me go."

Daemon was amused by her reaction and pulled at her hair with more force. "I want to see that.", he whispered and then took hold of her chin with his other hand.

"So pretty…", he purred. "I'm curious to see what else you have to offer. I just hope your little cunt doesn't taste bitter. You're a hightower after all."

Now panic was visible in her eyes and she shook her head quickly and with so much force that he almost would've dropped his hand on her chin.

"You will not touch me, you will now defile me like this. I'd rather have you kill me. I'd rather kill myself."

"Shh, little one. Be careful what you wish for."

His finger brushed over her jaw and he felt her tremble underneath his touch. If Daemon only could really tell if it was from her fear or anger. He didn't even know what he preferred because the thought of bedding a stubborn and defiant girl and the challenge of breaking her aroused him but at the same time he was eager to see the fear in her eyes while he fucked her.

His hand wandered downwards until he felt the soft skin of her neck. It was so milky, looked and felt so pure that a thought crossed his mind…

"Are you a maiden?", Daemon asked and his eyes searched for hers. Her eyes fluttered which he interpreted as a sign of weakness but her words sounded as sharp as knives.

"That's none of your fucking business.", she hissed.

"Oh I don't think so, sweetling. You'd be smart to tell me. Only if I know I can prepare you properly. You wouldn't want your tight little maiden cunt to be fucked roughly without giving you time to adjust. Especially not if you're dry as a desert."

Daemon was almost ahundred percent sure that she was a maiden and the thought made his cock swell to twice its size. The way she looked at him with this uncertainty in her eyes. And despite trying to seem indifferent and distanced, he had noticed how attentive she had listened to him during his last words. Also, Daemon simply couldn't believe that a girl like her, who looked so sweet and innocent could already have been defiled by another man.

He made sure that she had her eyes on him while his hand traveled further south. He saw the way her pupils widened and the sound of the rattling of the chains filled the tent.

"Stop it.", she spitted. "Stop it at once."

He rolled his eyes and brushed over her collarbone through her dress.

"Quiet. Or I'll put a gag on your mouth."

And yet Daemon actually took his hand off her body. Not because he didn't want to see and touch her breasts, he would do that very thing later, but because he had something else in mind. His cock was almost bursting in his breeches and he simply needed some relief. And when he looked at Arlis' pink and soft lips the only thought in his head was what it would feel like to bury his cock so deep inside of her throat until the only sound that could leave her mouth was her gagging and choking. That would shut her up as well, Daemon thought while he finally let go of her hair.

She let out a relieved sigh and perhaps seemed to think that the rogue prince had changed his mind. She couldn't have been more off.

Daemon watched the suspicion in Arlis' expression when he reached down to where her wrists were chained to the chair. She didn't seem to be that dumb to think that he would just let her go now after all.

Yet he freed her from the chair and wasn't surprised when the girl pushed him away at once while simultaneously trying to get off the chair. It filled him with so much smug to see how she failed because Daemon simply held her back with a hand gripping her shoulder and pressed her to the chair.

"Fuck you, you arsehole.", Arlis pressed and pulled and pinched at his arms. "Just let me go, already."

"I'm afraid that's not gonna happen.", Daemon sighed sarcastically.

Then without giving a warning he gripped her upper arm and shoved her to the floor. At first the girl winded herself and refused to have her knees touch the floor but he was too strong and simply pushed her down until she didn't have a choice but to stare up to him.

Additionally, Daemon had positioned the girl so that there was the big wooden table right behind her. The edge of the table was on the same level as her head which meant that if she tried to escape from him the table would block her way. He could just press her head against the wood and she wouldn't have a choice but to take it all, whatever it was he would give her.

Daemon had a hand in her hair to hold her head to his liking and he made sure to dig his fingers into her scalp. In response Arlis flinched which made him take yet another step towards her so she was now fully trapped between the table and his body.

"I know you'll do such a good job, pretty girl. You're so eager with everything you're doing, mhm? I just know you'll suck my cock so perfectly. Well, if you won't it doesn't matter either. Then I'll just fuck your mouth and use you like a toy and that's fine with me as well."

Daemon could now see something new in her eyes, a mixture of fear and panic. But still, she wasn't on the point of breaking because she tightened her lips and her eyes spit fire so much so that one could assume the blood of the dragon ran through her veins as well.

"Open your mouth.", he said and tried to sound as cool and dominant as possible.

He liked the way she fought him off and how desperately she resisted him but Daemon simultaneously enjoyed to make her feel scared so he felt a fluttering in his stomach as she looked up to him with big eyes.

"N-No.", she stuttered and seemingly was startled with his request. He hadn't even freed his cock; why did he want her to open her mouth? Daemon smirked crookedly and put a hand under her chin.

"Do it."

But Arlis denied and pressed her lips tightly together. Gods, she really was a defiant little thing. But he was confident that he would have her broken and messy by the end of the night. He started by delivering a light smack on her left cheek that only made her eyes glisten with more anger. Yet she let out a gasp which told Daemon that the things he did had an impact on her.

"I said open your fucking mouth.", he repeated and forcefully gripped her chin.

When she still didn't obey him he groaned and furiously pushed two fingers between her lips while pulling at her jaw and the girl seemed so surprised that Daemon was able to enter her mouth and he immediately shoved his two digits so deep that they hit the back of her throat. Arlis choked and gagged and despairingly fidgeted with her hands in order to find support. But all her hands reached were his hips which she pushed at in an attempt to free herself.

He watched her struggle with pleasure and his eyes glared with amusement. Therefore he kept up the assault for another few seconds and then pulled his fingers back a little so she could breathe. The little girl gasped and inhaled greedily while her pupils danced hectically in her eyes.

"See what happens if you're a bad girl?", Daemon whispered evily.

Arlis was still unable to speak so she just furrowed at him while trying to regain her breath.

"You'll take my cock now. And if I were you I'd be good now, understand me?"

As a reply she shook her head and Daemon sighed disapprovingly.

"Oh, dear. You want me to hurt you, don't you?"

Another motion of her head. Daemon flared his nostrils and then removed his fingers from her mouth which made Arlis pull as far away from him as possible. He intended to take off his pants and breeches now but knew she would try and run away if he let go of her. It turned out to be very cumbersome but eventually he was able to do the task one handedly all while his other hand still gripped her head tightly.

He now had to listen to her outbursts again and Arlis let out little curses and insults and only when he was done with freeing his rock hard manhood did he react to it. The girl in front of him stared at his member anxiously but even that couldn't soften the rogue prince's upset temper. He had enough of her bratty attitude and suddenly slapped her cheek again. It was a little more forceful this time but not so much that she started to cry.

"I will fuck and pound this cunt of yours until you remember your manners, little pet. I don't care how long it will be, I don't fucking care how sore you'll be. You'll take it."

She sniffed and tried her best to appear cold towards his words but he obviously saw the way she squeezed her eyes.

"Open your mouth and if you won't do it willingly I'll fucking make you and you don't want that to happen.", Daemon whispered dangerously.

It was a pity, really. Instead of obeying him she futhermore turned her head away from his center. Daemon exhaled loudly and prepared himself for another fight that he was certain he'd win.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair without caring whether he would hurt her and forced her to look at his manhood again. With his other hand he took hold of her chin to pull at it and at the same pushed his cock against her mouth. Arlis let out a whine but the mess of the whole situation actually allowed him to force her mouth open and he shoved his cock inside. The girl in front of him squirmed and threw her head to the side but there wasn't anything she could do. Daemon's hand controlled her head, she didn't know how to get his cock to leave her mouth and so she stared up to him helplessly.

The rogue prince moaned at the new feeling. Her mouth felt warm and wet, just like he wanted it. He had his eyes on the kneeling girl and it almost made him burst right in this second. Her wide eyes, her pretty lips wrapped around his manhood… And everything only became better once he started moving inside of her mouth.

He pulled himself out a little so that only his tip was inside but then thrusted right back in to hit the back of her throat. Arlis angrily cried out but simply had to endure it as Daemon used her mouth without paying attention to her resistance.

