#watching wicked if anyone's curious

[saryasy]

one thing about gays they will ask you to run away with them

[supercutszns]

rotten to the touch; luke castellan

series masterlist

wc: 3.2k

pairing: pre-tlt luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: you’re pretty sure you’re an awful person. you’re pretty sure luke castellan is too. and you’re pretty sure you want to make out with him.

warnings: reader is flawed & not the greatest, luke is ... a little dark🫣, small mention of blood, swearing, lots of making out but no explicit nsfw, a bit toxic, & no more more ‘i can fix him’ or ‘i can make him worse’ it’s ‘he can make ME worse’

notes: this is… sluttier than my usual stuff so it’s not as good but i’m trying, feedback is appreciated! also i wonder what cabin we think this reader would be in, let me know where you’d place her im curious :) maybe i’ll write more of her in the future she’s interesting!! and thank you for 100 followers i am so grateful<3 designated song for this fic is crush by ethel cain

You are a miserable, wicked, asshole of a person, and everybody knows it. Including you.

It’s unclear to you why you turned out this way—every reason to blame never satiates the fury searing your insides. All the campers hate you. The counsellors, too. Even Chiron looks down on the viciousness inside you. You are Camp Half-Blood’s black sheep; a mean, bitter person with no love for the people around you. And it’s not just for show. You know you’re rotten. You know the anger will never go away.

It’s evident in the things you think about other people—the way you pick them apart in your head, toss them aside, because they just don’t see it. This miserable, unforgiving world, with children sleeping on wooden floors because the people who created you think you disposable. Because they can just make more of you. More, more, more, until one of you comes out rotten, born of all the ugliness they have inside them. You are the worst parts of Godly blood. The wrathful parts.

Everyone hates you. Everyone hates a person with an unquenchable anger.

But everyone loves Luke Castellan.

He’s a saint at Camp Half-Blood if there ever was one. Handsome, generous, kind. Goes out of his way to help out the new kids and gives them homes in his cabin. He’s the best swordsman in camp by a mile. Shit, you’d even love Luke Castellan if you didn’t know any better.

But you do, and you don’t, and it’s complicated, okay?

Because there’s something you know about Luke Castellan that nobody else does: he’s miserable and wicked, too.

You see it in his eyes sometimes. The way they look at you at dinner, when you’re picking at your food away from anyone else at your table. Something familiar rises in them, and your stomach twists. His body tenses whenever someone mentions his father, but the smiles he flashes are so charismatic nobody notices. But you do. It’s exciting.

During sword practice, he quips back and forth with the kids and laughs whenever they take a jab at him. He’s light, easy, carefree. But you see how he holds back, the tension in his shoulder, the way the arc of his sword never fully finishes. So you wait until everybody leaves and he’s alone, with the training dummies and the setting sun. And you. Hiding.

He slashes through them and spears through their heads. You see it, the gnashing of his teeth, the sweat curling down his cheeks. There’s something there. A chasm he’s hopeless to fill.

Before you know it, you’re going out of your way to catch him training alone. It’s creepy, you know, and awful, you know, but the more you watch him the more you see a sort of violence scabbed under his skin.

Whenever you see him now, the feeling you get is entirely foreign to you. It’s almost . . . longing.

Wherever she is, you’re pretty sure Aphrodite’s having a cosmic fucking laugh. And you’re sure she’s laughing double tonight.

The Aphrodite cabin is hosting some secret party for the older counsellors. You’re definitely of age to be a counsellor, but you’ve never been made one because that would probably make half the campers drop out. Chiron and Mr. D don’t know what to do with you. You’re sure you’ll be kicked out of camp soon for good.

But you’re here anyways, for a reason you don’t want to admit, and you stay tucked in a corner as the world around you mingles. Luke is on the other side of the room, lovely as always, laughing with a few other counsellors. He brings a drink up to his lips, and you have a startling thought of what it would be like to kiss him. And you’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Because for the first time in your life you want something tangible, something real. You want to hear him and feel him and pry him apart, and a part of you wants him to actually see you, see all the awful things that might make you the same. You feel like a teenage girl with a crush, and it is infuriating.

An Aphrodite girl comes up to you with a foolish smile. “Hey, sorry, you want a drink?”

“Fuck off, you idiot,” you snarl.

You wait for her to leave. She doesn’t. “You know, you don’t have to be so mean all the time,” she says evenly. “If you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. So yes, I want to give you a drink.”

“Have you ever thought that I’m not being mean? Maybe I just am.”

You glare at her. She looks you up and down. “Sure,” she shrugs, walking away. There’s a vivid picture in your mind of her falling through a hole in the cabin floor. It doesn’t soothe you, but at least the fantasy is there.

The night drones on. You’re sick of the smells and the laughs and the heat. And you’re sick of yourself. You can’t believe, underneath all your sourness, you came here to stare at a boy you barely know, and you don’t even know why. He’s fascinating, and you resent him, and he’s also beautiful. But he’s looked back at you all of three times tonight and you’re sick of the way your skin crawls when he does.

Leaving the cabin brings the relief of the cool night air, and the singularity of your body. You are the only one who feels this rage. You are the only one who hates.

To stave off your discomfort you walk around to the back of the cabin, to the crest of the hill facing the water. The stars above twinkle at you in spite. There’s a bitterness in your throat you want to wash down with something worse (maybe you should have taken that drink), but you know it won’t matter. Nothing matters. Those stars and whatever they hide are apparently the only important things in the universe, so why should anyone care about anything?

They stars only get brighter. It’s probably their goal to piss you off. You grunt, “Oh, fuck you,” to them. It’s not enough, never nearly enough to expel the rotten part of you. “Fuck you. Fuck off!” You groan at the sky. Nothing happens. Until:

“I’m guessing you’re not having a fun night.”

You whirl around. It’s hard to see in the dark, but whatever light is left catches a long scar on a cheek. Your stomach knots.

“Yeah, me neither,” Luke Castellan says, hands in his pockets as he meanders towards you.

Even when he’s close enough, you don’t say anything. If you do, you’re afraid it’ll be something ugly. Like I kind of want to make out with you. Are you awful too? I need a lobotomy.

The thoughts almost make you laugh. Been a long time since you’ve been funny.

He nods at the sky. “Those things don’t talk. You do know that, right?” He’s still so captivating, so self-assured, even when there’s no one around but you.

“Gods, you’re the worst,” you scoff. You really mean it, so you can’t look him in the eye.

“Then why have you been staring at me all night?”

It catches you so off-guard that you whip back to face him. He has an eyebrow raised and the itch of a smile that makes you burn with shame. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He shrugs, leaning against the cabin wall. “I’m not stupid. You’ve been brooding in the corner watching me the second you came in.” He cocks his head to the side, adding, “Actually, you stare at me all the time. At meals and stuff. I really hope you don’t think you’re being subtle.”

You huff. “Okay, if we’re really being honest here, you started that! You do it too! All the time!”

His hands shot up like he was being arrested. “Hey, I never said I minded it. A guy’s . . . just gotta wonder. What’s up with you spying on me when I’m training alone, anyways?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You watch me when there’s nobody else around. I’m not blind. It’s weird. If you want tips you can just ask me. Or if you like what you’re looking at, at least be upfront about it.”

You speak before you can take in that last sentence, or the way his smile took pride in itself when he said it, or how embarrassed you should probably feel. “You didn’t answer my question about why you started staring at me first.”

The anger (shame) blinding you made you forget how close you are to him right now. Close enough to touch, but not enough to see. But almost there. Almost.

“People think you’re mean,” Luke says after a moment, his dark eyes probing you. The words curl out of his mouth slowly, like he’s choosing them all with care. “You’re rude. You never listen to anyone. You judge everything. They all think you’re awful.” Again, he looks you over. “I’m not so sure.”

“If I’m awful, then you’re awful,” you spit before he can say anything else.

He just shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s why I’m not sure.”

It’s irritating, his calmness. He has the same anger you do. How come he can just . . . shove it down? You try to unearth any fury in his eyes, but it’s too far back. Simmering. “Jesus,” you mutter, “You’re worse than me.”

He looks genuinely taken aback by this. His scar deepens when his brows wrinkle. “What?”

“You’re a pretender—that’s what you are.” It’s your turn now, to step closer, to make his skin crawl. “Look at you. Everyone loves you. You’re this perfect golden boy and you’re sweet and attentive and whatever the fuck but you know it’s one giant lie. At least I’m honest, but you just sit pretty and act like you don’t have that . . . thing that I have. Resentment. Insanity. Whatever you want to call it. We’re the same, but I’m the only one getting shit for it.”

Now, you are close enough to really see him. The patterns on the wood behind him frame the vision of his ever-shifting face. You realize that this, like most things are to Luke Castellan, is a challenge. You also can’t remember the last time you saw him lose one.

But when you play, you play to win.

“You don’t know that,” he dares.

“Oh, I do. You’re rotten, Castellan,” you sneer, index finger jabbed into his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate. “And you’re not owning up to it, so you’re also a coward.”

However scathing you look, it isn’t enough. If anything it only makes Luke’s manner more playful. Nothing feels playful anymore. Everything, inside and outside of your mind, feels like constant, exhausting war. Maybe that’s why you don’t slap his hand off you when it wraps around your wrist, keeping it pressed to the middle of his chest. His heartbeat thrums through you.

He tilts his face towards you, grinning, “Then why do you want to kiss me?”

All right. What the fuck. It feels like you’ve been electrocuted.

“What the—what are you talking about?” You blunder, but he knows, of course he knows, because there’s something between the two of you that has been formed and understood by eye contact alone. He can probably read your mind. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you’d like to read his just as much.

He cocks his head. “I mean, you did call me pretty,” he teases, and it’s almost endearing. “You’re pretty like this too.” His other hand comes up to your face, and you’re surprised you don’t flinch when his thumb gently smooths the crease in your eyebrows. “Don’t call me a coward, heathen. Then we’ll both be embarrassed.”

The nickname makes you want to fight, but the touch makes you dizzy. “You don’t want to kiss me, Luke,” you say with all the control you have, which, right now, is increasingly sparse.

“You’ve gotta stop telling people what they want,” he muses. The hand on your wrist traces further down your forearm. The one on your face snakes around your hips. “One of your more disagreeable qualities.”

His words fan over you. That fire simmering in his eyes has finally come to the surface.

“One of?” You challenge.

“You let me make out with you and I’ll give you a whole list.”

You snort, hoping it hides the shortness in your breath. “What a charmer you are.”

His lips brush yours. “Well, that’s what makes me so rotten, isn’t it?”

There’s hardly time to unravel if that’s a question or a statement because you grab a fistful of his shirt and he kisses you. Your heart detonates. It is not rotten in the slightest.

His body is warm and firm. You smell the cabin wood and the drink on his breath. It all matters, and none of it does. You’re warm everywhere as he wraps both arms around your back, and the way he kisses is, unfortunately, exactly how you thought he would. Your hands are tentative in his hair. So is your mouth on his. But Luke is so deliberate in the way he kisses that you know he’s thought about this, too. It makes you all the warmer.

His hand takes your jaw and tilts it up. You know your neck is shaky with breath, and you’re pretty sure he’s admiring it. You don’t complain when he presses a kiss to your jaw, then another one, like he’s testing the waters. “You’re so nice like this,” he mutters almost to himself, thumb running across your neck. “If only people could see you.”

“Then they’d see how mean you are too, no?” You huff. “You don’t want that.”

Another kiss to your jaw. “Not yet, sweetheart.”

Whatever feeling is harbouring in your body right now, it’s so fulfilling it almost makes you uncomfortable. You want to reject it. You’re not supposed to want things. Worse, you’re not supposed to get things. Luke starts marking a path down your neck and you are so determined to enjoy this that you’d kiss a fucking baby if someone asked you to. You might as well be a saint.

He bites the pulse point on your neck, sure to leave a mark, and a shudder rips through you. You’re pretty sure the bastard starts laughing. You hit his shoulder in retaliation.

“Easy, heathen,” he reprimands in your ear, and you know he’s still smiling.

“Don’t—don’t call me that.” You hate that you start to smile, too, and that your stomach burgeons with butterflies when he pulls back to look at you.

He touches the corner of your upturned mouth, kiss-bitten and red. His expression is boyish. “Hard to when it makes your face do that,” he goads. “I thought it was impossible for you to smile.”

“Be quiet.” You thread a hand through his camp necklace and bring him closer. You can almost taste his mouth on yours, but he sweeps past you at the last minute.

He gently tugs your earlobe with his teeth and whispers, “Yes ma’am.”

Fuck him. Seriously. You might have to.

It’s a tangle of teeth and hands and smiles kept hidden, as you slip your fingertips beneath his shirt and he does the same, and you’re both angry and greedy and incredibly destructive, but it doesn’t matter yet. Now you’re just teenagers fooling around at the back of a party, and it’s the first good thing either of you have had in a long time. Luke leaves you gasping whenever his mouth hits certain places, maybe too many places, and he teases you accordingly. “So sensitive,” he taunts, pressing his knee between your legs so he can see you squirm. You rake your nails through his scalp and he tilts his head back to groan. It shuts him up for a while.

He bites your neck until you say his name. You trace lines on his stomach till he takes your hand in his own. You’ve been hungry for something your whole life, and you finally have something to sink your teeth into. For better or for worse.

After Hades knows how long, laughter floats out from the front of the cabin. Sounds of feet tripping over each other and muffled goodbyes. You pull away from Luke, chests heaving together. His hair is wild, his shirt crumpled, and he looks entirely satisfied with it. Smug little shit. “Party’s letting out,” you mutter.

“What a damn shame.” His hand rubs your jaw, and it’s too tender a gesture so you angle your head away to peek over the side of the cabin. You barely pay attention to the kids straggling back to their bunks.

“Is now the time you tell me all my horrible qualities?” You ask once you’re ready to look at him again.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Actually, I came up with more since I said that so I’m pretty sure it’ll take more than one night.” He fakes a wince, “Might have to spread it out for a few days.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, you ass.”

“I’ll give you one for starters.” You feel like a tornado when he kisses the juncture between your jaw and your neck. “Your hands are too cold.” They’re tucked underneath his shirt right now, pressed against his back. You don’t move them. “And,” he adds, “you’re incredibly crass.”

“Thanks, dipshit.”

“Thank you for proving my point, heathen.”

The commotion at the front gets louder, and you know your time to go undiscovered runs short. “You meet me again tomorrow, and I start telling you the rest?” He raises his brows.

The prospect both repulses and excites you, although perhaps they’re hand-in-hand. You tentatively reach up to trace the scar on his face. A faint, jagged line that holds scripture within it. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Even though I’m rotten?” You ask, and there’s an echo of mischief in your voice, too.

He’s got a strange expression when he looks at you. “That’s not true.”

He leans down, angles his head to kiss you. It’s slow, but bitter, and he bites down on your lip until you’re pretty sure there’s blood. “Luke,” you murmur, and he kisses you softer. You lean into him like a hapless, lovesick fool.

After you part, he loosens his grip on you. The bumbling campers have gotten louder. He stares at you, and you see the chasm in his eyes again, brimming with fire. Same as yours. You know you’ll see him tomorrow.

He says, “You’re not rotten. You’re right.”

And damn it, you really do believe him.

[solxamber]

All the NRC students (+maybe neige and Chen'ya) with a incubus? Can be either platonic or romantic but romantic would be preferred

(Male reader please!)

All NRC (-Ortho), Rollo, Neige, Che'nya with M! Incubus! Reader

thanks for the request <3 also had a lot of fun writing this so it ended up getting a little out of hand

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle prided himself on maintaining control—control of his dorm, his emotions, and, most importantly, his heart. So when you, with your playful, lingering glances and mischievous smirks, started pulling him into your orbit, it rattled him.

It didn’t help that you knew exactly what you were doing.

“I’ve told you before about your uniform,” Riddle said sternly, eyes flicking over the slightly disheveled appearance you sported. The red cravat was loose, shirt collar slightly askew, and there was something about the casual disregard for the rules that sent his pulse racing.

You tilted your head, stepping just close enough to make his heartbeat uncomfortably loud in his ears. “I’d fix it, but I think you like it this way.”

Riddle’s face burned, and he instinctively took a step back, his composure slipping. “T-That’s absurd! The rules exist for a reason—”

You smiled, a slow, deliberate thing that made his breath hitch. “Maybe you just like breaking the rules when no one’s watching.”

Riddle’s heart thudded against his ribcage, his voice lowering to a flustered murmur. “I... I don’t know what you’re implying, but... please—fix it.”

But you didn’t move, and for the first time, Riddle wasn’t sure if he wanted you to.

Trey Clover

Trey had always been steady, reliable. The calm amidst the storm of his fellow Heartslabyul students. But you? You were the unpredictable spark in his otherwise predictable life.

He watched as you leaned casually against the kitchen counter, watching him roll out the dough with that knowing smile on your face. The way you lingered so close, the heat of your body just barely brushing against his, had him more distracted than he’d ever admit.

“You know,” you said, voice low and smooth as honey, “you’re really good at this whole ‘baking’ thing. I can’t help but wonder what else you’re good at.”

Trey’s hand stilled, his heart suddenly pounding a little harder. He glanced at you, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s... just practice.”

You laughed, the sound soft and intimate, as if the two of you shared a secret. “Hmm. Maybe you could teach me sometime. I’m a quick learner...”

Trey swallowed, eyes flicking to yours, his usual calm slipping just a bit. “I-I could. But, uh, maybe we should focus on the task at hand first.”

But the way you stepped closer, your shoulder brushing against his, told him that focusing was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

Cater Diamond

Cater loved attention. He lived for it. But the way you looked at him? That was something different. Something that made his heart skip a beat, even though he’d never admit it.

“You’ve got all those fans, Cater,” you said, leaning close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from you, “but when’s the last time you had someone all to yourself?”

Cater’s grin faltered, just for a second. “What’s this? You jealous? Don’t worry, I’ve always got time for you.”

But his casual charm wasn’t quite enough to hide the way his pulse quickened as you leaned even closer, your breath brushing against his ear.

“Jealous?” you echoed, your voice low, teasing. “Nah. Just curious. Wondering if you can handle it when all the attention’s on you for real.”

Cater swallowed, his playful demeanor slipping as his mind raced. You always did know how to get under his skin. “Hah... you’re too much, you know that?”

You grinned, and Cater couldn’t help but wonder if, for once, he’d met someone who could play his game better than him.

Ace Trappola

Ace liked to think of himself as smooth. Unshakable. Too clever to fall for anything or anyone. But every time you got a little too close, flashed that wicked grin, or dropped a suggestive comment, he found himself floundering in a way that left him both frustrated and intrigued.

“So, Ace,” you drawled, standing far too close for him to feel comfortable, “how long are you gonna pretend I’m not getting to you?”

Ace shot you his best smirk, crossing his arms as if the proximity wasn’t bothering him at all. “Pfft, please. You’re not even on my radar.”

But the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him, and you stepped even closer, your hand lightly brushing against his arm.

“Really?” you murmured, your eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re telling me that if I kissed you right now, it wouldn’t faze you at all?”

Ace froze, his heart doing an acrobatic flip in his chest. “I-I mean... not at all,” he stammered, but the blush creeping up his neck told a different story.

You grinned, pulling away just before he could gather his thoughts. “We’ll see about that.”

Ace exhaled shakily, trying to regain his composure, but all he could think about was the way his heart hadn’t quite slowed down.

Deuce Spade

Deuce wasn’t used to being flustered. He was the serious one. The dependable one. But you? You had a way of completely throwing him off his game with nothing more than a smile.

“Deuce, you’re looking a little tense,” you teased, your voice soft and almost soothing as you stood in front of him. “Something on your mind?”

Deuce swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the way your fingers lightly brushed against his arm. “N-No! I’m just... thinking.”

“About me?” you asked, your lips quirking up in a teasing grin.

Deuce’s face turned bright red. “N-No! I mean, not that I don’t—no, wait, I didn’t mean—uh—”

You chuckled softly, leaning in just a bit closer, your lips barely inches from his ear. “Relax. I’m just teasing you. Unless...”

Deuce’s breath hitched, his heart racing as he tried to find his voice. “U-Unless?”

You smiled, pulling away slightly, but the warmth of your touch still lingered. “Unless you want me to be serious.”

Deuce’s brain short-circuited for a moment, and all he could do was nod, his face burning as his heart hammered in his chest.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was used to being in control. To having people fall in line around him. But you? You were the one person who never seemed to be affected by his lazy dominance. If anything, you enjoyed pushing his buttons.

You stretched out beside him in the sunlight, lazily twirling a blade of grass between your fingers. “So, what’s the plan, Leona? Gonna keep pretending you’re not interested forever?”

Leona opened one eye to glare at you, his voice a low growl. “I told you, I’m trying to sleep.”

You smirked, propping yourself up on your elbow to lean closer to him. “Uh-huh. Sure. But you’re not very convincing when your heart’s racing like that.”

Leona’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at his lips. “You think you’re cute, huh?”

“I know I am,” you replied smoothly, your fingers brushing against his arm just enough to make him tense.

Leona scoffed, turning his head away, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “You’re asking for trouble, herbivore.”

