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humanpurposes · 9 months ago

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You Want This, You Need This

The only daughter of Rhaneyra Targaryen is firmly devoted to her mother's cause, and yet she finds her way through the passages of the Holdfast, to the bedchamber of a Prince she should hate // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)

Warnings: 18+, smut, enemies with benefits, hate sex, degrading, angst, Targcest (uncle and niece)

Words: 3.7k

A/n: Me making a poll then doing whatever I want 🫶

There’s no use in waiting for sleep to come to her, she’s too restless for sleep.

Her bedroom is full of alcoves and adjacent chambers, good for hiding and keeping the room cool during the summers. In one of the alcoves is a mural. If she presses a particular space on the wall with much force, she can push it to reveal an entrance into the hidden passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast.

Light is lost beyond the threshold. A gentle but piercing breeze washes over her, through the thin and billowing fabric of her night shift. There’s always this lingering excitement when she opens the doorway. She equates it to the thrill of flying, cutting through the wind on dragonback. Only she’s not in the sky, she’s staring into darkness, daring herself to take a single step.

As children she and her brothers had found many of these hidden doors throughout the castle, the perfect sort of places to hide in when they were in trouble, the perfect place to eavesdrop and move through the keep undetected. When their mother found out she had discouraged them from venturing too far, lest they end up like the piles of bones left by rats and other rodents that had never found their way out.

The paths within the walls are treacherous, but she knows some of the routes by heart. She knows how to head down to the kitchens, she even knows a way which leads past the dungeons, to a chamber which houses the skull of Blaerion, the Black Dread, out to a beach along the shore of the bay, out of reach by any other means.

There is one particular room she has in mind tonight.

She treads carefully, tracing her fingertips against the wall so that she does not lose her way. When she comes to a series of steps she takes even more caution. She counts twenty steps, then turns another corner and keeps walking until the stone underneath her fingers turns to wood. It is a door, one which appears as part of a panelled wall on the other side. She pushes it open, hoping he has left the latch undone, and he has.

The room’s warmth is a welcome sensation. She makes as little noise as possible as she enters and closes the door behind her.

He’s sitting by the fire, turned away from where she stands, head lowered slightly and his silver hair spilling down the back of his chair. She almost always finds him like this, practising one of his self righteous rituals. He reads until the hearth and the candles have burned out because it enforces his own belief that he is a more dedicated son than Aegon, more intelligent and more worthy than the Velaryons– than her and her ilk.

His shoulders stiffen as the soles of her slippers tap delicately against the floor, moving towards his bed. She imagines him frowning, or perhaps smiling to himself as he closes the book in his lap.

She perches at the edge of the mattress, pushing her shoes off and letting them fall to the floor. “That was quite the display in the training yard this morning,” she says in a clear voice.

Everything he does is agonisingly slow. He grips the arms of his chair as he rises, slots the book back onto a shelf, and finally turns to face her. He is dressed in a simple black shirt and the breeches he usually sleeps in. His hair is half tied, his leather patch secured around his head, over the space where his left eye should be, sliced out by her own brother’s hand.

The low light of the hearth casts shadows in the sharp edges of his face, the lines around his mouth, the curve of his lips, proud but restrained. His remaining eye is trained on her, glaring at her like a hunter approaches prey.

“You were there to watch your brother, I thought,” he says in that softly threatening voice of his. He comes close enough to loom over her, though just far enough that their legs do not touch. “Or did you find your eye wandering?”

Jace’s first mistake had been to go down to the yard early. Aemond was always there in the mornings after flying Vhagar, to train with Ser Criston Cole until noon. His next mistake had been to succumb to Aemond’s goading. Their uncle is never one to use violence at first, not like Aegon who would brawl with a gull if he thought it offensive enough. Aemond likes to use his words to tease and probe, to lure an opponent to action, and Jace almost always falls for it. The moment her brother had challenged Aemond to a sparring match she knew what the outcome would be. Jace was a promising fighter, but he simply could not match Aemond’s height, strength, speed or skill.

Her heart sank for her brother, but it couldn’t force her attention away from Aemond. He moved like a dancer, all fluidity and control, like he already had the entire performance planned out in his head. He toyed with Jace, kept his defence up, only to knock his sword from his hands and place his own blade at his throat in a sudden flash of silver and steel.

She’d had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from smirking.

“You humiliated him, before spectators,” she says.

Aemond frowns in mock sympathy, taking her chin between his finger and his thumb to tilt her gaze up. “I would do it a hundred times over, for my own pleasure if not for anything else.”

She tilts her head. “And what of my pleasure?”

He hums cryptically. The corners of his mouth flicker upwards. “Your pleasure is only my concern within the confines of this room.”

He’s looking at her like that again, like he wants to devour her.

He traces his fingers down her throat, her collar, the neckline of her shift. His touch is sparse but familiar, exploring the curves of her body through the fabric, patterns she’s felt before, spaces he already knows and seems to have mapped in his head.

He leans in closer, his other hand pressing into the bed, invading her space, infiltrating her senses with the scent of smoke and lavender. She could drown in it, the scent of him.

She shudders as he runs his nose over her neck, following the heat of his breath with a lingering kiss against the sensitive spot of her skin. “What is it you want from me tonight?”