"That's right…", he purred. "What a good little mouth you have. I additionally would like to say that you're a good girl but unfortunately that would be a lie."

She coughed while he spoke those words and flashed her eyes at him.

"Do you have something to say? Perhaps apologize for your stubborness and tell me that you'll obey me from now on? You know that I own you now. You're my captive and it's my choice what I plan to do with you. I could make you my personal fuck toy and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it. That depends on what lies between your thighs though. If your slutty cunt is gonna satisfy me, perhaps I'll keep you. You're pretty to look at in any case."

This time Daemon was sure that those were tears welling in her eyes and it only fueled his desire for her. She seemingly tried to blink them away and lowered her gaze so she looked at his legs instead of him but he had glanced at a wetness gathering in her eyes which he laughed about now.

"Not so strong now, are we?"

Then he grabbed her jaw once more while simultaneously delivering a particulary sharp thrust inside her throat. She had no choice but to look at him and watch the smug smirk on his face.

"Let me see those pretty tears… Yeah that's right. Cry for me, come on. S'not gonna stop me."

He ravished her throat, bruised it and didn't care whether he hurt her or not. All he was capable of thinking about was the way her throat wrapped so tightly about his cock, the way her warmth sent shivers down his spine and how she gagged and complained around him.

"Oh fuck.", he moaned and narrowed his grip on her head.

She was still winding and shifting and so Daemon secured her position in front of him by coming yet another step foward so there was no way she could escape from between his hips and the table.

He went deep, so incredibly deep that his balls were pressed to her face. It felt so good that Daemon didn't even want to come and instead enjoy this perfect mouth for the rest of his life. But at the same time he was so close that he felt like exploding every second so he slowed down a little and even granted Arlis some room to breathe properly.

Greedily she inhaled and held her hand to her chest. Daemon would've thought that perhaps the girl was a little more frightened now and therefore more submissive but he couldn't have been more off. The assault seemed to have only enhanced her fury as she made yet another effort to fight him off. She pressed on his legs to make him step away, angrily mumbled something he couldn't understand and tried to escape from his grip in her hair. But soon he shoved his manhood back in and continued to pound her mouth while throwing his head back in ecstasy.

"Oh gods be good.", he panted. "Look at you… On your knees for me. So fucking pathetic."

It was only seconds later when Daemon felt the tension in his lower stomach tighten and then contradict.

"Oh fucking hells.", he growled and released right into her mouth.

His seed shot in her throat which made her choke but he wanted her to swallow it all so he kept his cock buried in her mouth until he was sure she had milked him completely and had been forced to swallow every drop of his seed. Only then did he pull away until his now flaccid member hang in front of her face. She hiccuped a few times, stubbornly refused to look at him and squirmed in his grip.

"I bet you liked that, didn't you?", Daemon smirked. "Getting that slutty mouth of yours fucked. Getting ruined by me."

Arlis raised her gaze at last and looked like she was trying to set him on fire with her glistening eyes.

"Fuck you. I hate you and you will get punished for this."

If she had attempted to threaten him, she had failed. Daemon merely chuckled and then yanked her to her feet by her hair until she stood in front of him. Her face, particulary her cheeks and nose were reddened and traces of tears covered her face. Her already wild hair looked even messier now and this picture of her made him incredibly hungry for her despite just having released.

Daemon pushed the girl towards the table until her backside hit the edge of it. Fear and uncertainty darkened her eyes but it only made him want her more. He slowly reached out to her waist and tightly gripped her through the fabric of her dress. Arlis was quick to try and shove his hands away and additionally kicked him with her feet.

"You will not touch me.", she hissed.

"Oh I will. And I will do so much more than that."

And then with a swift motion he grabbed the collar of her dress and tore it apart so it hang loosely over her body and exposed her undergarment. Perhaps it was in that moment that Arlis realized that the rogue prince would take what he wanted and that he planned to claim her maidenhead right here and right now because her facade crumbled, she started to shiver and tears gathered in the corner of her eyes.

"Please. Please, don't.", she whined while Daemon started to remove the layers of fabric covering her stiff body.

"Aww, what's that? You've decided to drop your bratty attitude?"

He was genuinely amused and observed her tense jaw.

"Please don't touch me. Please, my prince."

Her pleas filled him with satisfaction. He had suceeded after all and now had a begging and broken girl in front of him. Because as much as he had enjoyed taming that stubborn little thing, he couldn't wait to see her crying.

"You're mine now, little one. And that means that I get to decide what I want to do with you. And at this moment I want to see that pretty body of yours and then fuck your tight little cunt. But keep on begging, it's too adorable."

With these words Daemon removed the rest of the layers from her shaking body until she was bare under his gaze. She had still tried to fight him but at this point she seemed weakened and frightened so that her attempts were beyond ridiculous.

Once he ran his eyes over her body he felt his cock already harden again a little. She had small breasts with pink perky nipples that looked so delicious, he couldn't wait to bite and nibble at them, a small waist and frizzy brown hair between her legs that covered what hid underneath. It was almost too much for him. He didn't know what to do with all of this, didn't know where to start so he leaned forwards to force her into a kiss.

His lips sucked on her cold ones and her taste made his heart beat faster. Meanwhile his hands forcefully grabbed her breasts and squeezed them in his hands which made her whince. Suddenly Daemon felt a sharp pain in his lip and he pulled away from her at once. When he licked over them he tasted blood and stared at Arlis with narrow eyes.

"You little slut.", he grunted and wrapped a hand around her neck.

"Is this what you want?", he asked evily without letting her out of his sight for one second. "You could have a much better time, sweetling, if you simply laid still and took what I give you. But seems you want to take it the difficult way."

His hand stayed around her throat while his mouth kissed down to her collarbone. Her light skin looked so pure and delicate to him that he couldn't resist and bit and marked her. Now and then Arlis flinched and hissed out at the pain but over all she seemed a little more tame now after he had scared her by choking her. Once he had enough Daemon pulled away and proudly watched his work.

Her cleavage and neck was covered with light bruises and bite marks where he had sucked and nibbled at. She looked so… desirable. He wanted nothing more than to show his little fuck toy off to the world and letting everyone see how he had claimed her.

After observing her for another few moments Daemon leaned down again and this time took care of her breasts. Her nipples were already hardened though he was not certain if she was aroused or simply scared. While still taking hold of her neck he started to kiss and suck on her nipples while always concentrating on one for a few seconds and then switching to the other. After a while Arlis quietly murmured and squirmed in discomfort and taking a look at her nipples he noticed how red and sore they had gotten. He didn't stop though. She looked too cute shifting like this and the occasional moans were music to his ears so he continued to let his tongue circle around the buds and drew them into her mouth until he simply couldn't wait to get to her cunt anymore.

Therefore Daemon grabbed her hips and lifted the girl onto the table without leaving her a choice and then was quick to spread her legs and step between them before she was able to close them. He watched the tears stream down her face as she seemingly feared his imminent actions so much but the prince mockingly stroke her cheek.

"You look very pretty when you cry, you know that?" He then smiled. "You don't want that cunt to get fucked?"

Arlis swiftly shook her head and tried to convince him with the most pleading look of her eyes. "No. Please, my prince."

"What a shame then. But don't you worry, little one, I'll warm you up because I feel merciful today."

With these words Daemon suddenly dropped to the ground and knelt between her legs while widening them with the strong grip of his hands. He sighed with pleasure once he saw what laid between her thighs and his thumb soothingly caressed her soft skin.

"Well… Will you look at that? Perfect fucking cunt."

He kissed the inside of her thighs right next to her most intimate parts. "From now on you merely exist to serve me. You're my plaything, my toy to use whenever I feel the desire to."

His words were in such contrast to his soft kisses that it made Arlis' head spin.

"You won't speak unless I tell you so. You won't move unless I tell you so. And if I have to fuck your stubborness out of you I'll gladly do so until all you're capable of saying is yes and thank you."