But the way he didn’t move away told you he didn’t mind one bit.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie wasn’t used to being the one on the receiving end of tricks. He was the one who pulled the pranks, got the upper hand. But you? You had him constantly on edge, never knowing what you’d say or do next.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Ruggie said, his voice low and teasing as you sidled up next to him.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smirk. “Am I? Or maybe you’re just not used to someone playing it better than you.”

Ruggie laughed, though there was a hint of nervousness behind it. “Better than me? C’mon, I’ve got this in the bag.”

You leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear. “I don’t think you do.”

Ruggie’s heart skipped a beat, his mind scrambling for a witty comeback, but all he could focus on was the way your lips brushed against his ear ever so slightly. “Y-You’re not playing fair.”

You chuckled, pulling away just enough to meet his eyes. “Who said anything about playing fair?”

Ruggie grinned, his confidence slipping just a little. “You’re trouble. But... I think I like it.”

Jack Howl

Jack prided himself on his discipline, his focus, his unwavering sense of duty. Yet, you had a way of completely unraveling all of that in a matter of seconds.

He was lifting weights in the gym, mind focused, muscles straining, when you appeared beside him. “Need a spotter?” you asked casually, leaning against the bench with a smile that was just a little too playful.

Jack grunted, trying to ignore the way your presence made his heart race. “I can handle it.”

You chuckled, leaning in just a little closer. “I’m sure you can, big guy. But why pass up the chance to have me watching your back?”

Jack nearly fumbled the weight, his ears flicking in annoyance, though he couldn’t quite hide the blush creeping up his neck. “I-I’m fine.”

But you didn’t move. Instead, you rested your chin on your hand, watching him intently. “You know, I think you try too hard sometimes. Maybe you should let someone else take care of you for a change.”

Jack’s grip tightened on the barbell, his pulse quickening. He wasn’t sure if it was the weight or the way you were looking at him that was making his chest feel tight. “I don’t need—”

You reached out, brushing a hand against his arm, sending an electric jolt through him. “Don’t need help? Or don’t need me watching you like this?”

Jack huffed, setting the weight down with more force than necessary. “You’re impossible.”

But the way his tail twitched betrayed the fact that he didn’t really mind.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was a planner. Every move, every interaction was calculated, precise. And yet, somehow, you always seemed to throw his carefully crafted plans into chaos.

He watched as you entered the VIP room of the Mostro Lounge, that ever-present smirk on your lips. “You’re awfully quiet today, Azul,” you teased, crossing the room with a confidence that always made his palms sweat.

Azul adjusted his glasses, trying to maintain his usual calm demeanor. “I’m simply... observing.”

“Observing, huh?” you echoed, leaning on the edge of his desk, far too close for comfort. “And what exactly are you observing?”

Azul cleared his throat, eyes flicking nervously to yours. “Y-You, of course. You’re quite... unpredictable.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing against the edge of the desk, inching closer to his hand. “Unpredictable? Or maybe you’re just bad at reading me.”

Azul’s heart raced, though he tried to keep his expression neutral. “I assure you, I’m quite skilled at reading people.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Then what am I thinking right now?”

Azul froze, his mind scrambling for a coherent thought, but all he could focus on was the heat radiating from your body and the way your eyes seemed to see right through him. “I-I...”

You chuckled, pulling away just before he could respond, leaving him flustered and very much off balance. “Guess you’re not as good as you thought.”

Azul adjusted his glasses again, trying to regain his composure. “You... are infuriating.”

But the flush on his cheeks said he didn’t mind being bested by you.

Jade Leech

Jade was used to being in control, much like his boss. He enjoyed observing people, watching how they reacted, and staying two steps ahead. But with you? You were always just a little bit ahead of him, and that intrigued him far more than he’d like to admit.

“So,” Jade drawled, his usual polite smile firmly in place as you stood across from him in the lounge, “what brings you here today? Surely not just to cause more chaos?”

You smirked, tilting your head in that way that always made his heart beat just a little faster. “Maybe I just like the view.”

Jade raised an eyebrow, though his pulse quickened. “Is that so? I wasn’t aware the decor was so interesting.”

“Oh, the decor’s nice,” you said, stepping closer, your fingers lightly brushing against the smooth wood of the table. “But I wasn’t talking about that.”

Jade’s smile widened, though he couldn’t quite suppress the flicker of surprise in his chest. “You’re quite bold, aren’t you?”

“Bold?” you echoed, your hand resting on the table just beside his. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know what I want.”

Jade’s eyes gleamed with intrigue, his voice lowering to a murmur. “And what is it that you want?”

You leaned in, just enough to make his heart skip a beat. “I think you already know.”

For the first time, Jade found himself unsure of what move to make next—a sensation both unsettling and thrilling. “You... are quite the enigma.”

You grinned, pulling away with a wink. “And you love it.”

Jade’s smile didn’t falter, but the way his heart raced told him that, perhaps, you were right.

Floyd Leech

Floyd was wild, unpredictable, and always on the hunt for something exciting. You? You were the perfect mix of chaos and control, and that made you his favorite person to mess with.

“Shrimpy~!” Floyd’s voice echoed down the hallway as he bounded toward you with his usual enthusiasm. “Whatcha doin’? Boring stuff again?”

You glanced up, smirking as he slid to a stop in front of you. “Just waiting for you to catch up, Floyd. Took you long enough.”

Floyd grinned, his mismatched eyes gleaming with excitement. “Oho, you’re in a mood today, huh?”

You shrugged, leaning back against the wall, your posture casual, but your eyes gleaming with mischief. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just wondering if you can keep up.”

Floyd’s grin widened, his heart racing at the challenge. “Oh, I can keep up, don’t worry.”

You stepped closer, close enough that Floyd’s playful grin faltered for just a second. “Can you, though?”

Floyd’s eyes narrowed, his excitement turning to something sharper, more focused. “Heh, you’re askin’ for it, Shrimpy.”

But instead of backing down, you just grinned, your hand lightly brushing against his arm. “Maybe I am.”

For the first time in a while, Floyd found himself caught off guard, his usual chaotic energy tempered by the unexpected heat in your gaze. “You’re somethin’ else, Shrimpy.”

You winked, pulling away before he could react, leaving him both intrigued and frustrated in the best possible way. “I know.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim was all sunshine and joy, always smiling, always positive. But when you were around? He found himself feeling something a little different—a flutter in his chest that he didn’t quite understand.

“You’re always so happy, Kalim,” you teased, your voice soft but playful as you sat beside him on the steps of Scarabia. “What’s your secret?”

Kalim beamed at you, his usual enthusiasm shining through. “It’s easy! I just focus on the good things. Like you being here with me!”

You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. “That’s sweet. But what if I wasn’t here?”

Kalim blinked, his smile faltering for just a second. “Then... I’d be sad, I guess.”

You tilted your head, your smile turning a little more mischievous. “Really? Sad? Or maybe... you’d miss me?”

Kalim’s face flushed, his usual cheerfulness giving way to a sudden nervousness. “O-Of course I’d miss you! You’re my friend!”

You leaned in, your voice lowering just enough to make his heart race. “Just a friend?”

Kalim’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. “W-Well, I mean... I-I—”

You chuckled, pulling away before he could stumble over his words any more. “Relax, Kalim. I’m just teasing you.”

But the blush on his cheeks remained, and Kalim couldn’t quite shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to be more than just friends.

Jamil Viper

Jamil had spent most of his life in control, always planning, always calculating. But with you? You threw all of that right out the window. No matter how hard he tried to remain calm, you always seemed to know just how to get under his skin.

He was organizing a batch of ingredients for the next Scarabia banquet when you strolled into the kitchen. “Jamil, you’re always working so hard,” you said, your voice lilting with a teasing edge.

Jamil didn’t look up from his task, though the way his grip tightened on the spoon betrayed his reaction to your presence. “Someone has to,” he muttered, keeping his voice neutral.

You leaned against the counter, watching him with that playful glint in your eye. “But don’t you ever get tired of being so... responsible all the time?”

Jamil glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you getting at?”

You grinned, reaching for one of the nearby aprons. “I’m saying, maybe you need a break. Let someone else take care of things for once.”

Jamil snorted, shaking his head. “And who exactly would that be? You?”

You slid the apron over your head, your movements far too casual. “Why not? I can handle a kitchen just fine.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow, watching as you tied the apron with a flourish. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

You shot him a playful wink. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

For once, Jamil was at a loss. The idea of letting go, even for a second, was foreign to him. But the way you moved with such confidence... it made him wonder what it would be like to let someone else take control, just for a little while. “Fine,” he said after a moment, crossing his arms. “But if you burn anything, you’re cleaning it up.”

You grinned, reaching for the nearest pan. “Deal.”

And as you moved around the kitchen, humming to yourself, Jamil found himself watching you with a mix of exasperation and something warmer—something he wasn’t quite ready to admit.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil had always prided himself on his perfection. His looks, his demeanor, everything about him was carefully crafted to be flawless. But you? You were the one person who could make him forget all of that, even if just for a moment.

He was seated at his vanity, carefully applying his skincare routine when you entered the room. “You know, Vil, you’re almost too perfect,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

Vil raised an eyebrow, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “Almost?”

You stepped closer, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. But perfection’s boring.”

Vil turned slightly, regarding you with a cool, appraising look. “I see. And what, pray tell, would you suggest?”

You grinned, walking up behind him and resting your chin on his shoulder. “Maybe you should loosen up a little. Try being... I don’t know, human.”

Vil’s lips curved into a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m afraid that would be lowering my standards.”

You chuckled, your breath warm against his neck. “Or maybe it would just make you more relatable.”

Vil’s gaze flicked to yours, a spark of something sharp and amused in his eyes. “I’m not interested in being relatable.”

You straightened, your smile widening. “Good thing I’m not asking you to be.”

Vil turned fully to face you now, his violet eyes narrowing slightly. “Then what are you asking?”

You shrugged, your tone playful. “Maybe I’m just asking you to let me in.”

For a brief moment, Vil’s carefully crafted facade cracked, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to let someone see beyond the perfection. But he quickly composed himself, his smile returning. “Perhaps.”

But the way his heart skipped a beat told him that you were already closer than he’d like to admit.

Rook Hunt

Rook loved beauty in all its forms. He admired it, sought it out, and treasured it. But there was something about you—something wild, unpredictable, and utterly enchanting—that drew him in like nothing else.

You were standing at the edge of the Pomefiore courtyard, gazing out at the forest beyond when Rook appeared beside you. “Ah, mon trésor,” he murmured, his voice soft and reverent. “What a beautiful sight.”

You glanced at him, smirking. “You say that about everything.”

Rook chuckled, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. “Perhaps. But in your case, it is always true.”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth in his gaze made your heart flutter. “You’re such a romantic.”

Rook smiled, leaning in just a little closer. “Can you blame me? You are... irresistible.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk turning playful. “Am I?”

Rook’s eyes sparkled, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Without question.”

For a moment, you were caught in his gaze, the intensity of his admiration washing over you like a wave. But then, with a grin, you stepped back, breaking the spell. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to keep chasing me, then.”

Rook laughed, his heart racing at the challenge. “Ah, mon cœur, I would chase you to the ends of the earth.”

And as you turned away, a smile playing on your lips, Rook knew that he would do just that—no matter how long it took.

Epel Felmier

Epel had heard rumors about you—whispers in the halls of an incubus who could charm anyone with just a glance. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was your mix of quiet strength and subtle flirtation that kept him intrigued. You had this easy confidence that drove him wild, even though he’d never admit it.

You were lounging on a low wall near the Pomefiore gardens, basking in the afternoon sun when Epel stormed up, looking as if he had something to prove. "So, how does it work? Your whole 'incubus charm' thing?" His tone was half curious, half challenging.

You chuckled, tilting your head. "You want a lesson, Felmier?"

Epel crossed his arms, trying to appear unaffected, though the slight flush on his cheeks gave him away. "Nah, I just... I don’t get it. How do ya make people swoon without even trying?"

You smiled, leaning forward slightly, your voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. "Maybe I just have that effect on you."

Epel’s eyes widened, and he quickly looked away, cheeks turning a brighter red. "Y-yeah, right. As if!"

You laughed softly, standing up and stepping closer, close enough for Epel to feel the warmth radiating from you. "You seem flustered. Careful now, or people might think you're one of my admirers."

Epel swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "I ain’t like the others, y’know. You’re not gonna charm me that easily."

"Oh, Epel," you teased, brushing a finger lightly under his chin, tilting his face up to meet your gaze. "Who said I was trying?"

Epel froze, heart pounding in his chest, his usual bravado completely melting under your touch. But before he could say anything, you pulled back, leaving him standing there, speechless and confused.

"You’re fun to mess with," you said with a wink, turning to walk away. "But don’t worry. I like you for more than just your pretty face."

As you disappeared down the path, Epel stood there, face burning and thoughts racing. He wasn’t sure if he was flattered or completely thrown off balance, but one thing was for sure—he was hooked.

Idia Shroud

Idia hated attention, and you—an incubus who naturally drew people in—was the last person he expected to become infatuated with. But there was something about you that made it impossible for him to focus on anything else. It didn’t help that you seemed to enjoy making him squirm.

He was holed up in his room, hunched over his desk, when you casually materialized in the middle of the room. "Yo, Idia," you greeted with a grin. "Miss me?"

Idia nearly fell out of his chair, his hands fumbling to close several tabs on his computer in a panic. "W-what the—don’t sneak up on me like that!"

You chuckled, leaning against his desk with your usual easy confidence. "You’re cute when you’re flustered, y’know that?"

Idia’s face turned bright red, and he pulled his hoodie over his head, muttering under his breath. "N-n-not cute. I’m not... cute."

You smirked, leaning in closer. "Oh, but you are. The way you hide in your hoodie, the way you avoid eye contact... It’s pretty endearing."

Idia peeked out from under his hoodie, his golden eyes wide with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "Endearing? M-me?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, reaching out to brush a strand of his blue hair away from his face. "You’re more interesting than you think, Shroud."

Idia’s breath hitched, and he quickly pulled his hood tighter, as if it could somehow protect him from your teasing. "Y-you must be messing with me," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

You grinned, leaning back but keeping your eyes on him. "Maybe a little. But I mean it. You’ve got this whole mysterious, untouchable vibe going on. It’s kind of hot."

Idia froze, his mind short-circuiting at the word "hot" being used in reference to him. He stared at his screen, trying to pretend like he wasn’t blushing furiously under his hood. "Th-this is like... some kind of nightmare..."

You laughed, pushing off the desk and heading toward the door. "Nah, just a dream you’re not ready for yet."

Idia didn’t dare look up as you left, but his heart was racing, and his mind was filled with thoughts he had no idea how to process. You were dangerous, but also kind of intoxicating. And despite everything, he found himself looking forward to the next time you’d appear in his room out of nowhere.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus was used to people fearing him, revering him even. But you? You weren’t scared. In fact, you treated him with the same teasing confidence as everyone else, and that... intrigued him.

You had found him in his usual spot by the gargoyles, admiring the stone figures with that serene look on his face. You leaned casually against a nearby pillar, watching him for a moment before speaking. "Y’know, for someone so powerful, you sure spend a lot of time alone."

Malleus turned to you, his emerald eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Does that surprise you?"

You grinned, walking over to stand beside him. "A little. I mean, shouldn’t someone like you have people fawning over them all the time?"

Malleus raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but amused. "I am not particularly interested in such... distractions."

You chuckled, giving him a playful nudge. "Oh, come on. Everyone needs a little attention sometimes. Even you."

Malleus looked at you for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face. "And you believe you are the one to provide it?"

You met his gaze, your smile softening just a bit. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just curious about what makes you tick."

Malleus considered your words, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your playful demeanor. "You are unlike any other... bold, yet not reckless."

You smirked, leaning closer. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

Malleus tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your heart race. "Perhaps it was meant as one."

For a moment, the air between you was thick with unspoken tension, but you broke it with a light laugh, stepping back. "Well, if you ever get tired of talking to gargoyles, you know where to find me."

Malleus watched as you turned to leave, his lips curving into a small smile. "Indeed. I may take you up on that offer."

And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d just unlocked a side of Malleus Draconia that few had ever seen. The thrill of it was enough to make your heart race.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia had lived through centuries and seen all manner of beings, but you—a cheeky incubus with a penchant for teasing—caught his interest more than anyone in recent memory. You had a charm about you that was hard to ignore, and Lilia, of course, found it entertaining.

One evening, you found him lounging upside down on a tree branch, casually playing a game on his phone. You leaned against the trunk, grinning up at him. "Don’t you ever get tired of hanging upside down like a bat?"

Lilia’s red eyes flickered toward you, and he chuckled softly. "Why would I? The world looks more amusing this way. And I get to see delightful surprises, like you."

You smirked, folding your arms. "Flattery will get you everywhere, you know."

"Ah, but I don't need flattery with you, do I?" Lilia responded smoothly, dropping down from the tree and landing gracefully beside you. "You're already drawn to me."

You laughed, stepping closer. "Confident, are we? You must know my type, then?"

Lilia’s smile widened, his sharp fangs peeking through. "Perhaps. You do have a taste for the mysterious and ancient, do you not?"

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in just enough to make the air between you crackle with tension. "Maybe I like a little danger."

Lilia’s eyes gleamed mischievously. "Careful now. I might just take you up on that."

For a moment, there was a spark of something unspoken between you—something thrilling, intoxicating. But you knew Lilia well enough to know he enjoyed the dance as much as you did. You gave him a wink before pulling back. "See you around, old man."

Lilia chuckled, watching you walk away with a look of pure amusement. "I do enjoy our little games," he murmured to himself. "Such an interesting soul you are."

Silver

Silver had always been calm and composed, his emotions well-guarded behind his serene expression. But with you, something shifted. You had a way of breaking through his defenses, and even if he tried to ignore it, you seemed determined to fluster him.

One afternoon, you found Silver in a quiet spot near the garden, practicing his swordsmanship. He was focused, moving with precision, but you, being you, couldn’t resist a little disruption. "Nice form," you called out, leaning against a tree. "But I bet you’ve never faced a foe like me."

Silver paused, lowering his sword and turning to you with his usual calm gaze. "Are you suggesting a duel?"

You grinned, stepping forward. "Not exactly. More like a... sparring of wits. I think I’m winning already."

Silver blinked, clearly puzzled by your words, but there was a slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. "I wasn’t aware we were competing."

"That’s because I’m subtle," you teased, giving him a playful look. "You should keep up."

Silver’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his usual stoic expression faltered. "I’m trying. But you... you’re not easy to figure out."

You took another step closer, your voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Maybe that’s part of the fun."

Silver’s breath caught for a moment, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. "You’re... different from anyone I’ve met before."

"And that’s a good thing?" you asked, genuinely curious.

Silver nodded slowly, meeting your eyes with a sincerity that made your heart flutter. "Yes. It’s a good thing."

For a moment, the two of you stood there in comfortable silence, the connection between you growing stronger. And though Silver was not one for grand gestures or flirtatious banter, his presence alone made you feel something deeper than words could express.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was nothing if not loyal to Malleus, and that made dealing with you—a distracting, charming incubus—all the more frustrating for him. No matter how hard he tried to focus on his duties, you always seemed to show up at the worst possible moments, throwing him off balance with your teasing.

You found Sebek in the library, his nose buried in a book about fae history. With a sly grin, you slipped into the chair beside him, leaning on your elbow and watching him intently. "You know, Sebek, you could use a break every now and then."

Sebek stiffened, his green eyes narrowing as he glanced at you. "I have no time for distractions! Lord Malleus requires my full attention at all times!"

"Uh-huh," you replied, clearly not buying it. "I’m sure Malleus is off doing his own thing. Meanwhile, you’re here, working too hard."

Sebek slammed his book shut, standing abruptly. "I am not ‘working too hard!’ I am doing my duty! Unlike some people who waste their time with frivolous nonsense!"

You smirked, standing up to match his energy. "Frivolous, huh? Is that what you think of me?"

Sebek’s face turned red, but whether from anger or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell. "Y-you’re always... always causing trouble! With your... your incubus ways!"

"Incubus ways?" you repeated with a laugh, stepping closer to him. "Sebek, you’re adorable when you’re flustered."

"I am not flustered!" he barked, though his reddening face said otherwise.

You leaned in, lowering your voice just enough to make him even more uncomfortable. "You’re really bad at hiding it, y’know."

Sebek sputtered, taking a step back as if he didn’t know how to handle the situation. "I... I have no time for your... your charm!"

You grinned, thoroughly enjoying the effect you had on him. "Don’t worry, Sebek. I’ll leave you alone... for now."

As you walked away, you heard Sebek muttering something under his breath about ‘distractions’ and ‘duty,’ but the small smile on your face told you everything you needed to know. He was hooked—whether he liked it or not.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo prided himself on being composed, dignified, and resistant to the distractions of the outside world—especially when it came to magic. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to avoid the temptations of the world, you always seemed to challenge his resolve.

It was an unspoken game between the two of you. Whenever you visited the City of Flowers, you'd find a way to tease him, either with your charm or just by being yourself—a confident, unabashed incubus who was clearly enjoying Rollo’s discomfort.

One afternoon, you caught Rollo walking through the garden, looking as serious as ever. "Rollo, fancy seeing you out here in the sunshine," you said with a grin, stepping into his path.