And then without any kind of warning he closed the distance between his mouth and her cunt and pressed his lips on her bundle of nerves. Daemon could tell that this was entirely knew to her in the way she gasped for air and when he took a look up he saw that her eyes had sprang open like she was a woman haunted.

At this moment Arlis was dry as dust but the prince was quite convinced of his skills and started to let his tongue tease her pearl. Daemon's arms were wrapped around her thighs in order to keep her still and after a while he could feel her moving around and this time he wasn't sure if perhaps she was actually turned on or rather wanted to escape his grip. Because when he licked at her entrance he could taste something sweet and wet on his tongue and now nothing could stop him.

He lapped up her arousal and then spreaed it all over her folds and especially her pearl. He used the slickness to circle and flick the little nub, press into it and traced it. When he suddenly heard a quiet moan he stopped his motion. Something about it sounded a little different to the sounds that had left her mouth earlier and Daemon was curious now. And first and foremost he wanted to hear it again. He wanted to turn her into a begging mess, make her plead him and ask him to keep going. He wanted her to embarrass herself and humiliate her until she would cry. So he glanced at her with a cruel smirk and just very slightly brushed over her pearl which made her inhale sharply.

"So you do like this…", he whispered and Arlis' eyes sprang open at his words. "It's pathetic, really. Here you are refusing to give in and as soon as I rub at your little pearl you can't bring out a coherent sentence. Desperate little thing."

She sniffed a few times and then gulped loudly. "Please stop…"

Daemon laughed at this and threw his head back. "Oh I don't think you want me to stop. I think you want nothing more than to get this little cunt of yours pounded and filled with my seed."

Her 'No' was swallowed by the moan she let out once his tongue came back to teasing her bundle of nerves. He needed her to come, wanted to taste more of her sweet juices and wanted to see her fall apart. That was why Daemon fastened the motion and made sure to put more pressure on her pearl while his hand grabbed her breasts to play with her nipples. He heard her whine and cry and moan and whimper and each sound only hardened his cock along with her divine taste.

And then, when he felt her muscles tense underneath him he knew that she was gonna come so he stopped. Arlis who was panting heavily and unsteadily lifted her head to see what was happening and Daemon grinned smugly. He had just ruined her orgasm and she didn't seem fond about it.

"Do you want me to go on?", he asked innocently.

Arlis clearly fought with herself and quietly hummed while pushing her hips towards him. He could see the pleasure in her eyes and the way she bit her buttom lip and Daemon knew he had her right where he wanted her.

"Go on. I want to hear your pretty voice." He lightly ran his thumb over her pearl and watched with amusement how her face tensed.

"P-Please…", she mumbled but it still wasn't enough for Daemon.

"I can't hear you."

A desperate cry left her mouth and she threw her head to the side. His thumb pressed into her nub with more force and Arlis moved her hips in order to create some friction.

"Please. Please continue."

She sounded so pathetic and needy that Daemon couldn't help but reach up to her face and smugly run his thumb over her lips before finally going back to work. All that he had wanted was to hear her beg for him and now he was eager to watch her fall apart under his touch.

Daemon buried his face in her cunt, lapped up everything there was while flicking her pearl and then she let out a muffled high-pitched noise and collapsed on the table. His hands were tight around her hips so she couldn't flee from his mouth but she seemed too powerless to fight anyhow. He devoured her sweetness, rolled his eyes back at what most definitely was the best cunt he had ever had and then looked up to the girl.

She had her eyes closed and yet tears were streaming down her face. She almost looked pitiful lying there like this so Daemon soothingly stroke her thigh.

"Oh, sweet girl.", he cooed and then got up from the floor. He stood between her legs and gently grabbed her waist.

"You're gonna be a good girl now and take my cock, right? If not I'll make you take it. Which is gonna be more painful for you but I don't really care which path you're gonna choose."

Her eyes fluttered a few times at his words and she put her arms in front of her breasts in order to hide them which Daemon commented with a scoff. Roughly he took hold of her wrists and pinned them to the side of her body.

"You're not gonna be able to hide from me, little doll."

His eyes wandered from her head down to her feet once more and then he fisted his hard cock. Arlis seemed to really understand the gravity of the situation and moved back from him with glossy eyes.

"Please. Please, my prince, please don't do it."

Her reaction was exactly what he had wished for. Having her at his mercy, watching her beg him and seeing her at her lowest. Breaking her.

He ran his tip through her folds, stopped at her pearl for a brief moment and then spread her arousal all over her cunt. She whimpered and pressed her eyes together as if she was able to avoid the imminent action that way and then Daemon's cock was at her entrance. He circled it a few times, enjoyed the way she shivered in his arms and twitched every time she thought he would enter her now and then finally sank into her.

She shrieked out and her face was drawn with pain while the rogue prince let out a deep and long sigh. She was so incredibly tight that he feared she might tear off his cock and the warmth and wetness that welcomed him was almost too much.

"Oh fucking… Oh shit.", he moaned and tightly grabbed her shoulders not only to keep her up on the table but also to have some leverage while he stretched her wider for him. Tears relentlessly spilled from her eyes and she looked even more pale now. Her hands had grabbed the edge of the table beneath her and she would've fallen on her back if Daemon didn't hold her up.

"Oh yes… That's a tight fucking cunt… Gods, I knew you'd be good for one thing."

He stayed buried in her for a few moments in order to regain his breath and then pulled back only to start thrusting into her at a steady pace. Arlis gasped out at every sharp jolt but he could tell that it was caused by her pain. Daemon truthfully would have been kinder to her and given her more time to adjust but he was tired of her stubborn attitude and wanted to punish her for it. He had told her that it was her choice to either obey or continue to fight and she had chosen the latter. Now she had to live with the consequences.

At some point Daemon let go of her shoulders and pushed her so she was lying on her back. His hands dug in her waist and he forcefully held her down while filling her sore cunt to the brim. It wouldn't have been necessary of course. Arlis was weak, done with everything and took what he gave her without fighting. Her eyelids were closed and her body only moved when she was being shoved by a particulary deep thrust. And yet this image aroused Daemon so much that he wanted her to come again. And if the rogue prince wanted something he would get it.

So his finger reached out to her center where his cock pounded her cunt and he put it on her pearl to stimulate it in intense circles. She responded with a quiet whimper from her slightly parted lips and Daemon knew he was doing well. Soon he slowed down a little so he wouldn't burst before Arlis had come again but then finally he felt her walls clench around her and no matter if she liked it or not, he forced her to come again. He allowed himself to cross the edge as well and grunted as his seed filled her hole.

Daemon didn't pull away at once as he wanted to make sure that his semen would stay inside her. He pushed into her one more time and only then slipped out of her which she reacted to with a whimper.

Arlis wanted nothing more than to be left alone at last and preferably never see him again but he didn't grant her the favor. He put on some clothes on his body and then approached the motionless girl again. Daemon wrapped a hand around her throat so he was certain he had her attention and brushed with his mouth over her ear.

"I think I will keep you, darling. You have a nice little hole and a pretty body and I think it would be a waste to have you executed. You're mine now anyway… You're gonna be my little fuck toy to calm me after a long day. My plaything to always take with me. My little whore…. I do like that idea."

Daemon didn't expect an answer from her and just dropped her back to the table.

He didn't give her another glance and simply left the tent and only then did Arlis allow herself to cry again.

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rainerioun · 4 months ago

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WHAT CAREER IS FOR YOU? | pick a card.

HOW TO CHOOSE A PILE : The outcome may vary based on whether you receive clear messages visually or intuitively. If you resonate more with selecting a pile visually, trust that inclination. Personally, I believe the notion that 'looks can deceive,' so I prefer to take a deep breath and close my eyes, allowing the pile I'm meant to connect with to come to me. You might see the color of the pile, sense or hear a number, or simply feel its overall vibe.

Please don’t redistribute or edit my content.

MUST READ + MASTERLIST. | KO-FI.