He stopped, eyeing you warily. "What do you want?"

"Now, is that any way to greet a friend?" you teased, taking a step closer. "I was just admiring the flowers. They seem to like the sunshine—maybe you should give it a try."

Rollo’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to understand your motives. "I have no interest in trivial matters like sunlight. I have more important things to attend to."

"Of course you do," you said, rolling your eyes. "But maybe you should lighten up a bit. Enjoy life while you can."

Rollo’s expression hardened, clearly annoyed by your carefree attitude. "Not everyone indulges in hedonism like you, incubus."

You chuckled, crossing your arms. "Who said anything about hedonism? I’m just suggesting you try having some fun."

"Fun," Rollo repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. "Fun is not my priority."

"Maybe it should be," you said, giving him a sly look. "Life’s too short to be so serious all the time."

Rollo’s lips pressed into a thin line, his resolve clearly wavering. "You’re wasting your breath. I won’t be swayed by your... charms."

You grinned, leaning in just a little closer. "We’ll see about that."

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but notice the way Rollo’s gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to wear him down.

Neige LeBlanche

Neige was a sweetheart—open, cheerful, and always kind-hearted. He found your presence comforting in a way that surprised even him. Despite your incubus nature, he was drawn to your charm, though it was clear you used it in a more subtle way around him.

One snowy evening, the two of you were out in the village, walking together under the falling snow. Neige was humming a soft tune, his usual cheery self, but there was a quiet warmth between you that wasn’t there before.

"You really like the snow, don’t you?" you asked, watching as Neige caught a snowflake on his finger.

He smiled, his cheeks rosy from the cold. "It reminds me of home. There’s something so peaceful about it."

You nodded, watching the way the snowflakes danced around him. "It suits you. You’re like a snow prince."

Neige laughed softly, his eyes twinkling. "That’s a sweet thing to say. But I’m just me."

"Just you?" you echoed, tilting your head. "Neige, you’re a lot more than just ‘you.’ You’re... warm. Kind. You make people feel at ease, even me."

Neige looked at you, surprised by your honesty. "I didn’t know you felt that way."

"Of course I do," you said with a smile. "You’re different from anyone I’ve met. Most people don’t look past the whole incubus thing, but you... you see more."

Neige’s smile softened, and he reached out to gently take your hand. "I don’t see you as an incubus. I see you as... someone special."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for once, you didn’t have a witty comeback. Instead, you squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch against the cold winter air.

"Neige..." you began, but before you could say more, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "For being you."

You stood there in the snow, your heart racing as you realized just how much Neige meant to you. And for once, you let yourself enjoy the moment without any teasing or playful banter—just the quiet, tender connection between you and him.

Che’nya

If anyone was as mischievous as you, it was Che’nya. The two of you were a chaotic pair, always getting into some kind of trouble together. He found your incubus abilities amusing, often encouraging you to use them to mess with others. But when it came to the two of you, there was an unspoken understanding that your games were more than just harmless fun.

One day, you found Che’nya lounging in a tree, his signature grin plastered across his face. You jumped up to join him, perching on the branch beside him. "Up to no good again?" you asked, smirking.

"Always," Che’nya replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "But what about you? I hear you’ve been causing quite the stir lately."

You grinned, leaning back against the trunk. "What can I say? It’s in my nature."

Che’nya chuckled, leaning closer to you. "You do have a way of stirring things up. But I wonder... what would happen if you turned your charm on me?"

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the challenge. "Is that a dare?"

"It’s an invitation," Che’nya said, his grin widening. "Let’s see if you can out-charm me, incubus."

You leaned in, your face mere inches from his. "Careful what you wish for, Che’nya. You might just fall for me."

Che’nya’s eyes twinkled with amusement, but there was a hint of something more in his gaze. "Maybe I already have."

For a moment, the playful banter between you fell away, replaced by a spark of real connection. You could feel the tension in the air, the unspoken understanding that there was more between you than just teasing and games.

But, true to form, Che’nya was the first to break the moment with a laugh. "You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m not so easily won over."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "We’ll see about that."

As you jumped down from the tree, you glanced back at Che’nya, your grin widening. "I’ll be back to claim my victory, Cheshire."

Che’nya’s grin never faltered as he watched you walk away, but deep down, he knew that when it came to you, he was already losing the game.

Masterlist

[fushiguro-megloomy]

request: [modern au] headcannons for childhood friends to lovers  pairing: viktor x gn!reader tags: nothing bad, very sfw, fluffy notes: ill be so for real with you i feel like i'm very weak at doing headcannons ;-; but i tried. i hope this is what you were looking for anon <3 divider from enchanthings-a

You’d known Viktor for as long as you could remember, his house across the street from yours. As a curious kid, you’d often linger while he tinkered with small projects, asking questions. Your friendship really solidified one summer when your bike broke, and Viktor fixed it with surprising enthusiasm. To repay him, you let him ride on the handlebars while you scooted him around the neighborhood.

He's absolutely critiquing your work before the teachers even get their hands on it. Sitting beside you at your desk clump, thick eyebrows pulled together and scribbling little “???” or just straight up “no” in the margins of your handwriting. You always glare at him but you're secretly grateful. 

He's observant, if you were hungry or tired he would wordlessly slide snacks onto your desk. He's not the best with social queues, but he knows when you're upset and he'll hover around you awkwardly until he blurts some random fact or sarcastic comment meant to distract you.

He's easily jealous, but in the way that he gets pouty, throwing himself into projects and denying anything is even wrong.

Definitely getting into squabbles all the time bickering like an old married couple

He's always gave you something handmade for your birthday. You still have it all. He's not big on his own birthdays but you always bring him a homemade cupcake.

This is not an original thought but he's definitely a gossip, ESPECIALLY as you grow into teen-hood. Not outwardly, but still he would unleash all his unfiltered opinions onto you, and his face definitely gives him away when he's silently judging someone. Mans got a wicked side eye.

Viktor had taken over his parents’ garage as his workshop, and it quickly became your second home. Most of your free time was spent perched on a stool, watching him work or pestering him with questions. You fell asleep there so often that he eventually squeezed a secondhand couch into the tiny space, insisting you needed somewhere more comfortable to crash.

You're each other's first kiss, but it doesn't happen until senior year. You're in his garage, complaining about never having kissed someone and he's like alright so let's kiss??? Things spiral from there.

“I mean, what kind of tragic story is that?” you grumble, tossing a pillow at him. “Eighteen and never kissed anyone. I’ll be the cautionary tale for future students.”  Viktor chuckles softly but doesn’t look up from his work. “I don’t see what the rush is. It’s not as if it matters.” “It matters to me,” you insist, sitting up. “Don’t you want to at least know what it’s like?” He stared at you for a moment, then let out a sigh, setting his tools aside. “Alright, then.” You blinked at him, confused. “Alright what?” He stepped closer, hands slipping into his pockets as he looked down at you. “Let’s kiss.” Your heart skipped a beat. “What?!” “You’re complaining about it, so, we kiss, you stop worrying about it, and we both move on. Simple.” His voice was steady, but the faint pink rising to his cheeks betrayed him. “You’re serious?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “Unless you’re too scared.” That did it. “I’m not scared,” you snapped, standing to face him. “Good,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for you to feel his breath against your lips. “Then stop talking.” Before you could come up with a retort, his lips pressed against yours, soft and careful. It was brief but left you reeling, your heart pounding as he pulled back. “Well?” he asked, tilting his head. “That should suffice, no?” You stared at him, dumbfounded, before bursting into laughter. “Yeah… yeah, I guess it’ll do.” He smirked, turning back to his workbench, though the tips of his ears were unmistakably red. “You’re welcome.” It was just a kiss, you told yourself. But as you sat back down, touching your lips absentmindedly, you couldn’t help but wonder why your heart was still racing.

©lilsworks 2024

[littlefreya]

Pictures of You

Summary: While Sy is deployed, his new girlfriend sends him nudes, and now he must take care of 'business' himself while fantasizing about the things he would do to her.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x himself x OFC

Word count: 1,200

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), pure smut, graphic depiction of sex (male x female), male masturbation, bodily fluids, accidental creampie, dirty language, punishment, Freya using "peach". Being caught in the act. A bit of fluff. Not beta'd.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, translating, copying it, or parts of it and claiming it as your own*

A/N: It's been a while since I posted. I am working on a series (plural), but I got inspired by a lovely anon today. I'm not sure if I'm tagging anyone since my tag list is probably outdated and I'm not sure who still wants on. So, if you enjoyed, reblog, or comment, let me know. I'd appreciate it. 🖤

Pictures of You

At last, night unfurled, and the camp became quiet. 

The glorified Captain retired to his quarters, exhausted from a day of training recruits and tedious paperwork. This deployment would be long, and though he loved being The Captain - Logan Syverson was beginning to miss home.

It was all because of her. Sy shouldn't have caught feelings, long-distance relationships were never his thing, but damn, she was something else; a woman way above his league, pretty, hot as hell and way too smart to be with a military grunt like him.

Needless to say, fucking her made him feel like a god. 

Stripping down to his boxer, Sy slumped into his bed with a huff and reached for the private cell phone stuffed in his drawer. 

Twenty unanswered messages appeared on the screen—three of them from her.

Joy painted his face at the sight of her name. Ignoring everything else, he went directly to read her messages.

“Missing my big Sy”, the first message read. 

The other - “something to make you think of me.”  

The last message was simply an attachment. Curious, Sy tapped it open.

‘Fucking hell.’

The unmistakable pang of desire instantly surged through his groin. 

There she was, his sweet woman, naked and spread open like a present unwrapped, especially for him. She was sitting on her bed, one breast gripped by her palm with her nipple peeking through dark-painted nails while her other hand toyed with the sweet peach between her thighs. 

“Fuck,” Sy muttered. Already rock-hard. Absentmindedly, his hand massaged the hefty bulge through the fabric of his boxers, eliciting a deep groan from under his breath. 

‘What are you doing to me, babygirl?” 

It wasn’t just her naked body and the way her finger teased her own slit, but the look she gave him, the familiar neediness in her gaze, the way she bit her lip. 

Damn, if she was here right now… He’d fucking punish her for teasing him so bad! He’d pin her to the wall with his hand around her throat and show her what happens to naughty girls who like playing such wicked games. 

Now he had three fucking months to go, and all he could think of was how bad he wanted to be inside her tight little cunt.

‘Well, guess I’ll have to take care of this myself…’

Springing his cock free from his boxers, he ran his rough fingers up and down the length of his imposing shaft - slow at first, as Sy enjoyed taking his time, just as he would with her. His thumb rolled across the crown of his cock, gently grazing the tip while he imagined flipping her against the pitted wall in this room. Make her take it from behind so he could look at that perfect rounded ass of hers and watch his cock slipping in and out of her body. 

Still holding the photo open, he focused on her succulent cunt before spitting onto his open palm and griping himself once again. Tighter this time, he squeezed onto his girth and began to fuck his own hand. 

Pants and groans sputtered from his mouth, his chest heaving as he gradually picked up the pace. In his fantasy, he parted her ass cheeks and teased her dripping little hole until she begged him to fuck him. Then he forced himself all the way in, making her cry out. 

The sounds of her moans echoed in his memory, so helpless and desperate at the same time - he was nearly too much for her; that narrow cavern of hers could barely take his leviathan cock, but still, she took every pounding, becoming wetter around his shaft as her body not only yielded to accommodate him but lured him deeper inside. 

“I want inside you, babygirl…” Sy mumbled out loud, his hand now moving in ecstatic fervour. Sweat dripped down the contracting muscles of his abs. Soon, he felt himself swell even larger, and his sack strained with the desperate need for release. 

He tightened his grip, now choking his shaft and thinking of how it felt when she came around him. How she contracted all around his cock and shattered like glass smashing on the floor.

“Don’t come inside….” She’d warned him. She wasn’t on the pill. But this time, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from filling her full of his cum, and maybe… he wouldn’t want to… 

It was his fantasy, after all. 

“FUCK!!!” 

With the image spilling inside her, he allowed himself to be swept by the fierce waves of pleasure, his entire body buzzing with bliss as hot, thick ribbons of ecstasy spilt over his fingers. He might have shouted too loudly, but it’s not like he ever gave a fuck. 

It took Sy a few good minutes to climb down to earth, and then he chuckled hoarsely as he noticed the mess he had left on his hand. Shaking his head, he reached for a towel and wiped himself clean before returning to gaze at her photo. 

“What am I gonna do with you, doll?”

Well, there was an idea. He could repay the favour by sending her a photo of himself. Usually, he was against this type of stuff, but what she did was particularly risky for a woman, and if she was bold enough to treat him, he could do the same. Besides, they had three months until they could meet again. He better make sure she remembered who she belonged to.  

He stroked himself lightly. Still semi-hard, he wondered whether he could work himself to another erection this soon when a knock sounded at the door.

“Mother of f…. One moment !!!” 

Sy yelled. Irritated, he briefly tucked his shaft back in his boxers and jumped out of bed. The room smelled rancid, but Sy couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even bring himself to put on a shirt as he rushed to the door.

“What?” He grunted before getting to see who was on the other side.

‘Well, fuck me sideways.’

It was a woman because why the hell not? Private Hicks, to be precise. The young thing’s eyes flared with surprise and then snapped to the floor to avoid staring at her sweaty, half-naked superior, but not before catching a glance of his hairy, tattooed chest and the semi-erected bulge in his groin.

The strong scent of sweat and sex hit her nostrils like a smack in the face. It took everything not to curl her face. There was no need to put two and two together to realise what she had just intruded. 

“Sir.” Hicks saluted in badly hidden embarrassment. 

Sy let out a deep sigh. Clearly, she knew what he was doing before she arrived. She probably heard him come all over himself right before knocking. Frankly, he wasn’t ashamed. 

“Get on with it, Private.”

“Sir,” she repeated, her voice a slight tremble. “ I’m sorry to bother you… but the Major asked me to get you.” 

Sy scratched the back of his head and groaned deeply. “Tell him I’ll be there in 10.” 

Without any other comment, he shut the door, leaving Hicks to wander back to the Major’s office, all shaken and quaking. 

As she walked away, she couldn’t help but bite her lips. All across her body, she felt those little electric streams of excitement, and her breath suddenly became shallow. She shouldn’t have thought of her superior like this, on what he did behind that closed door just a moment before she arrived, but Captain Syverson was too hot to handle and, needless to say, too loud. 

Well, she’d have to take care of herself later…

[yandere-romanticaa]

"How long do you plan on keeping me here?" you ask with a slight sneer. The man in question hardly pays you any mind as his large back is still turned to you, his attention seemingly fully concentrated on some flashing images on the screen that change every few seconds.

All those weeks ago, you had been swallowed by a black hole and found yourself in a completely new dimension and by some strange twist of fate Miguel O'Hara had discovered you. He would often call you an "anomaly" and would say how you must go back home but should stay here in the meantime. Traveling through dimensions is rough on tough guy like him let alone a regular civilian who had zero combat experience. He would keep you close to him and his office, giving you little tasks and chores to keep you from dying of boredom and to, quite frankly, keep you away from the sea of endless Spidermen who were more than curious about your person as a whole, which risked you picking up their bad jokes and stupid attitude and Miguel was just not in the mood to deal with that. You relationship was purely professional with a slight humorous twist from time to time. Miguel was so easy to rile up, how could you not mess with him? Be it rearranging his stuff, poking and pinching his cheeks in order to get some sort of hilarious reaction out of him Miguel became your main source of entertainment. His stone cold attitude always backfired and instead of running away into the opposite direction like most people do, you stuck to him like glue.

Without even realizing it, your presence became a sort of weakness of his.

He lost track of how many images he had saved up of you in a secret folder of his and he just liked to... watch them. He just liked watching you in general. His face was devoid of emotion, his attitude was anything but welcoming but no matter how snappy he got, no matter how angry he may get, he never got truly mad at you.

People like to say that the eyes are the windows to ones very soul and Miguel O'Hara embodies that saying perfectly.

He could be having the worst day imaginable but all he needs to do is to see you, to look at you in your own element and he will feel like a brand new man.

He can't help but to be a little angry at you, for making him so weak.

You distracted him from his work, his duty, however, he still could not bare the thought of you being by anyone else's side. He needs you like a man needs air and you were left in the dark when it came to that fact.

Good.

You don't need to know the extent of Miguel's feelings, you don't need to see just how hard the flames of wicked jealousy roar in his heart and you most certainly do not need to know just how much his soul weeps to touch, kiss, protect, keep you.

He can keep that facade up only for so long though. And as much as he likes to think, Miguel is not the best when it comes to keeping his cool. It is only a matter of time before the dam of his feelings cracks and spills, overwhelming you and him both. Once that happens, there is no going back.

[thirteenheavens]

okay but can we address jeonghan and a corruption kink? its been on my mind for days😦

Devilish grin||Yoon Jeonghan x Reader

Notes: guys today is my day for fics I love writing twists my lord

Jeonghan's eyes darken with lust as he looks at you, a devilish smirk playing on his lips. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?" He steps closer, his fingers trailing up your arm slowly. "Always so innocent and pure," he purrs, his breath hot against your ear. "But I can see the naughty glint in your eyes."

His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you flush against his body. "I want to corrupt you," he whispers seductively. "Turn that innocent facade into pure sin." His touch becomes more possessive as he slides one hand under your shirt, caressing your bare skin. "Let me show you what true pleasure feels like," he promises, his voice low and sultry.

"I've always been curious," you admit softly, your heart racing at his touch. "But I've never... with anyone like you." Jeonghan chuckles darkly, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "I'll be gentle... at first," he teases, his other hand tangling in your hair. "But I won't hold back."

He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, his gaze intense and hungry. "Are you ready to let go of your innocence, baby?" he asks huskily, his body pressing closer. You nod hesitantly, your cheeks flushed with both nervousness and excitement. Jeonghan's eyes gleam with satisfaction as he notices your reaction.

"Good girl," he praises, leading you to his bed. "Lie down for me." You obey, watching as he looms over you with a predatory smile. His hands slowly start undressing you, revealing more of your skin to his hungry gaze.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your body. "I can't wait to make you mine completely." Jeonghan's lips reach your thighs, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin. "I'm going to mark you everywhere," he promises, nipping gently. His fingers slip between your legs, finding you already wet and ready for him. "So responsive," he notes with a smirk. "You were made for this, weren't you?"

He pushes your legs further apart, exposing your core to his hungry gaze. "Let me taste you first," he says huskily, diving between your thighs without waiting for an answer. Jeonghan's tongue pauses against your core, and he looks up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know Seungcheol is quite protective of you," he says between licks.

"Imagine his face if he saw you like this," he continues, pushing two fingers into you. "His sweet little sister, spread out on my bed, moaning for me." The thought makes your body shiver, and Jeonghan notices. "Would he get angry?" he asks teasingly, curling his fingers inside you.

Jeonghan grins against your thigh, his fingers working you faster."Your protective big brother would lose his mind seeing you spread out for me." He bites down on your inner thigh hard enough to leave a mark. "Maybe we should tell him," he suggests with a wicked laugh. "Tell him exactly how naughty you've become."

"You wouldn't," you gasp, though the thought sends a thrill through your body. Jeonghan notices your hesitation and chuckles darkly.

"Wouldn't I?" he challenges, adding a third finger to stretch you wider. "I want to see how far you'll go for me. How far we can push your innocent little limits." His thumb finds your clit, circling it slowly as he looks up at you with lust-filled eyes. "Just imagine his face," he says again Jeonghan's hard length springs free as he pushes his trousers down, the tip already leaking precum. He strokes himself slowly, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Look how hard you've made me," he groans, moving between your legs. "Can you feel how badly I want to ruin you?" He positions himself at your entrance, teasing your folds with his cockhead. "Tell me you want this," he demands, his voice husky with desire. "Tell me you want me to claim you completely."

"I want it," you moan breathlessly, arching your back. "Please, Jeonghan, take me." He growls possessively and thrusts into you in one smooth motion, burying himself deep. "Fuck, you're tight," he grunts, starting to move with deep, rough strokes.

His hands grip your hips tightly as he pounds into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. "No one else can have you like this," he declares, claiming your lips in a bruising kiss. Jeonghan's hips snap against yours relentlessly, his thrusts growing faster and harder with each passing moment. His fingers dig into your flesh as he chases his pleasure.

"You're mine," he pants against your neck, his teeth marking your skin. "My perfect little toy to play with." The sound of his hips hitting your ass echoes through the room, mixing with the wet sounds of your bodies joining. "Tell me who you belong to," he demands again, driving himself deeper.

"I belong to you, Jeonghan," you cry out, clenching around him as your orgasm approaches. "Only you!" He smirks at your words, his movements becoming more erratic as he feels you tightening around him. "That's right," he growls, his thrusts becoming almost brutal.

"Cum for me again," he commands, one hand finding your clit to push you over the edge. "Let me feel you lose control completely." Jeonghan's fingers dig so hard into your hips that you're sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His grip is almost painful as he loses himself in his pleasure.

"Gonna fill you up," he grunts, his rhythm becoming erratic. "Breed you until you're dripping with my cum." He leans down to whisper in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "You'll never forget who owns this body," he promises darkly.

"Please," you beg, your voice barely a whisper. "Cum inside me, Jeonghan. Make me yours completely." Your words send him over the edge. With a deep, guttural moan, he buries himself to the hilt and releases inside you, his hot cum painting your walls.

"Fuck, take it all," he groans, holding you in place as he fills you up. His body trembles above yours as he empties himself completely. Jeonghan's thrusts become slower but more deliberate as he rides out his orgasm, wanting to milk every last drop into you.

"So full," he murmurs, watching as his cum leaks out around his cock. "Look at how much you're taking." He collapses on top of you, still buried inside, his breathing heavy against your neck. "You did so well, baby," he praises, pressing soft kisses to your skin.

Jeonghan slowly pulls out of you, watching as his cum drips down your thighs. "So messy," he comments with a satisfied smile. He rolls onto his side, pulling you against his chest. "But I love how marked you are now," he says possessively, tracing patterns in the mix of fluids on your skin.

His hand moves down to play with the mixture between your legs, pushing it back inside you. "Let's keep it there for a while," he suggests, nuzzling your neck. "You'll carry me with you all day." Jeonghan's smile widens as he hears the front door open, knowing it's Seungcheol returning home. "Perfect timing," he whispers in your ear.

"Let's go tell him we’re together now," Jeonghan says with a wicked grin.

[vandme12]

Ronin w a reader that's secretly a killer and kills people by stitching their skin from inside to outside and they just let them die there because they know they will die by hypothermia?? Also needs the server's reaction!!

“A devil’s love deserves a devil’s gift, doesn’t it?”

That’s the thought dancing through your mind as you pull the needle through your latest canvas—skin slick with blood, trembling under your hands. The poor bastard beneath you is still alive, gagged and whimpering as you thread the coarse black twine through their flesh. Inside to outside. Over and over. Skin twisted backwards like a grotesque piece of origami, their body losing heat with every second.

You don’t rush. No, you take your time. This isn’t about the kill—it’s about the art. About watching how long they squirm as their body fails them. Cold creeping in. Blood congealing. Skin stretched taut, exposed in all the wrong places.

It’s a slow death. And you like it slow.

By the time they stop twitching, you’re already thinking of him—your boyfriend, if that’s what you’d call a devil who grins while breaking bones. Ronin’s been feeding you bits of his chaos for months, but he has no idea what you’ve been up to. Not yet. You’ve played the part of his sweet little writer—curious, twisted, but not too twisted.

He underestimates you. And you’re going to change that.

It starts with a photo.

You, kneeling beside your masterpiece. Their arms are stitched across their back like a human corset. Skin flayed in layers, a rose of flesh blooming from their ribcage. The alley is freezing tonight—you made sure of it. Left them out long enough for their body to betray them while you stitched. By the time they died, it was hypothermia that did the final work. Such a gentle death, really.

You angle the photo perfectly—just enough blood, just enough horror. And, of course, the final touch: a hand-stitched heart carved delicately into their chest. For him.

You hit send.

goreboy: holy fucking shit goreboy: that’s not a stock photo, is it, baby? you: Wouldn’t you like to know? ♥️

His typing bubble flickers for a full minute. He’s thinking. Processing. You wonder if he’s hard. He probably is.

goreboy: i swear if this is real, ‘m gonna propose right fuckin’ now you: Keep talking like that and I might make you a matching one.

It takes less than ten minutes for Ronin to summon you to Purgatory—his favorite little slice of hell. And when you get there, he’s waiting.

Blood already stains his hands. There’s a body at his feet—limp, broken—but his attention isn’t on the corpse. It’s on you. His black-hole eyes devour every inch of you as you saunter toward him.

“You didn’t tell me you had a hobby,” he drawls, voice syrup-sweet.

“You never asked.”

Ronin’s fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head back. “You’re full’a secrets, huh? And here I was, thinkin’ I’d broken ya open already.”

“I don’t break easy.” You smirk. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

His laugh is low, wicked. “Guess I gotta work harder.” His mouth brushes against your ear. “But first—tell me, darlin’… how long did that poor bastard last?”

“Long enough to make it fun.”

A groan escapes him—pure fucking delight. “God, I knew there was something rotten inside you. But this?” He leans back, drinking you in. “This is my kinda love letter.”

And just like that, you know you’ve got him. Hooked. Obsessed. You’ve always belonged to him—but now, he belongs to you too.

Naturally, #killer_shit erupts the second you drop the photo.

goreboy: hey, losers goreboy: y’all better bow the fuck down, my girl’s got hands you: Hypothermia’s a bitch. Who knew?

angel: wait. wait. WAIT. angel: BABY GIRL, THIS IS YOUR WORK?? you: 😘

misaki: hold the fuck up—since when do YOU kill??

goreboy: since always, apparently. goreboy: and none of y’all bitches noticed. tragic.

angel: no bc I’m actually obsessed. The stitching?? Inside-out?? That’s some haute couture murder.

vince: jesus. You’re really one of us, huh?

you: What can I say? Peer pressure’s a bitch.

v: Efficient. No wasted resources. I approve.

Of course V would appreciate the method. Practical bastard.

luca: ok but like. HOW cold does it gotta be for someone to freeze like that??

you: Zero degrees Celsius. Give or take. The trick is keeping them exposed—skin loses heat faster. 😉

goreboy: fuck, baby. look at you. Educating the masses.

felicite: (respectfully) I’m terrified of you.

you: Good. You should be.

The messages keep rolling in—praise, shock, twisted fascination. But Ronin? Oh, he’s on a whole other level. You feel his hands before you hear his voice—curling around your waist, pulling you flush against his blood-smeared chest.

“Y’know what this means, don’tcha?” he murmurs.

“What?”

His teeth scrape against your throat, dangerously close to a bite. “Means we gotta do somethin’ bigger. Better. Together.”

You shiver—part fear, part desire. “Planning a couples’ murder spree, Ronin?”

“Damn right I am,” he growls. “Ain’t no one else I’d wanna paint the town red with. ‘Specially not after this.” His fingers trace a slow circle against your pulse. “I gotta know, though… was it fun?”

A smile curls on your lips. “More fun than I expected.”

Ronin’s laughter is downright sinful. “I knew it. Knew you were one of us deep down. My dirty little secret.”

“You’re not the only one with secrets,” you remind him.

“And thank fuck for that.” His hand tightens at your waist. “But baby… next time? You let me watch.”

“Only if you’re good,” you tease.

He groans, dragging you against him like he can’t stand the thought of letting go. “I’m always good, sugar. Ain’t that what you love about me?”

It is.

And as you kiss him—blood and lust tangling on your tongues—you realize you’ve crossed a line you can never come back from.

But why would you want to?

Later that night, another body hits the chat.

goreboy: date night went well you: teamwork makes the dream work ♥️

The chat goes wild. Angel threatens to propose. Misaki demands a full play-by-play. Luca jokes about how you two should start a murder-themed podcast. Even V—stoic, detached V—admits the precision is impressive.

But none of their reactions matter. Not really.

Because in the end, there’s only him.

And now, he knows the truth.

You’re not his sweet little writer anymore.

You’re something much, much worse.

And he loves you for it.

[rotting-clowns]

Something about Evan Rosier, who people will whisper about and avoid and gawk at for being unnerving, cruelly curious and weird, having the scariest guard dog in all of Hogwarts. Barty will bare his teeth and snap at anyone Evan points to, anyone who so much as looks at Evan wrong, he’ll curse and hex and bear whatever consequences come out of it because Evan is his and no one should dare mess with what’s his

And Evan loves it. He loves watching Barty get his hands dirty for him, loves the way he becomes meaner, more wicked each time it happens, loves how possessive he acts, and loves to curl his hand around Barty’s nape and hold him back, smile sweetly at whoever tried to torment him this time and pretend to have mercy on them, just to watch the unease and fear grow in their eyes when he lets Barty go

[bonesmithsstuff]

Kaz Brekker - Wicked Game

Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood, references to abuse and scars. Angst.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" I found peace in your violence. Can't show me, there's no point in trying. I'm at one, and I've been quiet for too long. "

«Card.» The woman sitting at the gaming table flashed an innocent smile at the man in front of her, who was busy overseeing the club’s clientele. The count in her mind hadn’t faltered for even a second, letting her know exactly when to raise the stakes or when to pull back. She kept repeating, feigning surprise: "Oh, did I really win?" "I must be so lucky tonight.”. All accompanied by a light, carefree giggle that gave her just the right air of naïveté to be believable in a place like that.

The first time she had set foot in The Crow Club, she had certainly not gone unnoticed. Her arrival in Ketterdam had been anything but subtle. But her goal was simple: gather enough money to survive, to carve out a better life than the one she had led since birth.

That first time, Brekker had noticed her immediately, his gaze tracking her until she sat down at a table, ordering something to drink. His first thought had been about the dress she was wearing —high quality but so worn that he could tell she was trying to appear as something she was not: rich. His second thought had been about her face, her beauty. He had watched her wrinkle her nose in displeasure every time a man got too close to her during the game, and for some reason, Kaz had wanted to smile at that expression of disgust —the same one he often wore.

That evening, it was only after some time that the crow realized the real reason why she was so focused on the game rather than her surroundings: she was counting the cards.

A sadistic smile had curled his lips at that realization, the kind that could send a shiver down anyone’s spine —the contrast between his sharp gaze and his full lips making the whole thing unsettling. Kaz had understood: that woman knew exactly what she was doing. She had managed to distract even him from his business, but from that moment on, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her.

And then, more than a year later, that memory surfaced in Brekker’s mind as he watched the woman sitting in the same spot where he had first seen her. The only difference was that, now, she worked under his command. It had all started with a contract —Kaz had allowed her to keep the money she had won, which was no small amount, in exchange for her to work for him until her debt was repaid. And yet, even after the money was settled, neither of them had broken the unspoken tie.

She liked that life. It made her feel free in a way she never had before meeting the Crows. And the Crows, in turn, liked having her around. She and Jesper got along better than anyone else, and Inej enjoyed having another woman to share thoughts with, someone who could understand and listen to her.

Still, none of them had ever managed to get too close to her. They had become friends, yes, but they all had the impression that some parts of her life would remain in the dark, forever.

More than anyone, Kaz wanted to know. He was curious about the way she flinched at the slightest touch, the way she recoiled when someone brushed her hand, how her face turned pale when someone hugged her or touched her back and shoulders. She would dig her nails into her palms, and a strange veil of fear would cloud her usually relaxed and cheerful expression.

Of course, the Crow had done his research, and found nothing relevant. Nothing that could give him a clue as to what haunted her. It infuriated him more than he would ever admit.

His doubts found their answer that night.

The Crow Club seemed as lively as ever. T/N sat in her usual spot, with that same innocent smile, and just asked for a card. Kaz’s watchful eyes never strayed far from her, keeping her within his sight. And every time she looked at a man, batting her lashes a few too many times, his grip on his cane tightened ever so slightly.

He had closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the door of the club slam open as he ran a gloved hand over his face. He was obsessed with that woman. So much that, lately, his nightmares had been replaced by others —visions of T/N looking at him with that knowing, teasing gaze, visions of her lips brushing against his, full and soft.

The very thought of touching someone repulsed and terrified him, but he couldn't help wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked.

Those thoughts had become more frequent, and the way he occasionally caught her staring at him didn’t help. He would meet her gaze, and she would always smile at him, even when his face remained its usual mask of sarcasm and impassivity. His heart would quicken, involuntarily, and all he wanted was for her to press her hand to his chest—to feel that beneath all the layers of fear and insecurity, to know that something was there. Something that could warm her.

When he reopened his eyes, though, she was gone.

Dirtyhands immediately scanned the room, missing a breath when he realized she was nowhere to be seen —not at the bar, not in the washroom. He moved swiftly toward Jesper, his cane striking the floor sharply.

«Where is T/N?»

Jesper turned toward him, frowning. «Weren’t you the one keeping an eye on her?» There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but Brekker didn’t catch it —too focused on the fact that a member of his crew was missing.

Jesper had seen it —the way Kaz looked at her, the way he followed her, how she was no longer just an investment but something else entirely.

«Looking for your pretty friend?» The voice from behind the bar caught their attention. «A man dragged her outside just a moment ago.»

Kaz was out the door instantly, Jesper and Inej right behind him.

They heard laughter. Then a muffled sound. They rounded the corner of the club, stepping into the alleyway.

«Are we interrupting?» Kaz’s voice was razor-sharp, making the four men in the alley turn around.

Than he saw her. T/N, slumped on the ground, clutching her torn dress with one hand and her bleeding leg with the other.

“Blood." “T/N." Those were the only words swirling in his mind.

Kaz’s gaze swept over the men, and he wasted no time before swinging his cane, striking the closest one across his face. Jesper had his guns drawn, but no one even had the chance to move. Kaz cut them down, one by one, ignoring Inej’s repeated calls for him to stop. The only thing he could hear was the sound of those men's bones breaking, snapping under his wrath. And he relished it.

Kaz only halted when all four men lay at his feet, groaning, blood staining their clothes —and his.

Satisfied, he smiled darkly.

«Take them to the docks. Throw them on the first ship out.» He turned to Jesper and Inej, who nodded. Then, to the men at his feet. Whether they were alive or dead, he didn't care at that moment. Still, he spared a few words of warning —he needed to send a clear message: «Whatever you came here for, don’t come back. Next time, I won’t be so gentle.»

He turned his back on them, moving toward T/N. She had watched the whole thing, eyes locked on his face as he took pleasure in spilling their blood. And yet, as he knelt in front of her, she sighed in relief.

«Kaz...» She whispered.

His name. From her lips. For the first time, it didn’t sound like a curse. It didn’t sound like the mask he had built to survive Ketterdam. It sounded like a melody. A soft, soothing note reverberating in his chest, making his heart nearly burst.

Dirtyhands. Bastard of the Barrel. The Devil himself.

Yet, there he was —kneeling before her, face smeared with blood, intoxicated by her scent, wondering if someone like him could ever deserve someone like her. Someone brave. Loyal. Strong. Someone who was everything he was not.

T/N’s breath condensed in the cold air as she stared at the man in front of her, her eyes glossy, cheeks flushed, and perfect lips marred by a small, bleeding cut.

«Can you walk?»

Unsure, she nodded, leaning forward to press a hand against the damp asphalt as she pushed herself to her feet. The wound on her thigh was still dripping red, but thankfully, despite the pain, it wasn’t deep enough to have severed an artery.

She trembled as she stood, a shiver running down her spine from the cold seeping into the exposed skin left bare by her torn dress. Kaz dared to lower his gaze for a moment, his jaw clenching at the thought of what had nearly happened in that alley. His grip on his bloody cane tightened when he noticed the numerous scars marking her skin. Without a word, he swiftly removed the black jacket embroidered with red accents that he had worn that evening, careful not to touch her as he draped it over her shoulders —both to warm her and to hide those white lines from his sight.

He watched her intently, curious about her reaction to the gesture. He wanted an explanation. Answers. And tonight, she wouldn’t escape without giving them to him.

T/N bit her lip, lowering her gaze to the street as her cheeks reddened under the dim alley light. She let herself be enveloped by his scent. It was strong, sharp, and the warmth of his jacket settled over her instantly as they made their way toward the entrance of The Crow Club, heading upstairs to her room. Kaz’s presence behind her reassured her —and at the same time, it unsettled her, making her nervous, uncertain. Contrary to what she had expected, he followed her inside, shutting the door behind him with a heavy thud.

A weight settled in her chest as she perched on the edge of the mattress, trying to ease the pressure on her injured leg. She didn’t dare look up as she reached for a clean cloth, dipping it into the bowl of water beside her bed. Slowly, she lifted the hem of her dress, exposing her thigh, exhaling shakily before she began dabbing at the wound, trying to clean away the blood. She hissed at the sting, and that was when he cleared his throat: «What did those men want from you?» His voice was firm, steady. He stood in front of her, leaning slightly on his cane.

«I don’t know.»

T/N squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, gripping the cloth tighter. She pushed herself up, moving clumsily toward the washroom to grab some bandages, a sudden wave of dizziness nearly sent her collapsing to the floor. Kaz caught her in time, his gloved hand tightening around her arm. He released her the moment she steadied herself.

«Stay still.» He brushed past her, his cane tapping against the floor as he retrieved the bandages himself. «Sit.» His voice left no room for argument as he gestured toward the desk she was already leaning against for support. She obeyed, watching him place his cane against the chair before stepping closer.

He stopped just short of letting his knees brush against hers, lowering himself slightly so he was eye-level with her. He let out a heavy sigh, his jaw tensing before he asked,

«May I?»

«Yes.» She didn’t hesitate.

Kaz’s gaze flickered to his hands as they moved to roll her dress up, carefully, inch by inch, exposing the wound on her thigh. She held her breath, and when his eyes met hers from below, she felt compelled to say something. She knew how hard this was for him. How much effort it took just to be this close.

«You don’t have to—»

«I know.» He cut her off sharply, inhaling deeply to steady his heartbeat. «I want to.»

Dipping the cloth into the water again, he added some disinfectant before pressing it against her skin —always through the layer of his gloves, as if the leather was the only thing keeping him grounded. T/N leaned her head back against the wall, trying to ignore the sting.

«So?»

His voice pulled her back. She lowered her gaze, watching a few strands of his dark hair fall over his forehead.

«So what?»

He shot her a warning look.

«What did those men want from you?»

This time, his voice left no room for anything but the truth. An angering Kaz Brekker was something to be considered carefully, even for her.

«They belong to my father.» She whispered, curling into the warmth of his jacket still draped over her shoulders. She averted her eyes to the floor, bringing a hand up to cover her face for a moment, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be satisfied with just that. «I came to Ketterdam to escape him. I planned to make enough money to get to the continent. Os Kervo, or maybe Novo-Kribirsk.»

«Then why did you stay?»

She barely needed to answer. When Kaz looked at her, really looked at her, he understood. Her eyes, large and glistening with unshed emotions, were filled with something he had lost long ago. Hope. But the way she was looking at him, it made him want to be something more. Something better.

«For you.» She murmured, a faint smile touching her lips. «For Inej. For Jesper. For the Crows. Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid. For the first time, I laughed, I felt something. I realized that not every touch is meant to hurt. That life is more than just survival.»

Kaz finished disinfecting the cut and placed a sterile pad over it. He gestured for her to lift her leg slightly so he could secure the bandage, tying it firmly in place.

«The scars?»

He asked the question despite already knowing the answer. But he needed to hear it. He needed to be sure. Sure that when the time came, he would strike down the right man.

«Also my father.» She confirmed.

«I want to see them.»

T/N sighed.

She had already revealed so much. Too much. But she was too exhausted to resist. She let herself slide forward as Kaz stepped back, giving her space. Shrugging off his jacket, she draped it over the desk before reaching for the neckline of her dress. She gripped the fabric tightly, turning her back to him as she pulled the material down as best as she could. The scars were there, on her back, where no one could see them unless she allowed it. Because her father had known appearances were important. Almost as important as control.

Kaz’s breath fanned over her bare skin, sending a light shiver through her.

«Are you cold?»

A smile ghosted her lips.

«No.» It’s you, she wanted to add.

She turned her head just slightly, just enough to see him. She watched as he leaned in, his gloved fingers barely skimming over the white lines etched into her skin.

«I’ll kill him.» Kaz’s voice was deadly quiet. «I’ll kill anyone who comes looking for you. Anyone who tries to take you away.»

A pause. And then something warm, something soft, something unfamiliar pressed against her skin. His lips. A silent promise, sealed in a way he had never done before.

T/N’s breath hitched as she felt him move, felt the warmth of his mouth trail upward. His hands braced against the desk on either side of hers, his presence towering over her without even touching.

Another kiss. This time, at the curve of her neck. Her eyes widened, her heart racing so fast that in the silence, she was sure he could hear it.

«I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me.»

He whispered against her ear, and she shivered —not from the cold, but from him. When she turned to face him, he was already gone. The only thing he left behind was his black jacket, still resting on her desk.

He never took it back.

── .✦

Hello!!!!!!

This is my first fic :), English is not my first language so please be kind. Every suggestion is welcome! All rights are reserved. Credits to the real artist of the fan art.

Let me know what do you think! I want feedbacks pls.

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy IV

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... ->chapter map

IV.

You’re a little alarmed, until the passenger side window rolls down, and you see Professor Wick behind the wheel. He’s dressed for a night out, driving gloves and all, and a wave of desire nearly takes you out at the knees. This man. 

Does he have to look so goddamn edible all the fucking time?

“I thought I recognized you,” he says with a half smile that nearly stops your heart. You wonder if he’s implying that he almost didn’t recognize you, with clothes on. The thought sends an unreasonable spear of longing right through your center. You press your thighs together out of self defence, praying that he will just think that you are cold.

You tilt your head, curious what he’s doing here, even while your heart clamors like a brass band in your chest. “Hi.” 

“Need a ride?” 

“I’m ok.” 

He frowns. “You really shouldn’t be walking around alone this late.” 

You shrug. Despite what the talking heads love to yell about on the news about the rampant violence in the inner city, you’ve never had a problem in your neighborhood before. 

When he sees you’re unmoved he sighs–you’re not sure if at you, or himself. “Humor me?” 