PILE ONE

What Career Is For You? Fool — Light : Fearlessly revealing emotion. Helping people laugh at absurdity and hypocrisy. Liberator — Light : Freeing yourself and others from outmoded beliefs. Releasing negative thought patterns. Abundance : Use your existing abundance to create beautiful things in your life and you will be rewarded in more ways than you can imagine. The Underworld : Bravery, Depth, Facing of Deepest Fears. The Ocean : Deeper than Deep, Big Dreams, Discovery.

You are meant to do something that not only helps you but also helps others find the joy in life by navigating through the darkness. You’re here to use the morals and ideals you’ve developed to guide others toward happiness with your insights. Emotions play a big role in this.

List Of Careers: — Comedian, Performer/Influencer, Counselor/Therapist/Psychologist, Life Coach, Motivational Speaker, Activist, Entrepreneur, Philanthropist, Crisis Intervention Specialist, Law.

PILE TWO

What Career Is For You? Hermit — Light : Seeks solitude to focus intently on inner life. Serves Personal creativity. Visionary : Capacity to envision what is not yet conceivable to others. Willingness to proclaim a vision without regard for personal gain. Yin and Yang : Strive for harmony and balance in your inner and outer life through change, reflection and growth. The Crone : Magic, Clairvoyant, Psychic, Intuitive, Wise.

A career that allows for creative expression would be an ideal fit for you, as it aligns with your natural strengths and passions. Beyond the creative aspect, it’s also important for you to find a career where you can bring your own beliefs and values to the forefront, allowing you to express your personal perspectives and ideals.

List Of Careers: — Spiritual Guide/Reiki Practitioner, Metaphysical Practice, Tarot Reader, Meditation Teacher, Yoga Instructor, Writer/Poet/Artist.

PILE THREE

What Career Is For You? Virgin — Light : Maintaining symbolic purity of heart and spirit. Scribe : Preserving knowledge and information. Life Purpose : Your own, natural intuition and the genuine wisdom of your heart is here to guide you. The Riddle : A Great Awakening or “Aha” Moment.

Much like the last pile, writing and expression play a big role for you. Sharing your knowledge, whether through teaching or learning, might come naturally. If you're uncertain about your current direction, you might suddenly find yourself drawn to a job or field you hadn't considered before soon, and it could be the right fit for you!

List Of Careers: — Archivist/Historian, Writer/Author, Teacher, Researcher, Journalist, Philosopher, Librarian.

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koyagifs · 2 months ago

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𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓮: 𝓱𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓽𝓽's 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻!

pairing: poly!ot8 x reader au: werewolf | camp counselors | the quarry genre: angst | horror | fluff (?) word count:5.454k synopsis: summer has now come to end camp counselors ! we ask that you pack up as quickly as possible before the sun goes down. who knows what monsters lie in the dark. warning(s): Minors do not interact! mentions of sexual acts, virgin teasing.

August 22, 25 17:07

જ⁀➴ As the bus disappeared around the bend, the low hum of the engine fading into the distance, an eerie stillness settled over the camp. San lowered his hand, glancing at the others with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, that’s it. No more campers. Just us.”

Wooyoung rolled his shoulders, letting out a groan. “Finally. I thought I’d never get a break from pretending I actually enjoy arts and crafts. If I have to look at one more macaroni necklace—”

Yeosang cut him off with a smirk. “You’ll wear it and like it. Admit it, Wooyoung, you teared up when little Jamie gave you that friendship bracelet.”

Wooyoung pointed at Yeosang, mock-indignant, but his movement was a little too quick—betraying the friendship bracelet he had hastily hidden behind his back. “That’s slander. But, yes, I am a style icon, even with pasta accessories. You wouldn’t understand.”

Yn giggled softly, her laugh carrying in the quiet of the empty camp. Her gaze lingered on Wooyoung, fondness evident as she watched her boyfriend continue to defend his pride against Yeosang’s teasing smirk.

San stepped toward her, the keys jingling softly as he pulled them from his pocket. “Alright, lovebirds, save the flirting for later,” he said, quirking a brow at Yn before tossing the keys lightly in the air and catching them again. “We still need to finish checking the grounds before it gets too dark.”

Yn turned her attention to San, raising a brow. “You just don’t want to do it alone, do you?”

San feigned a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. “Me? Scared? Never. But if you’d prefer to wander into the woods by yourself, be my guest.”

Wooyoung, overhearing, waved a hand dismissively as he continued to bicker with Yeosang. “San’s scared of his own reflection after sunset. Don’t let him fool you.”

San shot him a mock glare, tossing the keys to Yn. “Alright, brave guy, why don’t you take the cart and do the rounds instead?”

Wooyoung immediately faltered, his confidence deflating. “Uh, I mean, I would, but—”

“That’s okay,” Megan cut in smoothly, stepping forward and looping her arm around Yn’s. “I’ll go with Yn. We need to collect our bags anyway, don’t we?”

Yn blinked in surprise but nodded. “Oh, right. We left them by the staff cabin earlier.”

San arched a brow, twirling the keys around his finger. “Convenient excuse, Megan, but sure. Just don’t crash the cart.”

Megan rolled her eyes, tugging Yn toward the cart. “Please. I’ll drive safer than you ever could.” She glanced over her shoulder at the boys, smirking. “Try not to get lost while we’re gone.”

Wooyoung watched them go, his playful bickering forgotten as a faint pout crept onto his face. “I was going to go with her,” he muttered under his breath, earning a chuckle from Yeosang.

“Relax,” Yeosang teased, clapping a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “She’s not running off into the woods forever.”

August 22, 17:30

જ⁀➴ " so, want to tell me how you and Wooyoung ended up together?" Megan asked, a smirk held on her face.

You blushed, tossing the bags onto the golf cart, " we're high school sweethearts actually. I've known the guys since high school actually."

Megan nodded her head, the urge to roll her eyes being nearly impossible. " what about San, do you know if he's single?"

You stifle a laugh, trying not to give away the fact that San is dating you. " it's complicated?"

Megan hummed in acknowledgement, " he was a tough nut to crack. I was trying to have a summer fling, especially since Mr. Kim said that a spot open up."

Your eyes widened slightly, and you shot her a curious glance. "Wait, you were thinking about... with San?"

Megan shrugged nonchalantly, though her smirk suggested she was enjoying watching you squirm just a little. "Well, who wouldn’t? He’s charming, funny, and has that whole mysterious vibe. Thought it’d be a fun distraction, you know? I figured a little summer romance never hurt anyone.” She glanced over at you, gauging your reaction. “But now I’m thinking maybe I’ve got competition, huh?”

You turned away from her, trying to hide the annoyance that was bubbling up inside. "I wouldn't exactly call it competition," you muttered, your voice a little sharper than you intended. You could feel your cheeks flushing, and though you didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of reacting, it was hard not to.

You mumbled, "I’m going to go double check if we left anything," walking away from Megan, hoping some space would help clear your head. Megan didn’t argue; instead, she hummed to herself, watching your figure disappear into the distance. After a moment, you heard her settle back into the golf cart, the engine purring to life as she sat in wait.

You all agreed to hide the relationship within each other. It wasn’t exactly a secret that you were in a poly relationship, but you and the guys had decided to keep it low-key for now. Hongjoong and Mingi had backed out last minute, so the rest of you—Wooyoung, San, Yeosang, Yunho, Jongho, and Seonghwa—had come up with a more… playful way of managing things. The winner of a game of rock, paper, scissors would get to flaunt you as their girlfriend for the time being. It was meant to be lighthearted—nothing serious. But sometimes, it felt more complicated than that, especially when outside eyes started poking around.

You stood still, your gaze locked on the large tree ahead, its twisted bark covered in faded carvings. The remnants of past campers’ expressions of affection—names, dates, and hearts—etched into the rough surface. But one set of initials stood out to you, carving itself into your memory in a way the others didn't.

Jacob + Emma forever

A chill ran down your spine as your eyes lingered on the carving, the words far more unsettling now than they would have been in any other context. It wasn’t just the crude simplicity of the message. It was the weight of the history behind it. This was the same tree where previous campers had left their marks—before the murders, before everything had gone so horribly wrong.