The fact is…you were more unsettled by how much you wanted to jump in his car from the moment he asked. 

“Alright.”

Ensconced in the buttery leather seat, you have to admit it’s a lot warmer inside the Porsche. You look around the interior. It’s an older model, but you can tell, lovingly maintained. “Nice car.” 

“Thanks.” 

You didn’t think professors got paid so well, but maybe he has other sources of income. One has to diversify in today’s economy, you know very well. There’s so much you want to know about him–you’re too shy to ask. 

He works the gears to pull away from the curb, and you feel yourself relax in the cozy atmosphere of the car at night. It’s intimate, but not uncomfortable, even if it feels surreal that he’s here, with you, like you conjured him purely out of the strength of your longing. 

“Big night?” he asks, maybe with a glint of teasing in his dark eyes, because it’s not even yet twelve.

“Hardly,” you laugh. “Just a drink with a friend. You?” 

“Dinner out.” He doesn’t specify if he was alone. Somehow, looking at this man…you doubt it. He’s dressed well, as usual, in a crisp shirt, dress pants, and a long wool overcoat, so handsome you could eat your hands. You think about this, a stupid jealousy stirring inside you that you know you have no right to. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, maybe because you have been quiet, watching the street as you zoom by, trying not to stare at the man beside you. 

“I think so,” you say absently, thinking about how you’re sure now that you invented the sight of him at the bar, and turned down a strapping young man to boot, all because of this silly forbidden longing for your boss you’ve managed to ball up like a tangle of barbed wire inside you. “It’s just…been a weird night.”

He frowns at this, a thunderous expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “Did someone hurt you?” 

It startles you, how quickly he bristles in your defense. You're not used to anyone worrying about you so much. “No, nothing like that,” you quickly assure him. “I’ve just…” You don’t even know how to describe your problem, much less how to tell him in a way that doesn’t make you sound utterly pathetic. “I’ve just felt emptier than usual, is all.” You cannot meet his eyes as you say it, but he nods all the same. 

“I think…I know what you mean.” 

Hardly five minutes go by before you arrive at your apartment building, a blocky old brick structure from the turn of the century. You stare at your hands in your lap, pick at an imaginary pill in your tights. “Thanks for the ride. Do you…want to come inside for a drink or something?” 

You hold your breath in the eternity it takes for him to answer. You feel him look at you, the weight of that heavy dark gaze like a blanket upon your skin. Is it possible, to choke on desire? You feel like your heart has been replaced by an angrily pulsing sea urchin covered in merciless little spines.  

“I do want to,” he finally answers, staring fixedly at his eloquent gloved hands upon the leather wrapped steering wheel. “But I shouldn’t, y/n.” 

You nod, knowing he’s right, heartbroken anyway. You’re so good at doing that to yourself that you should receive a trophy, and you suppose there is an amusing karma in this mirrored situation with young Matthew. 

It sucks, to say the least, to be on this side of rejection. Now all you want is to go hide under your covers–and maybe not emerge for ten years. 

“Ok. See you in class, then.” 

“Goodnight, y/n.” 

He waits until you’ve made it through the security door before he pulls away. You watch with your cheek pressed to the cool glass, as red tail lights disappear into the night with a growl. 

It slips your mind, that you never told him where you live.

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[nillosgarden]

``𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞. - sukuna.,,

▪︎ 𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: true form!sukuna (heian era) x siren!reader.

▪︎ 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1,745 words.

▪︎ 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: mentions of death.

▪︎ 𝗦𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: Sukuna is a feared king, and when he heard about something more powerful than him, he decided he would burn it to ashes, and destroy everything correlated to it. But all went wrong, at the moment he found a beautiful... Woman?

``𝗽𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳.

`` 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱, and English is not my first language! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. <3

There was a time when everyone lived with fear, being affected by horror and all of the sins that made their scary nightmares. The cause of these so-called fear and horror was the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna. A terrifying man who turned himself into a powerful curse, making himself the owner of people's minds, looting villages, taking women like prizes, and turning them into his concubines. All of the sorcerers that tried to win a battle against him were only turned into shreads and bathed Sukuna in their filthy blood.

But, the tales once said something about a magic lake that could clean your soul, turning all of your dust in the most beautiful gold, and send away all your sins. People tried to find this place, only to crumble and rot in their disgrace, doing all of this to relieve their conscience about their crimes whilst mortals. Nobody found this lake, centuries passed, and nothing. But the awful man decided that he would find it and kill all of the magic that he could see there, only to watch the light fading. He couldn't stand something more powerful than him.

Walking across the land, the king only found death and desperation in his way.

"It was meant for give people some hope, but it only killed them and their disgusting dreams of freedom. These damn fools..." He said with an wicked grin in his lips, his eyes showing no remorse or compassion for the people who died in their try, his crimson orbs glowing in the dead of the night.

The forest that he walked in was dense, dark and unforgivable, its trees had no leaves, the roots snaked their way in the ground, making it more challenging not to trip. The sky was nowhere to see, covered by the rotten branches that dared to fall in someone's head. There was a whistle made by the wind that danced between the tree trunks, making a shiver run down whatever spine that was in the way. A feeling of sorrow, a sadness that made the heart ache, the eyelids got heavy, the vision started to be foggy. It looked like the forest was moving, creating a labyrinth of its own to trick anyone's mind, driving them insane second by second.

But the powerful king was not someone who was so easily mistaken or lost, he had a mind that could envy anyone who dared to look inside it. The rote he took was found to be full of dead bodies, rotting into the damp ground, their faces were hopeless. He could almost feel sorry, but he was obviously not, he didn’t feel that kind of emotion, he couldn't. After all, he was the King of Curses, he wouldn't feel remorse or guilt over some trivious thing.

Trespassing by the corpses, walking some miles ahead, he found a ground that had grass, sakuras with blooming flowers, a smell of life in the air, and now the sky could be seen with a beautiful and shiny sun. The wind doesn’t whistled anymore, it singed a sweet lullaby, like it tried bring some peace into a traveler's heart. But all of it couldn't stop the chaos and the storm that was seeping beneath the skin of the King of Curses, urging to be released. Oh, how he would destroy every piece of happiness that existed in this annoying place.

Then, there it was. The Lake of Redemption, its waters were cristaline, so clean and joyful, so... beautiful. Some butterflies flied above it, the birds were chirping happily, and the sun bathed the water, making it look heavenly.

A little ahead, a curious pair of eyes looked at him, above the water. Admiring his form: four arms, two faces, four crimson eyes, pinkish hair, and those tattoos... Well, for them, it was a sight to be seen.

Feeling eyes over him, he searched for the owner, finding (eye color) orbs. Squinting his eyes to the being, he saw it disappear in the water. A few seconds later, a woman with long hair rested her arms in the edge of the lake, showing her upper body to him. Captivated by her form, he couldn't tear his eyes from her. But, he saw something moving in the water, and checked himself. A long siren tail, moving happily, like the woman was happy to see him.

Lowering his body, he sat by the edge, crossing his legs and resting his jaw in the left hand, fascinated by her being, he felt like starting a conversation.

The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, because they were both admiring each other's features, drinking in the different type of beauty that they had. Lost in the track of time, they were hopelessly gravitating around the strange feeling that pumped in their hearts. Sukuna wasn't known for being such a dedicated admirer, but for her... He would do anything he could to see her face everyday. The woman, suddenly came with a thought, sharing with him.

"You are here to kill me, aren't you?" Her voice was quiet, soft. It sounded like a whisper, because she wouldn't dare to indulge him in such actions. The siren was curious, because... Why such a creature with such an powerful aura came to that place? He didn't show any guilt, or remorse... Unlike the other beings that came a long ago to the magical lake.

His expression was unreadable, almost if he was thinking of how he would put it in words: should he tell her first? Or just kill her and burn that damn place to ashes? It made the king overthink. And he didn’t liked it. Not at all.

"My plans doesn't belong to your knowledge, little one." These were the only words that came out of his mouth after the long minutes of waiting for an answer.

"...I understand." Her face became a little serious, but she lifted her hand to touch the tattoos that painted his arm, the thoughtful face became a little admired. Her touches ignited a spark in him, like it left warmth where it has passed. A smile spread across her features, while he looked at her attentively, enamored by her.

"Come with me."

Her face became a little shocked, her eyes widen a little, the surprise evident. She looked at him incredulously, like he was telling something absurd.

"I'm sorry, but why? And... How? How can... How can I -" Interrupted by his hand cupping her face, he brought it closer to his own. The crimson eyes looked more inviting than scary, and she never knew that feeling before. Before she could ever think about his intentions, he pulled her off the water. Her tail became a pair of legs because of the lack of spell, spell which was created by the lake to give her a tail and make her his guardian.

... A while ago, a young woman was wounded by a group of curses that hunted her. Running between the tree trunks, she looked to the trail she left behind, scared of the demons that were after her. She ran for her life, for her own sake. She was just a little traveler who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Running into the depths of the forest, she found herself lost in the woods, and the worst was that a storm was approaching. The more she ran, the more desperate she came. Her breath came in small pants, her feet were bleeding because of the rocks on the ground, her face was damp with sweat, and her clothes were ripped in so many places.

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't stop. Only run, run, and run. She ran into a cliff, and before she could stop herself, she fell from it. Crashing into the ground, rolling down the hill... Down and down. Her body was limp, she broke a few bones, but she rose from the ground, still fighting for her life, dragging her body across the floor while her legs refused to move. The more she moved, the more her broken bones hurt. Everything seemed bad until her eyes found a lake. A lake full of life, but at the same time, seemed to lack it. So, reluctantly, fighting for a little more time, fighting for more life, she went to the edge of the lake, and as she dipped her hands to drink some of the water, she realized that the bruises on her fingers and wrists were healed by a kind of... golden light. Without thinking twice, she threw her body in there, and when she least expected it, the impossible happened.

Laying in the big man's arms, she looked confused by all the memories that suddenly came into her mind.

"You suddenly looked scared, little one. Some came up in your mind? Or are you just scared of me?" Sukuna said, his voice lacking the sarcasm it used to have.

"Scared of you? Why would I be scared of you?"

Looking deep into his eyes, she saw something she couldn't describe. He seemed to know something she doesn't, and it consumed her thoughts. What could he know? And why does he wants me so suddenly?

"You don't know who I am?" He asked her, looking somehow pissed. How could someone in this land don't know who the King of Curses is?

"One day, one woman told me of a god in land. One that made everyone else fear him, and be in debt with him. He destroyed villages and killed people, and was an ugly monster with a rotten heart."

[Your name] said it with doubt, testing the seas before diving in. All she received from him was a smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes, making everything more confusing. "That lady said the right thing. And what you think about it?"

Her eyes held something he didn’t know, but it made him feel things he didn't wanted before.

"You don't look like a monster to me, and ugly? Far from it. You are beautiful, something divine. An enticing and rare being in this world, dare I say."

After these words, he couldn't bear the feeling that bubbled hot in his skin. Some kind of feral desire, because the innocent and oblivious look she gave him, praising him at that level... Stirred something deep inside him. And he wouldn't hold back anymore.

Sukuna was obssessed with the light he was supposed to kill.

[spiicii]

boy toy | chapter two

jey uso & seth rollins x fem!reader word count → 7.3k summary → you were pleased to learn that jey made an adorable submissive, but seth wants to see what other tricks your new boy toy has up his sleeve. you quickly learn that jey is more dominant than you realized. and more strict. links → masterlist / taglist  tags → sugar daddy au, prostitution au, dom!seth, switch!jey, switch!reader, threesome (f/m/m), daddy kink, sir kink, dom/sub, objectification, unprotected piv sex, oral sex, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, choking, spanking, humiliation, dirty talk, begging, edging, orgasm denial, brat taming, spit roasting, hair pulling, crying, aftercare at the end

“You okay?” 

You reached out to pet Jey’s hair, your gaze at him concerned. While he wasn’t the gift you were expecting tonight, you had to remind yourself that he was yours now. He belonged to you. And Seth would want you to take care of your things. 

Jey offered you a lazy smile, still reclining on the couch as you straddled his lap. “Yeah, m’good.” He slurred, almost as if he were drunk. “You got a wicked tongue, girl.”

You couldn’t help but grin, scratching gently into his scalp just to watch him relax further into the cushions.

“Plan to use that wicked tongue of yours for anything else tonight?” Seth’s tone was teasing, his hand resting on Jey’s shoulder as he looked down at you. “I’ve already got a few ideas.” 

“Oh?” You raised a playful eyebrow at him. “Tell me.” 

Seth considered. “I know I want this mouth.” He reached out to trace the shape of your lips and you shivered. “But I also want to see what else your boy toy can do. Hunter promised me he was the best.” 

“You want to make sure you got your money’s worth, Daddy?” you asked cheekily. “I already said I liked him.” 

Seth let out a huff of laughter. “Just want to make sure your little plaything can deliver, sweetheart,” he replied, a cruel glint in his eye. “For a whore as expensive as this one, he’d better.” 

You felt like Seth was testing him, trying to see what buttons to press to get a reaction. But Jey was a professional. He seemed unfazed by Seth’s antics, his body still relaxed even as Seth’s thumb pressed warningly against his windpipe. 

“Daddy,” you chided. “He’s my plaything, not yours. And you’re not being nice.” 

Seth’s mouth was curved into a mean smile, though you were happy when he eventually released Jey’s neck. 

“You’re right, sweetheart. He’s yours to play with.” Seth leaned down and brushed his lips across the shell of your ear and you felt goosebumps explode across your skin at his light touch. “So what do you want your little toy to do next, hm? Tell me, baby.” 

You met Jey’s curious gaze, still petting his hair like you would a puppy. You couldn’t deny that you were also interested to see just how dominant Jey could be in the bedroom. After so long with only Seth - beautiful, chaotic, unstable Seth - you wondered what it would be like to be with another man. And while Jey made an adorable submissive, you had no doubt that he could take control if you wanted him to. 

“What do you think, pretty boy?” you murmured, scratching behind his ear just to watch his eyelids flutter. “It sounds like Daddy wants to see you perform. But what do you want?” 

Jey opened his eyes to look at you, seemingly amused by your question. “I want whatever you want, honey,” he rumbled, one of his large hands resting on your hip. “I’m here for you.” 

Seth chuckled low in your ear. “He’s here to do as he’s told, baby. So go on, tell him. Tell him what you want.” 

You suddenly had trouble meeting Jey’s eyes. You knew what you wanted. You knew exactly what you wanted. But you felt unsure. 

You chewed on your bottom lip in nervousness, suddenly very interested in Jey’s hair as you continued to twirl it around your fingers. “It’s just… I’ve never let anyone else take control, Daddy. It’s only been you.” 

Seth hummed in agreement, moving around the couch to stand behind you. You felt his hand creep around your neck and your body immediately relaxed at the feeling. 

“That’s right,” Seth crooned. “It’s only ever been me. I’ve never shared you before, have I?” 

You shook your head, leaning back against Seth as he cradled your jaw. The dominant hand on your throat felt so good, pleasure simmering low in your stomach. 

“Look at you. Already so obedient and submissive for me and I’ve barely even touched you. Love it when you get like this, sweetheart.” Seth’s tone was teasing, but his words betrayed his fondness for you. He did love this. He loved it when you gave up your control and allowed him to call the shots, more than happy to have your Daddy take care of you. 

You could feel Jey watching the scene with curiosity. He hadn’t moved, still keeping his hand on your hip even as Seth leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry, baby. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Daddy’s already taken care of everything.”

The pleasure was beginning to settle over your mind like a fog and it took you a moment to digest his words. 

“Taken care of what?” You asked, staring up at him through long eyelashes. 

Seth’s cheshire grin widened, showing far too many teeth. “I’ve already talked with your pretty boy toy, sweetheart.” Seth’s voice was low and syrupy. “Already told him exactly how you liked to be fucked. What you like and don’t like. Had to make sure he knew what he was getting into before I brought him home.” 

Your cheeks suddenly flushed a violent shade of red, now avoiding Jey’s eyes like the plague. Had Seth told him everything? 

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. It’s not like you’re the first needy slut he’s fucked.” Seth’s grip on your jaw tightened and you whimpered. “Hunter said he had plenty of experience dealing with spoiled little brats like you.” 

Despite your embarrassment, you wanted to protest. You wouldn’t call yourself spoiled. Well cared for was a more appropriate term. Seth never let you go unsatisfied, always giving you anything and everything your heart desired. How was that your fault? 

“So I intend to get my money’s worth and watch him teach you some proper manners.” Seth’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “And you’re going to be a good girl and do as he says, aren’t you, baby?” 

You nodded, though you felt a little confused by his words. You weren’t sure why you needed to be taught anything - you thought you already had pretty good manners - but you wanted to be obedient so you didn’t argue. Seth’s smile was wicked, his eyes now glinting with that familiar mischief when he turned to Jey. 

“She’s acting all sweet now, but she’ll get mouthy if she doesn’t get her way. Sure you can handle her?” 

You turned and saw that Jey was watching the two of you with dark eyes, his lips twisting into a confident smirk. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Seth chuckled, offering you one last condescending pat on the cheek before moving away. “We’ll see.” 

Before you realized what was happening, Jey’s hand shot out to enclose around your throat. You gasped in surprise though your body didn’t fight him. Instead, you went limp in his grasp, allowing Jey to pull you close to meet his simmering gaze. 

He still had that confident smirk on his lips, continuing to recline against the couch as if he had all the time in the world. He seemed relaxed and at ease, completely in control as he kept that dominant hand around your neck, his eyes sparkling with amusement at your easy submission.

“Your Daddy wasn’t kidding when he said you liked it rough,” Jey’s words were teasing, his gold teeth glinting in the light. “You like being manhandled like this, baby?” 

You felt your cheeks flush again. You’d never had another man speak to you like this before and it felt equal parts embarrassing and arousing. It didn’t help that Jey was already breathtakingly beautiful, his eyes so dark that you felt lost in them. 

“I asked you a question, slut,” Jey’s free hand came down to smack one of your ass cheeks and you yelped in surprise. “I said, you like being manhandled like this, don’t you?” 

You quickly nodded, the flesh of your ass stinging from where his palm had connected. But Jey still wasn’t satisfied. He tightened his grip around your neck and you whimpered again. 

“Nah, you gon’ use your words when you talk to me. I wanna hear you say it.” 

You struggled to maintain his gaze, still impossibly embarrassed. Why was this so hard? You said you wanted to be good, but the words felt lodged in your throat, your pride holding you back. 

Jey brought his hand down on your ass again and you couldn’t help but whine, now struggling in Jey’s tight hold. 

“I ain’t gonna ask again, slut. Use your words or I bend you over my knee and spank your ass raw.” 

Your entire body flushed at his words, your pussy spasming at the thought. In all your time with Seth, he’d never spanked you. Still, you weren’t sure that now was the best time to push Jey’s buttons. You decided to swallow your pride. 

“I like it.” You breathed, though the words scraped raw on their way out. “I like being manhandled like this.” 

Jey seemed satisfied. “Better.” He grunted, loosening the tight grip he’d kept on your throat. “Though you still ain’t got proper manners. When you talk to me, you call me sir. You understand?” 

You were more familiar with this. One of Seth’s few rules was that you call him Daddy. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Jey smiled at you, now pleased. “Good girl.” 

Jey massaged the stinging skin on your ass, his gaze at you considering. “Your Daddy don’t give you a lot of rules, does he? No wonder you spoiled, girl. He just give you everything you want, huh?” 

You wanted to protest but you didn’t think Jey would appreciate it. He’d already proven that he was much more strict than Seth had ever been, so you wisely stayed silent, allowing Jey’s hand to run appreciatively across your body. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he cooed, his hand moving up to cradle your jaw. “Gotta be the prettiest I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot. Your Daddy is a lucky man.” 

You heard Seth chuckling behind you, though Jey’s hand on your jaw made it impossible for you to turn to look at him. 

“But your Daddy wants you to learn some manners tonight. You think you can be good for me and let me teach you?” 

You were again confused about what kind of manners you needed to learn, but you still obediently nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” 

You gasped when Jey suddenly stood up, using his strength to keep you in his arms as he carried you to the bedroom. You threw your arms around his neck to keep from falling, though Jey’s firm hands let you know you weren’t going anywhere. 

“I gotchu, pretty girl,” he murmured, his breath warm in your ear. “Just relax for me.” 

You quickly obeyed, allowing him to carry you as you buried your face into his neck. He smelled like coconut and spice, the scent intoxicating. You were almost sad when he laid you down on the bed, already missing his touch. 

“Hush, sweetheart. I gotchu. I’m not leaving.” You didn’t even realize you were whining, your hands reaching out instinctively to pull him closer. You were pleased when he joined you on the bed, leaning over you to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he praised, reaching up to brush some of the hair from your forehead. “You always this sweet? Or is this just for me?” 

You weren’t sure how to answer that. You sometimes got mouthy with Seth, but it was all in good fun. For the most part, you were happy to be obedient - a pretty toy for your Daddy to play with. 

“She’s usually sweet, though I told you she’s got a mouth on her.”  You hadn’t realized Seth had followed the two of you to the bedroom, already taking a seat in the chair near the window. You glanced over at him and saw that he was watching the two of you with interest, his mouth still curved into that knowing smile. “But I supposed it’s my own fault. I can’t say I’ve ever punished her for it.” 

Jey’s chuckle was low, the sound causing a small shiver to run down your spine. “Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” 

Seth didn’t respond. Instead, he just watched as Jey leaned forward to finally capture your lips in a kiss. 

His lips were impossibly soft and you couldn’t help moaning into his mouth, the sound desperate and needy. Jey tasted sweet, like candy or licorice, his tongue eager to claim every inch of you that he could. It wasn’t until he broke the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you, that you realized how slick your mouth has gotten. Jey’s plump lips were shiny with spit, his eyes dark as he stared down at you. 

The room suddenly seemed very quiet and Jey’s eyes seemed to grow darker, his gold chain dangling in front of your face as he leaned over you. You weren’t sure what you looked like, but Jey’s expression seemed almost… hungry. 

You jumped in surprise when he leaned back down to claim your lips again, his kiss urgent. You felt Jey’s hand drift to waistband of your panties and you were quick to lift your hips and allow him to remove them, still keeping your mouth open as he fucked his tongue past your willing lips. You could feel the weight of Seth’s eyes on you, a small thrill running through you at the thought of your Daddy watching you make out with another man. 

Jey pulled back again, his dark eyes staring at your now swollen lips. “Listen to me, pretty girl.” Jey’s voice was strained, though when he reached a hand up to grab your chin, you knew he was serious. “If you want to come, you beg me for it. You don’t come without my permission. If you do, not only will I spank your ass raw, but I’ll make sure you don’t come again for another week. Do you understand?” 

Yor blinked up at him in surprise, your mind struggling to keep up with his words. You couldn’t finish without permission? That didn’t seem fair. 

Jey must have noticed your pouting because his grip on your chin tightened. “I mean it, slut,” he growled. “You don’t come without permission. That’s a rule. You gonna listen?” 

“Yes, sir.” You tried to keep the sullen tone out of your voice, but you knew you failed when Jey’s large hand wrapped around your throat again. 

You couldn’t help but moan. God, why had Seth told Jey how much you liked to be choked? It was clear he was going to use this to his advantage, his long fingers squeezing around your delicate windpipe to cut off your air supply. 

“You better check that attitude, sweetheart,” Jey’s voice was close to a snarl. “I ain’t yo’ Daddy. I don’t have a problem punishing spoiled little brats who can’t do as they're told. You understand me?” 

You felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, but you still had enough sense to nod. “Yes, sir.” Your words came out as nothing but wheeze and Jey quickly released you, though he still kept that dominant hand beneath your jaw. 

“That’s what I thought.” Jey’s mouth was curved into an arrogant smirk and you hated how much it suited him. “Don’t take much to keep you in line, does it, baby? Just needed a firm hand, didn’t you?” 

You nodded obediently, though you quickly used your words when you saw his smirk shift into a frown. “Yes, sir.” 

Jey smiled again, this time more pleased. 

“Good girl.” 

You watched with wide eyes as Jey wasted no time to move further down your body, his broad shoulders nudging your thighs apart to make space for him between your legs. You felt your body flush again when Jey’s eyes caught sight of your leaking hole, his pink tongue darting out of his mouth to involuntarily lick his lips. 

“Just as pretty as the rest of you,” Jey breathed, his large hands reaching up to grab at your thighs to pull you close. “You gonna let me taste you, pretty girl?” 

You couldn’t respond - not with those big brown eyes looking up at you and stealing your breath. It wasn’t until Jey’s fingers curled deeper into the soft flesh of your thighs that you finally nodded, your mouth open as small puffs of breath escaped your lips. Jesus, he had barely even touched you and you were already panting for him. 

“Need to hear you say it, baby,” Jey rumbled, his breath warm against the inside of your thigh. “Be a good girl and use your words for me.” 

“Please.” The word came out quick and desperate, your hips already jerking forward in a silent plea for him to touch you. “Please, sir. I need it.” 

Jey grinned and his golden teeth sparkled in the light. “That’s a sweet girl. Knew you could do it.” 

Before you could reply, Jey leaned down to drag his tongue up your slick folds, his movements slow and syrupy. Your eyelids fluttered shut at the feeling, your head falling back into the mattress as Jey’s arms wrapped your thighs to keep you close to him. This was nothing like Seth. 

Seth ate you out like a starving man, his tongue sloppy and wet as you made a mess on his expensive sheets. Jey wasn’t like that at all. He seemed content to keep his movements slow, his tongue flicking out to tease at every sensitive nook and cranny he could find. Every swipe of his tongue felt purposeful, already circling your clit with devastating accuracy. 

You struggled to hold back your moans, your hips bucking forward into his mouth to feel more more more. 

“Greedy girl,” Jey’s words were mocking, his arms tightening around your thighs to keep you still. “You’ll take what I give you and nothing more. This ain’t about you. This is about me. Now be still and let me taste what’s mine.” 

You tried. You really did. You wanted to be good and obedient for him, fighting every urge to grind further onto his face and chase your own pleasure. You hadn’t realized just how much leeway Seth had given you before. He’d always allowed you to move at your own pace, uncomplaining even as you dragged your wet folds across his nose and mouth to please yourself. 

Jey’s lips closed around your clit and you couldn’t help but moan again. Warm, gooey pleasure was unfurling beneath Jey’s talented mouth. Your hole was spasming and clenching around nothing, practically begging to be filled even as Jey continued to suckle at the sensitive pearl he’d found between your legs. 

You made the mistake of glancing over at Seth from where he sat by the window. His eyes were impossibly dark, his lips still quirked into a smile that looked a little too devious. Did he know something you didn’t? 

Jey’s movements stayed slow and consistent. You could feel your orgasm approaching now, your thighs beginning to shake around Jey’s head. You felt tempted to drop over the precipice of pleasure, but you remembered his warning. Would he really spank you if you came without his permission? Or worse, not allow you to come for a week? Would Seth even allow that? You decided you didn’t want to risk it. 

“Please, sir,” you gasped, struggling to keep your eyes open. “Please, can I come?” 

Jey didn’t answer right away, continuing to eat you out slowly. Leisurely. As if he had all the time in the world. It took all of your willpower to stave off your finish. 

“Sir, please!” Your hips began to wriggle pathetically beneath his large hands, your fingers twisting in the expensive sheets to try to keep it together. “Please, I can’t hold it.” 

Jey removed his mouth and you whined at the loss, your hips still bucking forward to chase his soft lips. “I was right there!” 

Jey’s hand smacked the inside of your thigh and you jumped in surprise, letting out a hurt sound. 

“That’s your last warning, slut. You talk back to me or complain one more time and I’m bending you over my knee. Got it?” 

You had a protest on the tip of your tongue, but you kept it to yourself. “Yes, sir.” 

“That’s what I thought.” Jey’s tongue returned to your clit and you moaned again. “Keep begging, sweetheart. Lemme hear it.” 

It wasn’t hard. You were still so close that your body was tight as a wire. “Please, sir. I need it so bad. Please, can I come? I’ll be good, sir. I promise. Just please, please, please let me come.” 

Jey chuckled darkly, his tongue still dragging against you. “No.” 

You stared down at him in confusion and desperation. No? You’d done everything he’d asked and more. Your hips were moving on their own accord now. You couldn’t control them just like you couldn’t control your own impending orgasm. 

“Please, I can’t…I can’t hold it.” Your voice was desperate now, your hips now beginning to buck wildly in his grasp. If you didn’t dislodge him, you were going to come right now. 

“Yes, you can.” Jey sounded far too amused, his strong arms still holding you with ease even as you tried to move away. “You can and you will. Because it’s what I want. Because for once, this ain’t about you, little girl.” 

He wasn’t being fair. You were trying your best, but you’d never been told no before. Your entire body was shaking, your thighs clenched so tightly that you were certain you were going to pull a muscle. And then right when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Jey finally released you. 

You let out a relieved gasp, your head falling back against the mattress. You’d never tried to hold back your own orgasm before and it was much harder than you thought it’d be. Maybe Seth really did spoil you. 

“See?” Jey’s grin was devious. “Was that so hard?” 

Yes, it was, thank you very much. But you wisely stayed silent. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard her beg so sweetly before.” You heard Seth say, your eyes flickering over to watch as he slowly rose from his chair and adjusted his suit jacket. “Honestly didn’t know she had it in her.” 

Jey looked over his shoulder at him and gave him a lopsided grin. “Nah, you spoil her too much, uce. Gotta get her worked up and desperate.” 

Jey’s fingers suddenly entered your dripping hole and you couldn’t contain the moan that tore from your throat, causing both men to chuckle. 

“If you want her to beg, you gotta give her something to beg for.” 

Jey’s fingers curled and you nearly sobbed in pleasure at the feeling, his fingers now aiming for your g-spot with the accuracy of a trained professional. 

He hadn’t given you enough time to recover and you felt your orgasm approaching again, your body still on edge from his earlier ministrations. 

Seth approached the side of the bed to watch as Jey continued to massage that sweet spot inside you, his wicked gaze sweeping over your trembling form. 

“Hm, maybe I have been going too easy on her. She does look pretty like this.” 

Jey hummed in agreement, watching you from his spot between your legs. His fingers were incessant and you struggled to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly as he bullied you back to the edge of pleasure.

“Please, sir.” The words sounded pitiful but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “Please, can I come? Please?” 

“No.” Even though you couldn’t see him, you could still hear that infuriating smile in his voice. ”Not yet.” 

You groaned in frustration, tears now pricking at the corner of your eyes. You’d never been teased this much before and it was miserable. 

You looked over at Seth with pleading, heartbroken eyes. “Daddy, please.” You begged, reaching out a hand to him in the hopes that he’d take it. “Please, can I come? Please let me, Daddy. Please.” 

Seth cackled loudly at your words, ignoring your outstretched hand as he settled on the edge of the bed to watch the show. “Oh, no. Don’t look at me, sweetheart. Your pretty boy toy is in charge now. I thought you said you were gonna be good for him?” 

Jey’s fingers began to pick up the pace and the pleasure was nearly overwhelming you now. 

“Please, Daddy.” You whined. “I can’t hold it. Please, let me come.” 

“Yo’ Daddy can’t help you, little girl,” Jey drawled, his fingers unforgiving. “If you wanna come, you have to beg me for it.” 

You pressed your palms into your eyes to hold back your sobs, your entire body shaking like a leaf as you used every ounce of self-control to hold off your finish. 

“Please, sir. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want, just please, please let me come.” 

“Whatever I want?” Jey’s words were teasing, his free hand still gripping you tightly even as you continued to squirm. “That sounds dangerous. You really that desperate?” 

“Yes!” And you were. You were ready to promise him anything. 

“That’s too bad.” 

Jey removed his fingers and you sobbed out loud, the tears beginning to spill from your eyes in desperation. 

“Sir, please…” 

“Shut up.” Jey smacked the inside of your thigh again and you groaned in response. God, Seth had never been this rough with you and it was quite possibly the hottest thing you’d ever experienced. 

You felt Jey moving and you realized that he was sitting up now, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he smirked up at you. 

“You really thought I was gon’ let you come from my mouth? Or my fingers? Nah, I knew you was a cockslut the minute I set eyes on you. That’s the only way you wanna come, isn’t it, sweetheart? When your legs are spread wide and you’re pumped full of dick.” 

Your cheeks burned at Jey’s filthy words and it didn’t help but that he was right. Your hole felt empty, an itch that normally only Seth could scratch causing you to writhe uncomfortably against the mattress. You couldn’t deny that your body was aching, practically begging for a good fuck. 

Jey laughed and the sound was mean, his large hands now pushing your legs further apart to make more room for him. He leaned over you and you could feel his erection nudging at the inside of your thigh, your eyelids fluttering when he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. His beard was still wet, the smell of your own arousal now in your nose. 

“I know, baby. I know.” Jey’s words were mocking. “Daddy was right. You ain’t the first needy slut I’ve fucked. I can see the signs. I know how badly you need it. But it’s okay, sweetheart. Imma give you what you need. I know you spoiled, but we gon’ get you right.” 

Jey dragged the tip of his cock through your wet folds, but he didn’t press into you. Instead, he paused, glancing over at Seth. He seemed to be waiting for permission. 

You were reminded that although Jey was calling the shots for now, Seth was ultimately the one in charge. He wouldn’t fuck you unless your Daddy allowed it.  

Seth seemed pleased that Jey was professional enough to double check with him before moving forward and he gave Jey a permissive nod from where he sat on the edge of the bed. 

Jey wasted no time pressing into you in one long slide, his spit and your wetness easing the way as he bottomed out. You were already so open and desperate that there was no burn or stretch, your body practically singing with pleasure at finally, finally being filled. 

“Yesssss,” you breathed, throwing your head back against the pillow. Jey was right. You did need this. You needed it like you needed air. Which is why when he didn’t move you let out a small whimper, your gaze up at him pleading. 

Jey grinned. “What is it, baby?” 

“Please.” Your voice was small, your words barely a whisper. He was so beautiful at this angle, his muscles rippling and his eyes dark as he stared down at you. His smile made you feel like he was stealing oxygen from your lungs. 

“Please what?” he teased, running his hands appreciatively down your sides. He seemed unhurried and calm, even as his dick twitched from where it was balls deep inside you. 

You were too horny and desperate to be embarrassed, even as Seth watched you in amusement. “Please fuck me, sir.” 

Jey ran his tongue across the grill on his bottom teeth, his gaze at you considering. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me and beg to come?” 

God, you would do anything he asked you to. “Yes, sir.” 

“Are you gonna have good manners and thank me for dicking you down like this?” 

“Yes, sir. I’m so grateful. Thank you for fucking me, sir.” 

Seth cackled in delight, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus,” he breathed. “You might be the best investment I’ve ever made, boy toy.” 

Jey grinned over at him, still keeping his hips flushed against you but refusing to move. You experimentally shifted your hips, trying your best to be obedient and good but also wanting more than anything for him to just give it to you. 

Jey chuckled at your antics, but he didn’t seem upset. If anything, it finally motivated him to move, beginning with a few shallow thrusts that had you moaning. 

You couldn’t help but relax further into the mattress, your body unwinding and relaxing as that itch was finally scratched. You felt like you were coming up for air after being underwater for so long. You felt like you could finally breathe. 

You felt a hand in your hair and you realized that Seth was leaning over you now, his voice low as he cooed sweet words of praise in your ear. You were having trouble fully understanding him as electric sparks shot up your spine with every sinful twist of Jey’s hips. It was already so good and he was just getting started. 

Jey landed a harsh swat to your ass and you gasped at the feeling, struggling to keep your eyes open to look up at him. 

“Where are your manners, slut?” Jey growled, one of his large hands reaching up to clasp around your throat again. “You ain’t learned a damn thing, have you? Maybe I shoulda put you over my knee after all. Since you ain’t wanna listen.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whimpered, your pussy spasming at both the degradation and the hand around your neck. “Thank you for fucking me, sir. I’m so grateful, thank you.” 

“We gon’ get you trained so that I ain’t gotta remind you, baby,” Jey promised, his gold chain now dangling in front of your face as he leaned over you. “Yo’ Daddy can spoil you all he wants, but with me you gon’ be obedient.” 

He set what felt like a brutal pace, leaning more and more until he had your legs bent, your knees pushed towards your chest. You let out a strangled noise at the feeling, your body thrumming with pent up energy as Jey continued to pound into you. You opened your mouth, trying to form some kind of coherent thought, but nothing came out. Instead, all you could do was lay there and take it, your eyes glazing over in pleasure.  

“She looks so fucked out, boy toy,” Seth sighed, brushing a few stray hairs from your sweaty forehead. “So fucking pretty. I could get used to seeing her like this.” 

He reached out to trace your parted lips and you stared up at him, feeling completely helpless as Jey kept you pinned beneath him. 

“I want her mouth,” Seth said suddenly, his eyes flashing over to Jey. “Get her on her knees.” 

Jey obeyed immediately, pulling out of you so suddenly that you let out a choked gasp. You were having trouble understanding what was happening and when Jey’s hands tangled in your hair to yank you up, all you knew how to do was go limp and allow it. 

“You heard yo’ Daddy,” Jey growled, flipping you onto your stomach and tugging you back by the hair until you were on your knees. “But remember, I still ain’t letting you come until you beg for it. I don’t care if you got a dick in your mouth or not.” 

Jey finally released your hair only for Seth to take his place, his fingers digging into your scalp as he forced your head up to look at him. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he cooed, his cock already slapping you across the mouth. “I just couldn’t wait any longer. You look so sweet like this. I just have to fuck your throat, baby.” 

You opened your mouth obediently and allowed him to push inside you. Seth didn’t seem particularly interested in giving you any time to adjust, his hand already reaching up to cradle the back of your skull as he rolled his hips forward into your waiting mouth. You relaxed your throat on instinct, allowing him to push deeper and deeper until he had fully bottomed out. 

You felt another swat on your ass and you jumped in surprise, moaning low around Seth’s cock. Jey’s hands were tightening on your hips, his cock already nudging against your dripping hole again before slipping back into you with ease.  

At this angle it felt like he was in your guts, your eyelids fluttering as you continued to swallow everything Seth had to give you. 

“There you go,” Seth praised, his hips beginning to pick up speed. “Always take me so good. You suck dick like an angel, sweetheart.” 

Jey was quick to resume his brutal pace, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips so hard that you knew they’d leave bruises. The pleasure was still simmering low in your core, but it wasn’t until Jey shifted his hips and hit your g-spot that you nearly screamed, the sound muffled around Seth’s massive cock. 

Seth let out a low moan, the vibrations from your choked noises massaging his length as he continued to fuck your throat. 

“Such a good girl,” Seth breathed, his voice now strained. You could tell he was close. “God, I love seeing you like this, baby. You look so pretty when you’re full of cock.” 

Your face was burning, tears streaming down your face from the humiliation of Seth’s words, the stretch of your lips, and the incessant pounding of that sweet spot inside you. Your senses were overwhelmed, your mind melting as they both continued to use your holes to chase their own pleasure. 

That familiar tingling returned to the base of your spine and your body started to shake, your thighs trembling even as Jey kept that unforgiving grip on your hips. 

“I can feel this slutty hole clenching around me,” Jey groaned. “I know you’re close. But you better not come without my permission or you’ll regret it.” 

You knew he wanted you to beg, but how could you with Seth’s cock threatening to choke you? Jey gave you another painful swat against your ass and you were quickly reminded of what awaited you if you disobeyed. 

“Please,” You tried to beg but Seth’s cock only allowed a muffled sound to come out, an embarrassed sob hitching your chest in response. Your hole spasmed at the same time, strangling Jey’s dick as he continued to rail you. 

“That’s not good enough,” Jey smacked you again and you could barely keep your eyes open through the tears. “I know you can do better, slut. Use your manners, even with Daddy’s cock in your mouth.” 

Your entire body burned in embarrassment and shame, but it only stoked the flames of your pleasure more. So you obeyed. 

“Please, sir. Please, can I come?” Your pleas still came out as a garbled mess of sounds that only forced out more spit around Seth’s length, making the blowjob even sloppier. Seth groaned in appreciation, his long fingers tightening in your hair as his hips began to stutter out of rhythm. 

“That’s it,” he gasped. “Fuck, take it, sweetheart. Take it all.” 

With one final, brutal thrust, Seth finally spilled down your throat. You tried to take as much of it as you could, but some of it still ended up dripping down your chin and onto the mattress below. Seth kept himself there, still buried balls deep in your mouth even as he began to soften. It isn’t until you started squirming from lack of oxygen that he finally released you, his laugh just a little maniacal as he watched more come and drool drip down your chin. 

“Good girl.” 

With your mouth now free, you could finally beg for what you’d been so desperate for. 

“Please, sir.” You sobbed, uncaring of how ridiculous you sounded. “Please, please, please let me come. Please!” 

Jey laughed at your tears, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to shove your face down into the mattress. This new angle had your ass up in the air and your back arched, completely at his mercy as he continued to drill into you. The pleasure was coiled tightly inside you like a spring, ready to snap at any minute. It took every ounce of willpower to hold it off. 

“Please!” You were practically screaming now, his fingers clawing at the expensive bedsheets as you tried so hard to fight the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. “May I please come, sir? Please?” 

Jey seemed to finally take pity on you. “You beg so sweet, honey,” he praised, though his voice sounded strained, as if he were close. “Such good manners. You can come, sweetheart.” 

The tension snapped. 

The pleasure that rolled through you was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Fireworks exploded across your vision, your entire body trembling as your pussy convulsed around Jey’s dick. Your mind went peacefully dark, every nerve ending in your body singing as Jey continued to fuck into the sweet spot inside you. It felt heavenly. Blissful. Transcendent. 

Jey wasn’t far behind. The feeling of your silky walls fluttering around him had him spiraling towards his own release, his hands still gripping your skin tightly until he finally spilled inside you with a moan. 

His hips finally stilled. You could feel your hole continuing to pulse around him, greedily milking whatever it could from Jey as he twitched inside you. It wasn’t until he slowly began to pull out that you let out a broken sound, the noise spurring Seth into action. 