You took a slow, cautious step back, trying to shake off the feeling of dread creeping into your chest. The atmosphere around you had shifted. The once playful atmosphere of the camp now felt heavy, darkened by the eerie presence of the past. The words on the tree had never bothered you before, but now, they felt like a warning.

Suddenly, a rustling sound from behind you made you freeze. You spun around quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. The woods had always been a little unsettling at night, but now, it felt like something—someone—was out there, watching. You strained your ears, trying to catch any movement or sound, but there was nothing. Only the wind whispering through the leaves.

You let out a slow breath, trying to calm yourself. "It’s just the wind," you whispered to yourself, trying to rationalize the feeling of unease. Still, something felt off.

Glancing back at the tree once more, you felt a shiver run through you. You were no longer alone in the woods; the history of this place seemed to weigh down on you, and the feeling of being watched was impossible to ignore. You couldn’t shake the thought that the dark memories of the past were still very much alive, lingering in the shadows of the camp.

You knew you needed to get back to the group—back to safety. But as you turned to head back to the golf cart, the air around you seemed to grow colder, the darkness thicker. It wasn’t just the remnants of a past tragedy that lingered here; it was something more. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Walking back to the golf cart, you climbed into the driver’s seat, trying to shake off the lingering unease that still clung to you. Megan let out a relieved sigh as she stretched her arms above her head, clearly glad you were back. "Finally, I thought you were going to be out there forever."

You gave her a small, forced smile, trying to keep your tone light. " had to make sure we had everything,"

Megan nodded, her smile wide and eager. "Back to the boys then! I'm so ready to head back home," she said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm, clearly glad to be done with the strange atmosphere of the camp.

You nodded and started the golf cart, the engine hum filling the quiet between you. The wheels kicked up dust as you steered back toward the others. The flickering shadows of the trees seemed to stretch longer with every passing moment, but you pushed the unease to the back of your mind. You didn’t want to dwell on it, especially not with Megan so carefree beside you.

As you drove, Megan started chatting again, her voice a welcome distraction. "So, about that thing with San," she began, raising an eyebrow at you, "any chance he’s got a soft spot for me after all? I mean, I was thinking of trying my luck, but..." She trailed off, her gaze flicking over to you mischievously.

You groaned inwardly but kept your eyes on the path ahead. "Megan, seriously?"

" what? he's either single or not. I need a good fuck and San looks like he can give that to me,"

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your expression neutral as you kept your eyes focused ahead. The words Megan had just said stung more than you expected, and you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks. You knew she was always bold, but hearing her be so direct about San left an uncomfortable pit in your stomach.

"Megan, seriously?" you repeated, this time your tone sharper, betraying your frustration.

She seemed unfazed by your response, her smirk widening as she leaned back in the seat, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "What? I’m just being honest," she said, shrugging. "I need to know if he’s worth my time. You can’t blame me for looking for a little fun, right?"

"That’s… not the kind of conversation I want to have," you muttered, trying to push down the uncomfortable twist in your gut.

Megan raised an eyebrow, clearly still amused by your discomfort. "don't tell me you're a virgin ms. high school sweet heart?"

Your face flushed, the blood rushing to your cheeks as Megan’s words landed like a blow. The teasing tone in her voice only made the situation worse, and you could feel yourself shrinking under her gaze.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead, but her words echoed in your mind, making your discomfort feel even more pronounced. "Megan, that's none of your business," you snapped, your voice colder than you intended.

Megan let out a light laugh, clearly enjoying the effect her words had on you. "I’m just messing with you," she said, though there was an edge to her voice. "Relax, I didn’t mean anything by it. Just trying to get to know you, that's all."

August 22, 18:01

જ⁀➴Yeosang stuck his tongue out at Wooyoung, a playful grin tugging at his lips as he turned on his phone. The familiar whine of Wooyoung’s voice echoed through the air, clearly frustrated. “Ugh, Yeosang! Seriously? I thought we were past this!”

San chuckled, the sound of his laughter echoing through the camp. He slammed the van’s hood shut with a satisfying thud, wiping his hands on his pants as he turned to face the group. “She looks good to go!” he called out, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “Now we just need Mr. Kim to hand us the keys and for the girls to come back.”

Wooyoung crossed his arms, still giving Yeosang a playful glare. “I swear, I’m going to make you pay for this later.”

Yeosang simply shrugged, not at all bothered by Wooyoung’s mock annoyance. "You wouldn't know what to do with me if you tried," he teased, eyes flicking to the van with a mischievous glint. "Besides, we’ve got everything ready. It’s just a matter of time."

San wiped his hands one last time and nodded toward the small office where Mr. Kim was supposed to hand over the keys. “Yeah, I’ll go grab them in a sec,” he said, his tone easy and casual. "No rush. It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do right now."

The rest of the group was scattered around the camp, most of them hanging near the van or chatting in low voices, waiting for things to be set in motion. You, on the other hand, were still making your way back with Megan, the uneasy feeling from earlier still lingering in your chest. The drive back had been quiet, but now, seeing the group come back into focus, you couldn’t help but feel like there was an unspoken tension among everyone. It was something you couldn’t quite place, but you knew something had shifted.

Megan hopped out of the cart first, waving to the group with a wide grin. "Looks like you all are ready to go," she said, her tone light and casual as she walked toward them.

Yeosang and Wooyoung nodded, their heads both tilting toward her as she approached the group. Yeosang gave her a quick smile, but Wooyoung’s playful expression remained unchanged as he fiddled with his phone, clearly more interested in his screen than anything else at the moment.

San, however, wasn’t as distracted. He noticed you gathering your bags and started walking over toward you, his steps slow and deliberate, almost as if he was giving you some space to handle whatever was on your mind.

You adjusted the straps on your bag and tried to push any lingering unease aside, wanting to focus on the present. But the quiet pressure from earlier—the unease you’d felt during the drive—still pressed on your chest, making everything feel a little heavier than usual.

San placed his hand on your hip, and you couldn’t help but flinch slightly at the sudden contact. The unexpected warmth of his touch made your heart race for a moment, but you quickly relaxed into it, feeling the tension from earlier ease just a bit. There was something about San’s presence that always made you feel grounded, even in moments like this when everything else seemed so uncertain.

He chuckled softly at your reaction, his fingers brushing lightly against your side as he adjusted his grip. "Didn’t mean to startle you," he said, his voice teasing but also gentle. “I’ve got it.” With that, he took your bag from your hands and effortlessly slung it over his shoulder.

You blinked, a little surprised by how smoothly he took charge of the situation. “Thanks,” you murmured, watching him as he stood there for a moment, the weight of your bag clearly no issue for him. His gaze met yours, and for a second, the world seemed to slow down, the noise from the rest of the group fading into the background.

Megan's eyes focused on the interaction between you and San, her gaze sharp as she raised an eyebrow. She then turned to Wooyoung, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “San’s a bit touchy with your girlfriend, isn’t he?”

Wooyoung glanced over at you and San, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he shrugged casually. “Yeah, looks like it,” he replied, his tone light but there was an edge to it, something playful but also knowing.

But before Megan could push further, Yeosang stepped in, his voice cool and composed. “But that’s how San is with everyone, nothing unusual.” He reached over and pinched Wooyoung’s side sharply, signaling him to cool it, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Wooyoung let out a quiet yelp at the pinch, giving Yeosang a look of playful annoyance, but he quickly backed off, raising his hands in mock surrender. In one swift motion, Wooyoung rushed to your side, wrapping his arm around your body with a dramatic flourish, pulling you into his side.

The sudden movement caught you off guard, and a surprised squeal slipped from your lips. You turned to give him a playful shove, but his arm was already firmly around you, and the laughter in his eyes made it clear that he was thoroughly enjoying the reaction.

“Gotcha!” Wooyoung said, his voice full of mischief as he grinned down at you. “I knew you’d make the cutest noise.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress the small laugh that followed. “You’re such a dork,” you muttered, still trying to regain your balance after his unexpected move.