“It’s alright, pretty girl,” he soothed, resting his hand on your back to urge you back down onto the mattress. “Just relax. Lay down for me, okay?” 

You hadn’t realized that you’d locked your knees to keep from collapsing while Jey had been fucking you. Not until you tried to move and found that your joints were stiff and your muscles were numb. It took all your strength to force your legs to work, slowly easing yourself down to lay on your stomach as Seth kept murmuring sweet words of praise.

“You did so good, baby,” You heard him say, his hands careful as he urged you to sit up. “I gotta take care of you now, okay? Can you let me do that?” 

All you could do was nod, allowing Seth to sweep you into his arms and whisk you away to the bathroom. 

Your brain was having trouble processing everything, but next thing you knew you were in a warm bath, Seth pressing a warm washcloth into your hand before kissing your forehead. “I’ll be right back, baby,” he murmured, his eyes kind. “Just give me a second.” 

You were sad to see him go, but you soon realized why when he returned to the bathroom with Jey. 

He was taking care of both of you.

“You okay? Talk to me.” Seth seemed worried, his hand on the small of Jey’s back as he led him to the shower. 

“I’m good.” Jey’s smile was tired, but genuine. “Thank you, sir. For the shower.” 

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.” 

You heard the water turn on and Jey stepped inside, Seth quickly returning to kneel by the tub beside you. 

“Are you okay? I need to hear your words, baby.” 

You smiled too, though you imagined it looked just as tired as Jey’s. “Yes, Daddy. I’m perfect.” 

Seth smiled back, taking the wet cloth from your hands to wash you himself. “Good. Can you tell me what hurts?” 

You shook your head, your brain slowly coming back online. “It’s not pain. Just sore. I’m okay, Daddy. Really.” 

You relaxed as Seth ran his suds-covered hands over the mess they’d made, washing away the stickiness from your sore body. It wasn’t until the water grew tepid that you finally got out, allowing Seth to wrap a fluffy towel around you and usher you to the bedroom. 

He must have called one of the housekeepers to change the sheets because they were fresh and clean when you arrived. You barely registered Seth pulling one of his oversized t-shirts over your head, feeling exhausted and sleepy as he helped you crawl under the covers. 

“I’ll be right back.” he murmured again, no doubt heading back to the bathroom to check on Jey.

You felt your eyes grow heavy, your body relaxing deeper into the soft mattress before Seth and Jey returned. Jey had his own towel wrapped around him, his eyebrows raised when Seth handed him a set of pajamas. 

“Thank you, sir.” He replied automatically, though he seemed bewildered by Seth’s gift, his hands running over the soft fabric before finally tugging them on. 

You noticed that he didn’t immediately join you in the bed, even though his eyes flickered over to where you laid snuggled beneath the sheets. He seemed to be waiting for a specific command, unwilling to climb into bed with you if it wasn’t what Seth wanted. 

Seth, however, didn’t notice that Jey was waiting for him until he’d already gathered his own pajamas and made his way to the bathroom, presumably to shower as well. 

“Oh.” He stared at Jey in confusion. “Everything alright?” 

Jey nodded. “Yes, sir. Just…where do you want me to sleep?” 

Seth raised an eyebrow. “You’re here for her, remember?” He pointed to you. “So that’s where you’ll stay. Unless you’d rather sleep somewhere else?” 

“No, sir.” Jey was quick to shake his head. “Just wanted to make sure.” 

Seth softened. “Right. Of course. Well, just…make yourself comfortable, okay?” 

Jey nodded and Seth retreated to the bathroom, leaving Jey to quickly cross the room and climb into bed with you. You instinctively reached out for him and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close to his chest. 

“You did good, sweetheart,” he rumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “You feeling okay?” 

“Mm hm.” You snuggled deeper into his arms, appreciating that he still smelled like coconut and spice - a scent that was uniquely his. “Are you?” 

Jey seemed amused by your question. “Yes, pretty girl. I’m okay.” 

You didn’t say anything after that, but you could feel yourself nodding off, the feeling of Jey’s strong arms around you making you feel safe. It vaguely occurred to you that you had just met this man tonight. He was a stranger to you, yet here he was in your bed, cuddling with you and making you feel secure. It was strange, but not unwelcome.

The bed dipped and another warm body was pressing itself behind you, a familiar pair of lips pressing gentle kisses into your neck. You felt Seth’s arms and legs tangle with yours and Jey’s beneath the covers and that was the last thing you remember before falling asleep.

____

previous chapter: chapter one

besties: @acute-crashout-jeyuso @mindairy @amandairene88 @askullasunflower @partypoison00 @brianochka @femdisa @zephyrazzz @scorpiochaos @gardencottage @minteagalaxea @annyanse @nbanenefrmdao @wishyouloveme @glittergirl7 @bloodline-fanacc @key05marie @mzv11 @neytiri-20 @ayeeeitsmiracle @buttercup0024 @punksyeet @pr0wlerpunk @lilucey @cassrox @cosmiccandydreamer @sarlaccussy @fearlesschimera @hadesorion @rollinssection @levissslutt @mingisfavgf @aaira3333 @thealliasylum @marababyyyy @transparentphantomface @eringobragh420 @tssweets @kelbrave

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: “Too Much Skin”

You hadn't meant to make a statement.

Honestly, you barely thought about the shorts when you tugged them on backstage, rushing to change out of the too-hot jeans you'd arrived in. They were simple—denim, soft from years of wear, a little frayed at the hem. You didn’t wear them to show off. You wore them because they were comfortable and you didn’t expect anyone to look at you twice.

You always tried to blend in. Stay in the wings. Be his support, not part of the spectacle.

But somehow, that night, you became part of the show.

You stood side stage while Marshall moved like a storm across it, sweat glistening on his neck, crowd roaring with every syllable. You always loved watching him like this. Focused. Unfiltered. Alive.

You swayed a little to the beat, sipping water, thinking about absolutely nothing until a flash from someone’s camera hit your eyes. You squinted, startled—but you were used to that. Fans always caught glimpses of the people around him. You turned your face, let it pass.

What you didn’t see was the angle. What you didn’t know was that your leg was bent just enough, and your shorts were riding just high enough, to reveal the mark he’d left on the inside of your thigh that morning.

It wasn’t meant to show. You hadn’t even thought about it. You didn’t think anyone would ever get that close.

By the time you and Marshall made it back to the hotel, you noticed your phone vibrating like crazy. Dozens of texts, mentions, tags. You frowned, swiped to unlock.

The photo was everywhere. Crystal clear. A perfect image of you standing just beyond the stage lights, biting your lip, one leg cocked, and a very distinct purple bruise decorating your pale skin. His mark. His signature.

You felt your face burn.

“Oh my God.”

You turned the phone toward Marshall, who blinked at it like he couldn’t process what he was seeing.

“…That’s hot,” he said eventually, breaking into a slow, wicked grin. “You mad?”

“I’m mortified!”

He laughed—really laughed—and pulled you into his chest like it was the funniest thing in the world. “They’re just jealous,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re mine. I don’t give a fuck if they know it.”

You looked up at him, scowling, but your chest warmed anyway.

“I just… I wasn’t trying to be seen.”

He held your face in both hands, gaze softening. “I know. That’s what makes it so good.”

You groaned into his hoodie. “I can never wear shorts again.”

“Oh, babe,” he said, already reaching for his phone, “You definitely have to wear them again.”

You tried to smack him. He kissed your temple and kept scrolling.

---

You didn’t check Twitter for a week.

Okay, that’s a lie. You checked it once—on day two—curious to see if it had blown over.

It hadn’t.

Not only was the picture still floating around, it was edited. Meme-ified. Zoomed-in. Cropped. Someone even added one of those fake TMZ-style headlines:

“Slim Shady’s Wife Wearing Slim Shorts—and He’s Leaving Marks.”

You nearly threw your phone in the sink.

Marshall thought it was hilarious.

“Yo, you see this one?” he snorted, waving his phone in front of your face as you tried to disappear into your hoodie.

“I’m not looking at anything,” you grumbled, pulling the hood tighter.

“It’s got a red circle and everything. Like it’s Bigfoot.”

You groaned. “I am Bigfoot. I’m never leaving the house again.”

He laughed so hard he coughed, flopping dramatically on the couch beside you. “This is your villain origin story, huh?”

You didn’t respond. Just buried your face in a throw pillow and waited for the world to forget.

But the world didn’t forget.

Some fans were supportive.

“LET HER LIVE”

“She’s literally married to Marshall, what did y’all think was gonna happen?”

Others were more intense.

“I would pass out if my man did that.”

“Queen of quiet flex.”

“My Roman Empire.”

You nearly screamed. You showed Marshall one of those comments and he didn’t stop grinning for half an hour.

“You’re trending, baby,” he teased. “Didn’t think I’d have to be jealous of my own hickey.”

You smacked his arm. He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles like he hadn’t just caused a small internet meltdown.

For the next show, you wore sweatpants. Full coverage. Hoodie tied around your waist. Baseball cap low.

“Going incognito?” one of the crew asked with a smirk.

You nodded seriously. “I am a shadow.”

Marshall just leaned over and whispered in your ear, “I liked the shorts better.”

You glared at him. “I swear to God, if you even look at my thighs tonight…”

He leaned back, held his hands up innocently. “Hey. Not my fault you’re hot.”

But his smirk said otherwise.

---

You thought it was over.

The original photo had run its course. The memes had faded. You’d gone back to blending in—hoodies, longer hemlines, careful sitting positions when cameras were around. The internet had moved on to some beef between two rappers you didn’t know. You were safe.

Until someone posted a TikTok titled:

“This Is Not the First Time: A Hickey History (Eminem Edition)”

And it had slides.

The first was the recent one—inner thigh, show night, crisp and scandalous.

But then came others.

One from three months ago, when you’d worn a slouchy tank top backstage and leaned down to grab a water bottle. A mark just under your collarbone.

One from a paparazzi shot—barely visible, but there, along your jaw.

One from a grainy fan pic, where you’d worn a dress and sat beside Marshall in the wings. A purpling bruise blooming behind your knee.

Each image zoomed. Highlighted. Frozen in time. With captions like:

“Another one??? Bro.”

“Marshall said THIS ONE’S MINE.”

“Every time she wears skin, he leaves receipts.”

By the time the TikTok hit 4 million views, the phrase “Eminem marking kink” started trending on Twitter.

You stared at your phone in disbelief.

“No. No, no, no.”

Marshall peeked over your shoulder, toothbrush in his mouth, then started laughing. Choking, even.

“I told you they’d find more,” he said around a mouthful of foam.

“You KNEW this would happen?”

He shrugged, totally unbothered, spitting into the sink. “You bruise easy, babe. Not my fault.”

You smacked his arm. “This is humiliating!”

“This is awesome,” he corrected, grinning wide. “I’m trending again and I didn’t even drop an album.”

“You’re trending because people think you have a kink for biting me.”

He leaned against the bathroom doorframe, smirking like he was proud of himself. “Do I deny it? Or give them more content?”

“MARSHALL!”

The comments weren’t helping either.

“He’s a BITER and a LOVER. Iconic.”

“Me if I was married to him? I’d have bruises shaped like Michigan.”

“Eminem’s love language is claiming his girl like a werewolf. And honestly? Respect.”

You turned off your phone and didn’t turn it back on for two days.

Later that week, you caught Marshall scrolling through fan posts, smirking to himself.

“They’re calling me a vampire now,” he muttered, amused. “Should I get you a shirt that says ‘Property of Count Slim’?”

You just groaned and sank into the couch. “Remind me why I married you again?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Because you’re mine.”

He leaned down and kissed your neck, deliberately slow. “And I mark what’s mine.”

---

It started as a joke.

Or at least you thought it was a joke.

After the TikToks, the memes, the fan theories, and the small avalanche of DMs asking “are the bruises real?”—you figured Marshall would back off a bit. Maybe give you a few weeks of bite-free affection. Let things settle.

Instead, he doubled down.

It started subtle. You’d be getting dressed for a show and he’d catch you in the mirror, eyeing your outfit, tugging at a hem.

Then he’d wander up behind you, mouth brushing your shoulder as he murmured, “Gonna wear that onstage?”

You’d nod, already suspicious. “Yeah. Why?”

And he’d smile against your skin.

“No reason.”

That should have been your warning.

The first time he did it on purpose, he left one on your hip.

You didn’t even realize it showed until someone posted a zoomed-in photo from the side of the stage with the caption:

“he’s doing it again.”

Then came the neck. You’d worn your hair up that night. It was unmistakable.

Trending again.

“Marshall’s gone feral.”

“How does she walk???”

“He treats her like a walking canvas and I respect that.”

You were losing the battle.

“You are doing this on purpose!” you hissed one night, jabbing your finger into his chest while he casually scrolled through your mentions like they were sports highlights.

“Me?” he asked, all fake innocence. “Babe, I’m just loving my wife.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Loving your wife doesn’t usually involve being an international hickey headline.”

He leaned back on the bed, arms behind his head, grinning. “Can’t help it if you taste good.”

“MARSHALL!”

He laughed, grabbed you by the waist, and pulled you down on top of him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Relax. You’re famous now.”

“I don’t want to be famous.”

He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then lower. “Too late, sweetheart. You’re my muse.”

You tried layering. Scarves. Concealer. Strategic lighting. Nothing worked.

He always found a new spot. Somewhere just out of reach, just visible enough, like he was planning it. And by the time the next photo went viral, he’d just look at you and shrug like, “Oops.”

Eventually, you stopped fighting it. Mostly because your defenses crumbled every time he murmured “mine” against your skin.

At the next show, a fan yelled “LET’S SEE THE HICKEY” during his set.

He didn’t miss a beat. Just looked toward side stage with that cocky little smirk and said into the mic:

“She’s covered up tonight. I got her good yesterday.”

The crowd lost it.

You covered your face and threatened to never speak to him again.

He sent you flowers that night with a card that read:

“Still trending. Love, your bitey husband.”

---

You were folding laundry when the thought hit you.

Not a slow, creeping realization—more like a slap in the face. One second you were matching socks, the next you were blinking at your thigh, the faint outline of another bruise just barely peeking from your shorts.

This one was from two nights ago. He’d caught you coming out of the shower, tugged you into the hallway, and kissed a path down your hip like he couldn’t help himself. It had been fast. Familiar. Gentle, but with teeth.

It was always with teeth.

And then it hit you:

Oh my God. He’s not just playing into the bit. He likes it.

Like… really likes it.

You froze, towel in hand, and said aloud to the empty room: “Does Marshall have a marking kink?”

The silence said yes.

You tried to brush it off. You really did.

But now it was all you could think about. The way he always smirked when you winced in the mirror the next morning. The way he aimed now—choosing spots that would show just enough. The low rumble in his chest every time he saw fan posts freaking out over the latest bruise.

You remembered the way his hands gripped you tighter when you flinched. How his voice dropped when he said mine.

Oh God. You’d married a man with a marking kink and didn’t realize it for twenty years.

When you finally confronted him, it wasn’t exactly a carefully planned moment. You were brushing your teeth in your sleep shirt, pacing in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Marshall,” you said suddenly, toothbrush still in hand. “Do you have a marking kink?”

He looked up from his phone on the bed, blinked at you, then started laughing. Hard.

You stared at him, foaming at the mouth, half-offended. “What’s funny??”

He just shook his head, grinning like he was genuinely delighted.

“Baby,” he said between laughs, “it took you twenty years to figure that out?”

You spat your toothpaste out like it was betrayal. “YOU NEVER TOLD ME!”

“I didn’t think I had to,” he said, standing and walking toward you. “You never stopped me.”

“I thought you were just… aggressive!”

“I am aggressive. Especially about you.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s not a defense.”

He leaned down, arms sliding around your waist, voice low in your ear. “What can I say? I like seeing my mouth on you.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Okay, stop talking,” you muttered, face burning.

He kissed your jaw gently—no teeth, just warmth.

“…You mad?”

You sighed. “No. Just… confused. Do I have a thing now? Are we a thing?”

He smirked. “Oh yeah. We’re definitely a thing.”

Later that night, as you climbed into bed and tugged the covers over your hips, he glanced over and said casually:

“Turn the light on. I need to pick my spot for tomorrow.”

You threw a pillow at his face. He caught it. And laughed like it was the best day of his life.

---

It was like a switch flipped.

You saw it everywhere now.

Not just the bruises. Not just the now-infamous hickeys fans tracked like they were decoding a map. No—now that you knew, you couldn’t not see the dozens of little ways Marshall marked you. Ways he always had. You just hadn’t noticed until now.

It was in the way he always chose your perfume.

The same bottle, worn down to the last few sprays. He never said he liked it, but he always noticed when you tried a different one.

“You smell different,” he’d murmur against your neck.

Every single time.

It was in the way he put his hoodie on you before he’d wear it himself. Even backstage, even at home. He’d slip it over your shoulders first, like claiming you in fabric. You’d catch him later wearing the same one, and he’d act like it was coincidence. It wasn’t. You knew that now.

It was in how he’d guide you with a hand on your lower back when walking through crowds. How he stood behind you in photos, fingers resting lightly on your hip, like he needed people to see the connection. His silent, steady way of saying mine without a single word.

It was the way he kissed you before every show. Without fail. Not rushed, not just for luck—but full-bodied, hand at your neck, lips lingering. Like he needed to remind you before he stepped into the spotlight.

You sat with it one night, curled up beside him on the couch, phone on mute as some old horror movie played. He was half-asleep, thumb lazily tracing patterns along your knee.

And you thought: He’s been doing this the whole time.

Maybe not always with teeth.

But always with intent.

With claim.

With love that didn’t need announcing—just traces.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “You really like it,” you said quietly.

He didn’t pretend not to understand.

His hand paused, then squeezed your thigh. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”

“Why?”

He turned his head a little, thoughtful. “I like knowing I was there. That you felt me.” His voice dropped lower. “That the world sees it too.”

You didn’t speak for a second. The words sat heavy and hot in your chest.

“And if I don’t want the world to see it?”

He glanced at you. Not a flinch, not a flicker of disappointment. Just honesty.

“Then I’ll leave ‘em where only you know.”

That night, he kissed his name onto your skin like a secret.

High on your ribs.

Inside your thigh.

Behind your ear.

All the places only you could feel in the quiet.

---

It started slow. Quiet.

Like the way a favorite song fades out before you realize it’s over. You didn’t notice the difference at first—not when it came with a kiss, or a lingering touch, or a playful remark. Marshall was still Marshall. Still yours.

But the bruises stopped showing up.

At first, you thought maybe he was being careful. Respectful. Thoughtful after your little meltdown about trending over a thigh hickey and fans shipping you with his teeth.

You’d laughed, curled into his chest, said something like, “Let’s not give them too much material this month.”

He’d kissed your hair and hummed, “Yeah, alright.”

And just like that… he stopped.

No new marks bloomed behind your knee after late-night teasing. No gentle pressure of his mouth under your jaw. His kisses were still soft, still full—but they no longer lingered with intent. His hands were still everywhere, but they didn’t grip anymore.

He’d gotten more subtle.

Scarves. Neck kisses without teeth. Hugs in public instead of the way he used to pull you into his side like he was warning the room.

There was still love. Still affection. But the claiming was gone.

And you missed it.

It hit you hardest one morning when you stood in the mirror, fresh out of the shower, and realized your skin was clear. Completely. Not a single trace of him anywhere.

Not one mark.

Not one bruise.

Not one kiss that still stung in the best way.

You touched your neck absently, your fingertips brushing over nothing.

And your chest ached.

He was still playful. Still gave you the middle seat on the plane and brought you coffee before interviews. Still slept with a hand splayed over your stomach, as if instinctively keeping you close.

But you noticed the difference.

How he paused more often before touching you in front of people.

How he held back a comment once during a fan Q&A, biting his tongue when someone joked about "leaving evidence."

How he stopped smiling when you scrolled past the edits.

You’d told him once you didn’t want to be famous.

And maybe… maybe he believed you.

But now, all you could think was—

Did I make him stop?

Did I tell him to quiet something that made him feel like himself?

You missed the sting of his mouth against your collarbone.

Missed the smirk he gave you after seeing a photo online.

Missed feeling marked—not just touched. Known.

You hadn’t realized how much it made you feel like his until it was gone.

That night, you curled into his side, unsure of how to bring it up.

“Marsh?”

“Mm?”

You hesitated. “You’ve been real gentle lately.”

He glanced at you, something flickering in his expression. “That a bad thing?”

“No. Just…” You traced a circle on his chest, soft. “You used to be less careful.”

Silence.

Then—his hand tightened just slightly on your hip. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind.

When he spoke, his voice was low. Rough. “You said you didn’t want the world to see it.”

You nodded slowly. “I know. But… I didn’t mean stop.”

He shifted, pulling you closer. His breath warm at your ear. “Then say it.”

You swallowed. “I miss when you left a little more of yourself behind.”

His fingers pressed into your skin, grip firm. “Yeah?”

You nodded.

And in the dark, he smiled against your throat and whispered, “Then I’ll give it back.”

---

The next morning, you didn’t expect anything to change.

You figured last night’s quiet admission would settle into something soft, slow—a gradual shift back to the version of him who left marks like whispered poems. But Marshall Mathers has never been a slow-burn kind of man.