Without the boys noticing, Megan quietly approached the van and popped the hood, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the engine with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She stood there for a moment, pretending to inspect the engine, all while a playful smirk tugged at her lips.

A small "ah" escaped her lips as her fingers expertly tugged on the rotor arm, removing it from its place with a satisfied look. She held it in her hand like it was some kind of prize, her eyes glinting with mischief as she examined it, clearly pleased with her little sabotage.

what's another night, she thought, a grin spreading across her face as she slipped the rotor arm into her pocket, hiding it away. The thrill of causing just a bit of chaos was too sweet to resist, and besides, they wouldn’t figure it out until they tried to leave. And by then, it would be too late.

She softly shut the van's hood, making sure it clicked shut with a quiet finality. There was no rush—she didn’t need to draw attention to herself. She walked away from the van with an air of nonchalance, her hands tucked casually in her pockets, as if nothing had changed.

The rest of the group was still distracted by their bags and idle chatter, completely unaware of the trouble Megan had just set into motion. Yunho and Seonghwa had now joined the group, laughing and talking as they made their way over to the van. Wooyoung, ever the playful one, hung onto you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he leaned against you with a dramatic sigh.

"Come on, Yn, how much longer do we have to wait before we can head out?" Wooyoung asked, his voice full of exaggerated impatience, though the teasing grin on his face made it clear he was just messing around.

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake him off without much success. "You’re impossible, you know that?" you muttered, laughing despite yourself. “We’re waiting for Mr. Kim to hand us the keys, remember?"

As if on cue, Mr. Kim walked out with a wide smile on his face, his steps light and easy as he approached the group. “What’s going on, Hacketers?” he asked, his voice filled with that familiar cheerfulness that had become almost contagious over the course of the summer.

The group turned to him, all a little relieved that it seemed like the wait was finally over. You could see the tension lift from their shoulders, even as they continued to chatter among themselves. But beneath it all, there was still that underlying tension—like something was just about to tip over, though none of them knew it yet.

Wooyoung was the first to speak up, still draped over you like a human blanket. “Mr. Kim, about time!” he exclaimed dramatically, winking at you as if they’d been waiting forever for this moment. “We were getting antsy here, waiting for you to show up.”

San, looking over at Mr. Kim with his usual relaxed smile, nodded. "Yeah, what's the hold-up? We ready to get out of here?"

Mr. Kim gave a little laugh, raising an eyebrow. “A bit impatient, aren’t we?” He walked over to the front of the van, holding out the keys. “Alright, alright, here you go,” he said, tossing them to Yeosang, who caught them easily.

“Now, don’t go breaking anything on the road,” Mr. Kim added, glancing at the group with a knowing smile before turning to leave. “And remember, no speeding or any funny business. This isn’t a race, you know.”

The group cheered in agreement, the excitement for the drive back building as they began to move toward the van. Yeosang climbed into the driver’s seat, sliding into place with the keys in his hand. He slipped the fob into the ignition, turning it with a quick flick of his wrist. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the van’s engine sputtering—groaning, struggling to come to life.

Yeosang furrowed his brows and turned the key again, but this time, the engine only let out a few weak coughs before falling silent again. He glanced at the group, his expression confused but still calm.

"Uh... guys?" Yeosang’s voice was laced with a hint of concern as he tried once more to turn the ignition. Again, nothing happened.

The rest of the group, all leaning against the van or standing nearby, exchanged confused glances. San stepped closer, his usual easy smile fading as he watched Yeosang try again.

"What's going on?" San asked, his voice casual but with a hint of concern creeping in.

Yeosang glanced up at him, his own frustration beginning to show. "It's not turning on..." he replied, shaking the fob in his hand as if trying to will the van to start.

As the group gathered around, a set of footsteps approached from behind. The sound was deliberate, heavy, and filled with a quiet sense of urgency. Mr. Kim’s voice followed soon after, concern thick in his words as he walked toward the van, his eyes scanning the engine.

“What happened? Is there an issue with the van?” Mr. Kim asked, his tone sharp with worry as he glanced at Yeosang and the rest of the group. His eyes flicked over the van as if trying to assess the situation.

The group exchanged looks, all of them feeling the weight of the unexpected trouble. San stepped back slightly, his eyes narrowing. "It just... won’t start," he muttered, clearly baffled. "We drove here just fine, right? I mean, it worked earlier."

Mr. Kim’s face twisted into a frown as he stepped closer to the hood, examining it more carefully. His fingers ran over the engine, checking for any obvious issues. But everything seemed normal, nothing out of place that could explain why the engine wouldn’t start.

"Let me take a look," Mr. Kim said, though there was an edge of frustration in his voice now. He opened the hood and leaned in, peering over the engine like a mechanic assessing a problem.

Yeosang, still holding the keys, tried the ignition again. This time, the van let out a weak sputter but refused to fully start.

"I don’t understand," Yeosang muttered, stepping back in frustration.

Megan, who had been quietly watching the scene unfold, stood slightly apart from the group, her hands clasped behind her back in a seemingly innocent pose. The corner of her mouth twitched, as though she was holding back a smile, but she quickly masked it.

The others were too preoccupied with the van to notice her behavior, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You turned slightly, catching Megan’s eye for a split second, and you saw the faintest glint of satisfaction in her expression. It was enough to send a chill down your spine.

Mr. Kim, still looking under the hood, sighed. "Something’s definitely wrong," he muttered. "But I don’t see anything major. Looks like the engine’s fine."

Yeosang groaned in frustration. "Then why isn’t it starting?" he asked, looking around as if expecting an answer to fall from the sky.

Mr. Kim let out an annoyed groan, his frustration evident as he slammed the hood of the van shut with a force that made everyone jump. The sound of metal clashing rang through the air, but he didn’t seem to care. He dug into his pocket, the jangle of keys clashing together as he retrieved a set and held them up for everyone to see.

The group stared, confusion spreading through their faces as they watched him. Even Yeosang, who had been trying to figure out the van’s issue, stopped and turned toward Mr. Kim. The sudden shift in the air felt like a signal that things were not going to go as planned.

Megan, standing off to the side with her arms crossed, took a step forward. Her expression remained calm, but there was something in her eyes—something sharp and calculating.

Mr. Kim cleared his throat, looking at the group. “Well, it looks like we’ll be staying here another night. The van’s not going anywhere right now,” he said, his voice tight with annoyance. “I know it’s not ideal, but we’ll get it sorted in the morning.”

The group exchanged uncomfortable glances. No one had expected this, and the weight of the situation settled over everyone like a thick fog.

“That’s fine, Mr. Kim," Megan spoke up, her voice sweet but with an underlying tone that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. She stepped forward, the smile on her lips wide but her eyes cold. “We’ll be fine on our own. Really, you don’t have to worry about us.”

There was something unsettling in her words, the way she dismissed Mr. Kim’s concern so easily. The rest of the group stood frozen, unsure of how to respond.

Mr. Kim paused, glancing at Megan with a furrowed brow. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze flicking between her and the group. But then, as though dismissing his doubts, he nodded and tucked the keys into his pocket.

“Well… if you’re sure, Megan," he said, his tone softening. “I’ll make sure someone’s here in the morning to look at the van. But remember, stay safe and don’t go off on your own too far.”

Megan’s smile widened, a knowing look in her eyes. “Of course, Mr. Kim. We’ll be fine,” she repeated.

Mr. Kim rubbed his face, clearly exhausted by the turn of events, before he turned to Seonghwa, his expression stern. “You’re in charge, Seonghwa. No one in, and no one out, understood?” His voice carried the weight of authority, the kind of command that brooked no argument.

Seonghwa, who had been standing to the side, straightened up immediately, his posture shifting into something more serious. His usual calm demeanor shifted to something more guarded, as if he understood the full weight of Mr. Kim’s words. “Understood,” Seonghwa replied, his voice steady and unwavering.

Mr. Kim nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He took a deep breath and looked over the group one more time, his eyes scanning everyone. “Make sure you all stay inside. Hunting season starts tonight.” His tone was final, a clear signal that whatever was coming, it wasn’t something to take lightly.

The group stood in stunned silence for a moment, processing what he had just said. Hunting season? The words hung in the air, thick with a sense of foreboding that no one could quite shake. Everyone had heard the rumors—the stories of the area being dangerous during certain times of the year, but hearing it from Mr. Kim made it feel all too real.

San was the first to speak up, his voice tense but laced with the same calm he always carried. “Hunting season? What exactly does that mean, Mr. Kim?” His brow furrowed as he glanced around at the others. They were all starting to realize that this wasn’t just some precautionary warning—it was something more.

Mr. Kim’s eyes softened slightly, but the seriousness of his words remained. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. There are things out there. Things you don’t want to cross paths with after dark. Just stay inside, lock the doors, and don’t wander off. I’ll make sure someone checks on you in the morning.”

Seonghwa, standing near the front of the group, gave a firm nod in response to Mr. Kim’s orders, his expression unreadable but clearly resolute. “We’ll stay inside,” he said quietly. “We’ll be fine.”

Mr. Kim gave one last nod, his expression hardening, before he turned and walked toward his truck. The engine roared to life as he revved it, the sound of the truck cutting through the still night air. He drove it closer to the group, parking it near the edge of the campgrounds, ensuring that he could keep an eye on things from a distance.

“I mean it, you guys,” Mr. Kim called out from his truck, his voice louder now, firm and resolute. “Stay inside. No exceptions.”

His eyes scanned the group one last time before he slammed the truck door shut. The heavy rumble of the engine faded as he drove off into the darkened distance, his vehicle disappearing into the night.

The weight of his words hung in the air, settling over everyone like a thick fog. The group stood in silence, the tension palpable, each person processing what had just been said.

Megan’s voice broke the tense silence, her tone almost too light, too playful for the situation. “Well, now that Mr. Kim is gone, let’s have a party!” she said, her words dripping with a mischievous lilt.

Her sudden shift in energy felt jarring against the quiet weight of the night. It was as if she were trying to cut through the tension, but the effect wasn’t exactly comforting. You could see the others’ uneasy glances exchanged, as if they were all weighing whether or not to entertain her.

San, ever the protective figure, gave her a pointed look. “Megan, now’s not really the time for that,” he said, his voice firm. His hand briefly brushed against yours, grounding you as if he could sense your unease.

Yeosang, too, seemed hesitant. He glanced over at Seonghwa, silently seeking reassurance, but when Seonghwa didn’t immediately respond, he gave Megan a cautious smile. “It’s probably not the best idea, Megan. We should stay inside and wait for morning.”

But Megan wasn’t deterred. She put on her signature grin, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, come on. A little fun never hurt anyone. We’re stuck here, might as well make the best of it, right?” She swung her arms dramatically, as if it were all just a game.

Wooyoung’s carefree attitude seemed to slice through the tension, his playful shrug drawing the eyes of the group. "Why not? A last hurrah before we go back home," he said with a grin, his voice light, but there was a glimmer of something darker in his eyes, as if trying to mask his own nerves.

Yunho, ever the easygoing one, nodded along, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips. “Ehh, what’s the harm? I still have some booze from last night anyways,” he added, pulling out a small flask from his jacket pocket and giving it a casual shake.

The suggestion of a party wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but it was clear the others were leaning into the idea. Yeosang’s eyes darted between the group, his lips pressing into a thin line as he seemed to weigh his options. He looked like he was about to voice his concerns but hesitated, clearly torn.

"Don't look at me like that," Yeosang muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. "You know I can't be the boring one every time."

Megan's excitement was almost contagious, but you could sense the undercurrent of tension still hanging in the air. She bounced on her heels, clearly thrilled by the idea, her grin widening. "Yes! Sannie and I can go look for some snacks!" she exclaimed, turning toward San with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

Seonghwa’s calm and authoritative voice cut through the chaos of excitement, his small smile reassuring. He looked around at everyone, giving out tasks with precision. “Wooyoung and I will be in charge of getting wood. Yunho and Yeosang, you guys make sure the phones are charged for music. Yn, you and Jongho can go ahead and meet us there.”

You blinked for a moment, taken aback by Seonghwa’s decision to put you with Jongho. It wasn’t like you minded the company, but you hadn’t expected him to pair you with him so suddenly. You gave a quick nod, not wanting to question the plan. Wooyoung quickly came by to place a kiss on your lip.

" see there beautiful!"

223 notes · View notes

skzdarlings · 11 months ago

Text

vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness. Everything feels romantic. Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix, Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium. He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance.

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate. A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in. Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad. He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek.

You poke that cheek. A muscle in his jaw twitches. He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.

“Do not,” he says.

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.”

You obey his demand for silence. For about six seconds.

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably.

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says. “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed. You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him. Felix sighs but slows his pace. To your surprise, he answers your question. “A month,” he says. “I’ve been working there a month.”

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say. “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop. Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together. He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.

“I already told you,” he says. “My job is checking tickets. Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.

He smiles. It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow. He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver.

“Let me guess,” he says. “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart? You can’t hold one down. You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they? Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring. And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it. Except by acting out. It’s fun, right? Looking for trouble. Makes you feel something for a minute. Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside. You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped. Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth.

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues. “You told me I was a good boy, yeah? Your words. And you think you’re bad. A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?”

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature.

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says. “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you? You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay. But you don’t make it easy. And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.”

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface. To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background.

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask.

He is still smiling.

He laughs, a low chuckle. He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight.

“No, I’m not,” he says. “I’m just the same as you. Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time. Just so good, you know?” He is almost theatrical in tone. “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you. Isn’t it?”

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips. It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes.

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper.

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good. If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours. He abruptly steps back.

Oh. You blink quickly. Yes. Of course. It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it? He does not need to flaunt it. He can just smile at you.

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his. He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street. So seemingly innocent. Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat.

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples.

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs. He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life. It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are. “I’m not sick. See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run. Twisted, on the other hand… well…”

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate. You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you.

You smile back at him.

You still intend to win.

It is a twenty minute walk. Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations. Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires. He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed. Very, very detailed.

“Um, right,” he says. “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.”

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario. He looks a little wan.

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished.

“I dunno, get creative. My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh? Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out. Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end.

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says. “I am standing right beside you. You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.” You do not bother hiding your texts.

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies. “It sounds like my business.”

“Well, it’s not. We’ve already established the world revolves around me. You’re the supporting character, pal.”

“Right,” he says. He blinks at the screen. In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?”

It never hurts to be thorough. You type the address and send it to the boys.

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes.

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat. “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over. “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt. “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow. “Is this what you call winning?” he asks.

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows. “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say. “And my opinion is the only one that matters.”

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown. Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips. He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him. “Come on,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse. You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house. Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway. It is an ostentatious design to say the least. You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties. “This place belongs to my parents. They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.”

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach. “About your background, I mean. You and me really are alike.”

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings. Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite. It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door.

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks. He stands silent for a long moment. When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say. “You know.”

“Uhh.” He blinks quickly. “I have feelings all the time. Every day.”

“Wow,” you say. “That sounds exhausting. Explains a lot about you.”

“All right.” He shakes his head. He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look. You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door. The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing. It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping. Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire. You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips.

Felix is none-the-wiser. He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code. It beeps and goes quiet. You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight. He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans. Unassuming, gentle, sweet. Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass. But he can. He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you.

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space. You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack. The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care. The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name.

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away. You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing. Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft. It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky. And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you.

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says. “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.”

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him. The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality. Mutual objectification is more your style. Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings.

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door. “It’s freaky.”

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking. Ugh. You shake it off and push open his bedroom door.

He shakes his head and leads you in. He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison. His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets. Yes. That is more your thing. Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core. You want him to lose control. You want to drive him crazy. You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer. A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top. He takes it out and immediately unlocks you.