So when you woke up, his side of the bed was empty. The coffee was already made. And there was a note on the counter in his crooked handwriting:

Don’t make plans tonight. You’re mine. —M

Your stomach flipped. Your heart did a thing.

You had no idea what he meant. But you didn’t cancel a single thing—you cleared the evening.

It started the second the front door shut behind him.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you from across the room with that look—the one that used to show up in the studio when he got a verse exactly right. Focused. Intent. A little dangerous in the best kind of way.

Then he crossed the space in three strides, backed you into the hallway wall, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it.

You gasped against his mouth. “Marsh—”

“Shut up,” he muttered, lips at your jaw. “You asked for this.”

He didn’t rush. That wasn’t his style anymore.

He was methodical. Hands sure. Mouth devastating. And when he dropped to his knees in the hallway, looking up at you like you were a prayer and a dare all at once, you realized—

This wasn’t about fan photos.

This wasn’t about trends.

This was about you. His.

He kissed your hip, dragged his mouth lower, and bit just hard enough to make you gasp.

“There,” he murmured, eyes on the skin already blooming red. “You feel that tomorrow, you’ll know who did it.”

Another mark. Inside your thigh.

One on your ribs.

One just under your breast—hidden, perfect, secret.

He worshipped you like canvas, like home, like someone he never planned to leave untouched again.

Later, curled into him under warm sheets, your skin buzzing with love and ache and heat, he kissed your temple and whispered,

“You needed to feel owned, huh?”

You nuzzled against his chest, breath unsteady. “Maybe a little.”

He chuckled. “I’ll stop holding back. I promise.”

Then, quieter:

“I didn’t think you wanted that part of me anymore.”

You looked up at him, touched his face, and said, “I want all your parts. Even the ones that leave bruises.”

His breath hitched. His mouth met yours again, slow and soft.

And somewhere inside that kiss, you felt everything settle back into place.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

This is my first time requesting a fic so I hope I'm doing it right! I have this cute idea for a hazbin hotel fic that could honestly go for anyone!(Id prefer Lucifer, alastor or vox tho!)

Something where the reader's sin was killing a goldfish, hamster or something small as a small child without knowing any better and that's why they are sent to hell. It takes forever for the reader to remember that it happened and realize that's the only thing they could be in hell for and brings back a bunch of guilt. Whoever it's with is like- really pissed at heaven for counting that as a sin because the reader is literally the sweetest person anyone knows and was just a kid and either comforts them or tries to do something about it??

A/N: I loved this so I decided to write this for all three of them!! I just loved this so much so I felt like it needed all of them if that makes sense. I hope you enjoy and I loved this concept so thank you so much for your request!! happy reading!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Alastor aka RADIO DEMON

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut—an old memory, long buried and forgotten, resurfacing with a sharp pang of guilt. You had been in Hell for what felt like an eternity, surrounded by the damned and the wicked, but you had never been able to recall what sin had condemned you to this place. You weren’t like the others. You didn’t have a trail of victims or a past stained with blood. You were kind, gentle, always trying to do right by others. And yet, here you were, trapped in this eternal torment.

The memory came back slowly, piece by piece, until it all fell into place. You had been so young, just a child, maybe four or five years old. The goldfish had been a gift from your parents, a small, delicate thing that had fascinated you. You’d watched it swim in its little bowl, entranced by its shimmering scales and the way it moved through the water with such grace.

But you were a child, curious and clumsy, and you didn’t understand the fragility of life. You remembered reaching into the bowl, wanting to hold the fish, to feel its smooth scales against your skin. But when you pulled it out of the water, it had flopped in your hands, struggling for breath. You didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t realize that you were hurting it. By the time you’d put it back in the water, it was too late. The fish had floated to the surface, still and lifeless.

You’d cried, of course, but you hadn’t understood the gravity of what you’d done. You were just a child. But now, as you stood in the depths of Hell, that memory filled you with a crushing guilt. Was that it? Was that the reason you had been sent here? For something so small, so innocent, done out of ignorance and childish curiosity?

As the weight of the memory settled on you, you felt a presence behind you. The air grew thick with a sense of unease, and you knew without turning around that Alastor, the Radio Demon, was there. He had taken an interest in you from the moment you arrived in Hell, though you could never quite figure out why. Maybe it was your innocence, your kindness, that intrigued him—qualities so rare in this place.

“Ah, my dear,” Alastor’s voice purred, smooth and dripping with a dark amusement. “What is it that troubles you? You look positively distraught.”

You turned to face him, your eyes wide and filled with a deep sorrow. “I remember… I remember why I’m here,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering but his crimson eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is this dreadful sin that has condemned such a sweet, innocent soul to Hell?”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. It seemed so ridiculous, so absurd now that you were about to say it out loud. But the guilt gnawed at you, and you couldn’t keep it in any longer. “When I was a child… I… I killed a goldfish,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t understand. But it died because of me.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Alastor let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. It wasn’t the cruel, mocking laugh you had expected, but something tinged with disbelief and anger—not at you, but at the situation.

“Is that it?” he asked, his tone sharp and incredulous. “That’s why you’re here? Because of some childhood mistake? A simple, innocent act of curiosity?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know… but that’s the only thing I can think of. That has to be it.”

Alastor’s expression darkened, his usually jovial demeanor replaced by a cold, simmering anger. “Heaven,” he spat, the word laced with venom. “What hypocrites. To send a child to Hell for something so trivial, so insignificant, is beyond cruel. It’s unjust.”

You looked at him, surprised by the intensity of his reaction. “But… but it was still wrong,” you said softly, the guilt still gnawing at you. “I took a life, even if it was just a goldfish. Maybe I deserve to be here.”

Alastor shook his head, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “No, my dear, you do not deserve this. You were just a child, and children are not held accountable for their innocent mistakes. You were condemned unfairly, and it infuriates me to see someone as pure as you suffer because of it.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently tilt your chin up so that you were looking into his eyes. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low and firm. “You are not like the others here. You do not belong in this wretched place. If I could, I would march up to Heaven myself and demand that they right this wrong, that they acknowledge the cruelty of their judgment.”

You stared at him, shocked by the passion in his voice, the anger in his eyes. You had always seen Alastor as a being of pure malice, a demon who took pleasure in the suffering of others. But now, in this moment, he was different. He was angry for you, on your behalf, and it stirred something deep within you.

“Alastor…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He sighed, his expression softening slightly as he looked at you. “But alas, there is little I can do to change your fate. The rules of Heaven and Hell are not easily bent, even by one as powerful as I. However,” he added, his voice taking on a softer, almost tender tone, “I can offer you something else. Comfort, companionship… protection. You may be in Hell, my dear, but I will not allow you to suffer alone.”

The offer took you by surprise, and you found yourself staring up at him, unsure of what to say. Alastor, the Radio Demon, offering comfort and companionship? It seemed almost too surreal to believe. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something genuine that made you believe he meant every word.

You nodded slowly, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Alastor smiled, a smile that was still tinged with that ever-present darkness, but also with something warmer, something almost… kind. “You don’t need to say anything, my dear. Just know that you are not alone. Not anymore.”

With that, he pulled you into an embrace, his arms surprisingly gentle as they wrapped around you. You leaned into him, the weight of your guilt and sorrow easing just a little as you allowed yourself to be comforted. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And maybe, just maybe, with Alastor by your side, you could find a way to live with the past and the unjust fate that had brought you here.

Vox aka HEAD OF VOX TECH

You had never really understood why you were condemned to Hell. Unlike the many souls writhing in the pit, you didn’t have a string of atrocities trailing behind you. You didn’t murder, cheat, or betray. In fact, in your mortal life, you were known for being kind, caring, and overly cautious. And yet, here you were, suffering in Hell without a clue as to what had brought you here.

At first, you tried to remember, to piece together what might have happened, but every time you searched your memories, you came up empty. The only thing that ever came to mind was a stupid, childish incident—one that surely couldn’t be the reason for your damnation.

You’d been about eight years old, with a love for all things small and furry. That’s when you got your first pet, a little hamster you named Buttons. You adored Buttons, carrying him around in your hands, giving him treats, and petting his soft fur. But one day, while playing, you squeezed him a little too hard. You hadn’t meant to. You were just a child, after all, but that didn’t change what happened. Buttons stopped moving, his little body going limp in your hands. You cried for hours, not understanding what you had done, only knowing that your beloved pet was gone and that you were to blame.

You’d buried the memory, convincing yourself it was just a mistake, a tragic accident that any child might have made. But here, in Hell, it was the only thing you could think of. Could that really be it? Could you really have been damned for something so small, so innocent?

It was a thought that haunted you, gnawed at your insides until you couldn’t take it anymore. You found yourself wandering through the dark, twisted corridors of Hell, your mind lost in a storm of guilt and confusion. That’s when you felt it—eyes on you, watching, observing. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Vox had taken an interest in you almost immediately after your arrival in Hell. It wasn’t unusual for him to be intrigued by someone new, but there was something about you that kept pulling him back. You were different from the others—gentle, kind, and most of all, innocent. That kind of innocence was a rare commodity in Hell, and Vox was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

“Lost in thought again, aren’t we?” Vox’s voice crackled through the air, distorted slightly by the static that always seemed to surround him.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t that you were afraid of him, exactly, but Vox was intimidating in a way that words couldn’t quite capture. He was larger than life, a presence that seemed to fill the room, even when he wasn’t physically there.

“I…” you started, your voice trembling slightly as you turned to face him. “I just can’t stop thinking about it. About why I’m here. I can’t remember doing anything that would deserve… this.”

Vox’s neon-lit face twisted into a smirk, though there was something darker lurking behind his glowing eyes. He tilted his head, his massive form leaning casually against a nearby wall as he continued to watch you. “You’re in Hell, darling. Everyone’s here for a reason.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to find the words to explain. “But that’s just it. I don’t have a reason. At least, not one that makes sense. The only thing I can think of… it’s ridiculous.”

Vox’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? Do tell. I’m all ears.”

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you forced yourself to speak. “When I was a kid… I had a hamster. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I squeezed him too hard, and… and he died.” Your voice cracked as the memory resurfaced, filling you with a wave of guilt and shame. “That’s the only thing I can think of. I was just a kid, but what if that’s why I’m here? What if that’s what sent me to Hell?”

For a moment, Vox was silent, his glowing eyes fixed on you as if he were trying to process what you’d just said. Then, he let out a harsh, distorted laugh, his voice crackling with a mix of amusement and anger. “That’s it? That’s what you think got you sent to Hell? A childhood mistake? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You flinched at his laughter, feeling small and foolish under his gaze. “I know it sounds stupid,” you mumbled, looking down at the ground. “But I can’t think of anything else. Maybe Heaven saw it as some kind of cruelty or—”

“Bullshit,” Vox cut you off, his voice sharp and electric. He pushed off the wall, striding over to you with an intensity that made your heart race. “That’s not cruelty. That’s a mistake. A kid not knowing any better. If that’s really why you’re here, then Heaven is more fucked up than I thought.”

You looked up at him, surprise flickering in your eyes. You’d never heard him speak like this before—so angry, so protective. “But… what if that’s all it takes?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “What if that’s enough to damn someone?”

Vox’s eyes blazed with a fierce light, his hand reaching out to grab your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “You don’t belong here. You’re not like the rest of these damned souls. You’re… different. Innocent. And if some bullshit technicality is what sent you here, then Heaven’s got a lot to answer for.”

You stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sank in. He was right—deep down, you knew he was right. You didn’t belong in Hell. But the guilt, the overwhelming sense of responsibility for that long-ago mistake, was hard to shake.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I can’t change the past, and I can’t go back. I’m stuck here, no matter what.”

Vox’s grip on your chin softened, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Maybe you can’t go back, but that doesn’t mean you have to suffer for it. You’re in Hell, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable. You’ve got me, don’t you?” His voice dropped to a lower, almost seductive tone as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. I’ll make sure this place doesn’t break you.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, his proximity making your head spin. Despite the fearsome reputation he had, there was something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, that made you feel… safe. Like he really meant it when he said he would protect you.

“But what about Heaven?” you asked, your voice small and unsure. “What if they’re watching? What if they… try to punish me again?”

Vox’s eyes flashed with anger, his grip on you tightening slightly. “Let them try,” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “I’d like to see them come down here and explain themselves. If Heaven wants to play dirty, they’ll have to go through me first.”

You stared at him, stunned by the intensity of his words. No one had ever stood up for you like this before, especially not against something as powerful as Heaven itself. It was overwhelming, and yet… comforting. Maybe you couldn’t change the past, but with Vox by your side, maybe you could find a way to live with it.

Slowly, you nodded, a small, tentative smile forming on your lips. “Thank you, Vox. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Vox’s expression softened, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You don’t have to worry about that, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me now.”

As you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The guilt was still there, but it was tempered by the knowledge that you weren’t alone. Vox was with you, and he was determined to protect you, no matter what. Maybe Hell wasn’t where you belonged, but as long as you had him by your side, you knew you’d find a way to make it through.

Lucifer aka THE KING OF HELL

You sat in Lucifer’s grand office, your fingers anxiously twisting in your lap as your thoughts swirled in confusion. You had been in Hell for a while now, and yet the reason for your damnation still eluded you. It was maddening, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pinpoint the sin that had condemned you to this fiery realm.

Lucifer watched you closely from behind his lavish desk, his sharp eyes catching every slight movement you made. He had always found you to be an enigma—so sweet, so innocent, and yet, here you were in the depths of Hell. It didn’t make sense, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

“Love,” Lucifer’s voice was smooth, like silk brushing against your skin, “I can practically hear the gears turning in that pretty head of yours. What troubles you so?”

You glanced up at him, your eyes reflecting the turmoil within. “I just don’t understand, Lucifer. I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I still can’t figure out what I did to end up here. It’s like… it doesn’t add up.”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied you. “Not all sins are remembered easily,” he mused, his tone contemplative. “Some are buried deep within, forgotten or dismissed, but still weighed heavily by those who pass judgment.”

“But that’s just it,” you insisted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve searched through every memory, every mistake, and nothing seems big enough, bad enough, to have damned me. I was never… evil. At least, I don’t think I was.”

A slight frown tugged at Lucifer’s lips, a rare expression of displeasure crossing his usually calm demeanor. “Tell me, my love, what are the memories that you have found? The ones you believe to be insignificant?”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you gathered the courage to speak. “There’s this one thing… I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better. I had a best friend, and we were inseparable. But one day, I got jealous—stupid, childish jealousy—and I told a lie that got them in trouble. They were punished for something they didn’t do, and I never confessed. I was too scared.”

Lucifer’s gaze softened slightly as he listened, though his eyes gleamed with something darker—resentment, perhaps, but not directed at you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he fixed you with an intense stare. “And you believe that is the reason you’re here? A child’s lie?”

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with guilt. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but… what if that’s it? What if that’s the one thing that damned me?”

A low chuckle escaped Lucifer, his voice rich with amusement, though there was an underlying edge to it. “My love, if Heaven condemns souls to Hell for such trivialities, then they are more twisted than even I had thought.” His smile turned cold, a bitterness seeping into his tone. “It seems they are as quick to punish as they are to pretend their hands are clean.”

You looked at him, confusion and a flicker of hope warring within you. “But… what if they’re right? What if that lie was enough?”

Lucifer stood, his presence towering over you as he moved around the desk to stand by your side. He reached out, gently lifting your chin so that you were forced to look up at him. His touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the power and authority he radiated.

“They are not right,” he said firmly, his eyes boring into yours. “You were a child. A child who made a mistake. That is not evil, nor is it worthy of damnation. You do not belong here for something so minor, so human.”

His words washed over you like a balm, easing the knot of anxiety that had taken root in your chest. “Then why am I here?” you whispered, your voice filled with desperation. “What could I have done?”

Lucifer’s expression softened, and he let out a sigh, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “The truth, my love, is that sometimes the reasons for being here are not fair. Sometimes, they are born of Heaven’s need to appear just, even when they are far from it. You may be here because of a mistake, but that does not mean you deserve to suffer.”

You leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his words, even as they stirred a deep sadness within you. “It doesn’t feel fair,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like I’ve been punished for something I didn’t even understand.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with anger, though it was clear his ire was not directed at you. “It is not fair,” he agreed, his tone laced with resentment. “Heaven is quick to cast out those who do not fit their mold, regardless of whether they deserve it. They hide behind their righteousness, but in truth, they are no less flawed than the souls they condemn.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the pain and anger in his voice. “You… you sound like you’ve experienced this before. Like you’ve seen how unfair it can be.”

Lucifer’s gaze darkened, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “I have seen it many times, love. More than you can imagine. Heaven is not the paradise they would have you believe. It is a place of judgment, of exclusion, and for those who do not conform, it is a place of damnation.”

He paused, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “But you do not have to face this alone. You have me, and I will ensure that Hell is not the torment they intended for you. You will find peace here, with me.”

Your breath hitched as his words sunk in, the weight of your situation lightening just a little under his promise. “Thank you, Lucifer,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lucifer’s expression softened further, and for a moment, the cold, calculating ruler of Hell was replaced by someone almost… human. “You will never have to find out,” he whispered, his voice tender as he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing gently against yours.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid of breaking you with the intensity of his emotions. But there was a warmth there, a reassurance that you weren’t alone, that you were safe with him. As he pulled back, his eyes met yours, and you could see the depth of his feelings—his resentment toward Heaven, his protectiveness over you, and something else, something deeper that he kept hidden behind his regal facade.

“Rest now, my love,” Lucifer murmured, his hand lingering on your cheek as he straightened up. “You have been through enough. Let me shoulder the burden of your past. You belong here with me, and I will not allow Heaven’s judgment to take you from me.”

You nodded, a sense of calm settling over you as you allowed yourself to trust in his words. For the first time since you arrived in Hell, you felt like you weren’t alone, like you had someone who truly understood the injustice of your situation. And as you looked up at Lucifer, you knew that, despite everything, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[sulphuricgrin]

WIP Wednesday

No pressure tagging: @changelingsandothernonsense @hircines-hunter @skyrim-forever @sanzas-reverie @pocket-vvardvark @scholarlyhermit @silly-little-diary @oblivions-dawn @yewphoric @yansurnummu @fangsandsoftgrass

@lobo-inu @firefly-factory @sunlightpassingthroughthewater @madam-whim @theoneandonlysemla @moriche @truth-01001001-liar @ggghoulish @lathez @orfeoarte @illumiera @thequeenofthewinter @nyarevar and anyone else interested!

How the fuck is it already Wednesday?? Anyways, as per usual, if you see a mistake, no you didn't.

He could always tell she was back in one of two ways: the sudden surge in magicka in the tower, or her singing or humming. Though in most cases, it was both.  Miraak tilts his head back, letting it rest against the back of the sofa. His book is abandoned in his lap as he stares at the dark stone ceiling and waits. He tries to gauge the magicka, but it had spiked then settled. He silently listens to the quiet, to any movements or muttering from her. But when the silence continues, he begins to glare at the ceiling. Frustration begins to gnaw at him. She couldn’t have possibly dipped into Apocrypha and left just like that. His jaw clenches at the thought. The sting of the idea. But he doesn’t stew too long in his bitterness― he finally hears her.  She’s still too far away, whatever she’s saying is indiscernible, but the flit of magicka in the air is not. He turns his head towards where he thinks he hears her from and whispers, “Laas Yah Nir.” There she was, a dim goldish-green aura moving around through the tower, just one floor above. He watches her pause here and there, and as the aura begins to disappear, she’s descending.  And now he can hear more of her, her tone soft and tender, though the words he still can’t― silence. Again. He rolls his eyes before closing them, turning his head back to facing the ceiling. She's probably planning some sort of nonsense. So he waits.  Singing returns with a different tone and magicka in the air. His left hand goes to the right, touching the ring on his thumb. He was curious about what she was planning.  She slips into his chambers, singing, “Dyin', I'm tryin' to keep his attention.”  He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know where she moves. She’s barefooted, her footsteps audible against the dark stone floors. As she steps closer, behind him, the smell of lavender surrounds him. He finally opens his eyes, watching her, as she places her hands on the back of the sofa, and leans down towards him. What an insufferable smile― she was in a wicked good mood. Her face made up like she had been at a party, lips stained a shade of purple.  “My baby's a freak, yeah And I'm a masochist I'm stuck in his teeth, yeah.” She moves more to his right side, and lowers her face to his. He has a glimpse of the gossamer cloth covering her shoulders, everything else obstructed by her golden curls, but focuses back on her face. She whispers, lips so close to his, “There's poison on his lips.” His hand starts reaching up for her, to pull her closer, when she closes the gap herself. His hand still wraps into her hair, holding her there, knowing her habit to kiss and run. She hums, and he can feel her smile in the kiss.  When she does manage to pull back, he notices a tackiness on his mouth and her makeup smudged. He smacks his lips at the odd feeling. She looks proud of herself. “That makes you happy?” he asks, hand going to wipe it off.  “Mhmm. Might be temporary, but that marks you mine.” He pauses at that. He supposes he could suffer the feeling of it for now. “Why don’t you come here already, instead of standing back there.”  Her face glows with excitement as she rounds the sofa and― By Dibella, she was wearing naught but some delicate gossamer slip of a thing that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He groans. She would be the death of him.