The cuffs fall to the floor. He scoops them up and jingles them in your face.

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say. “You evil son of a bitch.”

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings. But he knew you wanted to play him. He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer. Now there is no reason to linger. Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again.

He is going to make you ask for it.

That is not your style. You hate being out-smarted. And you really, really, really hate losing.

“Right,” you say. “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom. It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights. You are swimming in blue, breathing it in. His hair, the room, and moonlight.

You will never see this colour the same way again. Of that much you are certain.

“Blue,” you say.

His brow crinkles. “Blue?” he repeats.

“Mm.” You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze. “Red. Yellow. Green. Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath. The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you. He is dazzling. This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze.

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room. “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…”

“Uh-huh,” he says. He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely. Now he knows what you are capable of doing. Now you understand each other.

He follows you, assessing every step you take. There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more.

“And what does blue mean?” he asks. “To you?”

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins. So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting. The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces.

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth. His confidence is easy. He needs no grand display of machoism. He just smiles that pretty pink mouth. The glitter on his cheek sparkles.

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says. Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.”

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand. You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table. You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well. Because it is not as though he loves the clock. It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents. You can read him that easily too. He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks. He likes neon and blue and you.

“Put what back?” you ask. You have reached the front door. Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob.

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says.

You push the door open.

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say. With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?”

Red to stop. Yellow to pause. Green to give in.

“Blue,” he says. To play.

You smile. You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.”

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came. He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.

“Sweetheart,” he says. “Don’t make me do this.”

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice. There is nothing soft about him. He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body. You feel each glance. A shiver races down your spine. Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze.

It also gets you so, so hot.

All that tension snaps.

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate. You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe. You show him no mercy this time. Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again.

You glance over your shoulder. He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused.

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again. Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you.

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth. You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block. There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes.

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you. You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone. A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you.

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes. Your heart leaps. The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend. You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light. You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds. But running on the road will expose you too quickly.

You will not surrender that easily. He knows that.

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea. You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow. He is not behind you so you race back to his house.

There is no way he will circle back here. He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates. He would never guess you ran back into his house. Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait.

You run back up the driveway. The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked. Nope. He locked it. Maybe that is why he was delayed.

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in. But no, you are still winning. He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows. You do not think he had time to set the alarm. Did he? Maybe that is why he was so far behind.

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard. You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape. The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around. There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit. In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight. Of course.

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath. You strategize your next move. Should you pose on one of the pool chairs? Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum. Someone is making their way down the side of the house.

You panic. You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide. You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it.

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard. He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered. He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open.

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence. You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.

“I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You should have known better. Of course he had the same idea as you. Now what? How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move?

You peek around the storage trunk. Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight. Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut. He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock. He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him.

So that is why he took so long. He unlocked the gate before giving chase. He laid a trap and you ran right into it.

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper.

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly. It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches.

Your heart tempers itself when he stops. He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard. “You don’t need to hide. I promise I’m not mad.” He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees. He hums thoughtfully to himself. “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…” He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning. “Hmm, hmm, hmm…”

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin. You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him. You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you. So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him. You almost want to scream. He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him.

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone. He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble. Even though you are far away, it makes you jump. You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping.

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it. He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing. Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile.

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says. “I thought we were turning into friends. Don’t you want to be my friend?”

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table. He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you.

He is giving you time, you realize. He wants you worked up. He wants your heart racing. He wants you quivering and soft and afraid.

You look around frantically, searching for an escape.

Your hope rises then plummets. The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap. It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you.

You jump at another slam. It was the shed door. He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside.

“Come on,” he says into the shed. “Don’t be scared.”

You take a deep breath. You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned. You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can.

He is just as quiet. You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena. Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth.

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him.

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth. He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says. “Fight me. Brat.”

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before. There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front. You kick your legs as he straddles your backside. He brings your hands together on the base of your spine.

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration. Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back.

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up. He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it. You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm.

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth. It hovers like he expects you to start screaming. You just exhale heavily, glaring. “All right,” he says. “Very good. Come on.”

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground. He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him. He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way.

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs. He catches you quickly. You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again.

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between. With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together.

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly.

“Not quite,” he says, laughing. “I’ve been picturing something else.”

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open. The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier.

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough. You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard. But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand. It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand.

“This is what I was picturing,” he says. It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper. His lips graze your ear and you shiver.

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth. A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart. His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons.

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you. “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more. “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?” You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips. He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly. “God, that’s hot,” he says. “You might be a brat but your pussy... It’s begging for it, isn’t it? Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm? Hmm?”

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns. You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast.

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.”

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply.

“You can do better than that,” he says. “Come on. Show me how much you want it. You can’t lie to me, sweetheart. I can feel it, hmm? Gonna feel it when you come. Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that? What’s it want?”

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuck you. You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need. You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right? Go on. Show me you want it. Show me.”

Your chest is heaving. Your eyes close. You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately. It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking.

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you. He knows you are about to come. This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand. You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you. The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue. He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch.

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth. You catch your breath, slumping against his chest.

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head. You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth. You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers. You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself. Strands of blue fall across his forehead. He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel.

He grins around his fingers. Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his. He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths. His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his. You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses.

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly. “Because for what we do next…” He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is. “Yeah, sweetheart. For that, I need all of you.”

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you. You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright. You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath.

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone. You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch. You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant.

You follow him to the open door. One step, two steps.

Then you say, “Blue.”

You take off running into the house.

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you.

He slams the door shut behind him. You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside. It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape.

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide. There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances. Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard. And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about.

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice. His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual. “Stop hiding. I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…”

You peer at him between some boxes. He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too. The glittering amusement has left his eyes. They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air.

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it. He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place. He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables.

You shuffle with him, moving when he does. He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses.

“Come on now,” he says, turning around. He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple. “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says. “I know you, sweetheart. You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah? Hmm. You’re fast. I bet you’re flexible too. I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions. Get you making all sorts of noises for me…”

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move. Your limbs are still shaky. Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch.

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses. Did he hear that? Maybe not. He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs. It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs. In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.” Then he smiles again. He turns in your direction slowly. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you. Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house.

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good. You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.”

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet. It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says. He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you. “Don’t make me come get you,” he says. “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”

You shuffle to the side. He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs.

“Right,” he says. “Fine. We’ll do it that way.”

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away. You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on. It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide.

You can hear Felix stomping after you. You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide.

You yelp when he bursts in behind you. This time, he does not give. He grabs you roughly when you try to run again. With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder. He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back.

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom. “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?” He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him. He smiles. “Worth a shot, no?”

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says.

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you. He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans.

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him. “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.”

You were right. You will never see the colour blue the same way again. You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again.

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open. He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough. He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick. He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water. You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face. He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars. Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair.

“Oh, baby,” he says. He reaches down to wipe a tear. “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle.

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach. He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress. Then he swoops up. He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything.

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips. He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.”

“Oh god,” is your rough reply.

“It’s Felix,” he says. “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He has a condom in his bedside drawer. Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?” He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips. You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy. “No, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m gonna have all of you. And you – are gonna – take it.”

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you. You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more. When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before. You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you. You let them melt into the physical sensations. When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you. You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says. Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. His face is in your neck when he laughs. It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement. “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you. He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes. It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs.

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle. He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it. Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes.

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says.

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck. You get uncharacteristically bashful. Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much. Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed. Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile.

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks.

You nod. He smiles.

“Me too,” he says.

“That’s nice. Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh.

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes.

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while. You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light. You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress.

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort. He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head. “What! Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning. “I better be prepared.”

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you. I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says. “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back. “I still won this round.”

He lifts your face so he can look at you. Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you. You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore. Vexatious vixen, indeed.

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” you say. You kiss again, long and sweet. Then you bop him on the nose. “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head. Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.

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