She has an idea in her mind, one she’s been toying with since she had seen the look of pride in his face in the yard.

“Lie down, on your back.”

He stands straight. Eye still fixed on her, he does as she says, making himself comfortable against the pillows.

She draws out every movement, just as he likes to do to her. She straddles him, settling her hips against the growing hardness in his breeches. She rests her hands against his chest, runs her fingers over his skin and the patch of silver hair revealed when she pulls on his shirt.

His hands are on her immediately, running up her thighs, gripping at her waist, bringing up the hem of her shift and tutting as though it has caused him some personal insult in hiding her body from him. He pulls it over her head and surges up to kiss her, capturing her lips with the desperation of a man starved. His kisses are always like this, slow and consuming, pulling her in closer and closer like he expects her to try to escape, like the only air he wants exists in her lungs.

It’s fast and overwhelming, and at first she’s content to just let it happen, to let herself be carried away in the currents of his wants and not her own, but once she’s a little more settled, she pushes him back against the bed.

He stares up at her, blood rushing to his cheeks, lips parted and panting. For all the times she’s seen his stoic exterior at court, she thinks he looks best like this.

“I thought you were concerning yourself with my pleasure?” she says, not bothering to contain her smile.

“I thought you liked it when I take what I want,” he retorts.

“I want you to do as you’re told.”

He huffs a laugh, but his gaze softens and his tongue wets his lips, his eye roaming appreciatively over her bare body, until he stops at her small clothes. All it takes is a few gentle rocks of her hips before his jaw tightens and his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of her waist. She swears she feels his hips twitch beneath her, but he makes no move to take what he wants.

She leans back on her haunches as she drags his breeches below his hips. By the sight of him, hard and reddened at the tip, she knows he at least finds something about this arrangement appealing.

She discards the rest of their clothing, his shirt, her small clothes, the leather eyepatch on his head. She pauses when she reaches for it, waiting for him to protest, but he doesn’t. He gives her a small nod and she slides it up to reveal the true extent of his scar, the twisted red flesh around the sapphire wedged in his socket.

She has seen it countless times before. She needs the reminder of who he is, how much he must hate her.

Now that they are both bare she resumes her position, pleasure like a flame licking up her spine as she traces circles over her centre. Aemond grinds himself against her, breathing with a strain in the back of his throat. The sound only makes the wanting feeling in her gut tighten. She can feel herself clenching over nothing, her body begging for more friction and the release it promises.

She feels she is wet enough to take him now, and her stomach drops in anticipation.

When he whispers her name, she knows she has him exactly where she wants him.

She closes her hand around his cock, giving it a few half-hearted strokes and lining it up to her entrance, only to hesitate. “I hear your mother is intending to invite Borros Baratheon to court,” she says.

Aemond catches his lip between his teeth, staring at the space where their bodies almost meet if she would only lower her hips.

“Might he bring one of his comely daughters? He has four, doesn’t he?”

Aemond huffs and meets her eye. His hands are still on her waist, his thumbs tracing circles over her belly. “Where did you hear this?”

She tries to pretend such a simple touch from him does not excite her or tempt her to relent.

Daemon has spies in the Queen’s household, not that she knows the specifics. Her mother had discussed the matter with her, expressing concern for the Hightowers’ intentions. It has been decades since a Lord of Storm’s End has stepped foot in the Red Keep, and Daemon believes their rivals are trying to close ranks, amass allies outside of the capital. Perhaps such a deal may be sealed with a marriage pact.

“What,” she breathes, trying to smile, “that his daughters are comely? I can only assume, for I’ve never met them you see–”

In the blink of an eye she’s beneath him.

Aemond brings a single finger to her lips. “I thought we had agreed not to discuss political matters in private,” he says.

“I did not realise the matter was political–”

He cuts her off when he snakes his hand down her body and pushes his thumb against her pearl. She hisses, her hips bucking to meet his touch.

“Are you trying to bait me, niece? Hmm? Is that what you came here for?”

She shakes her head as he circles over her. For such minimal effort on his part, it sparks something frustratingly bright in her, back arching, warmth settling between her legs and beneath her skin.

“Is that really what you want me to be thinking about? Wondering which one of the Baratheon girls is the prettiest?”

His fingertips tease over her entrance, but he doesn’t push them inside, instead they’re replaced by the head of his cock. She presses her lips together, determined not to make any kind of noise he could take for weakness, for wanting, but she feels it all the same.

“Presently, I’m only thinking about what I can see, and what I see is a spoiled little Princess, laid out beneath me. Poor thing, she’s trying to look smug, but I’m not sure I’m convinced, not when I’m about to fuck her tight, little cunt.”

Her pleading is mindless, falling from her lips as effortlessly as her breath. “Please… please… please…”

She wonders if it is her want or his own he eventually succumbs to. He pushes in slowly, delighted at the slight moan he elicits from her, sharing her air as she gasps at the pleasurable ache of being stretched out around him.

“I’ve heard rumours too, that Rhaenyra has been sending ravens to Highgarden,” he says as he starts to snap his hips against hers. “What business would your mother have with the Tyrells, I wonder?”

Rhaenyra has her own plans for a marriage pact, plans she’s known about for months. “What indeed?” she says, trying to smile as he ruts into her.

Aemond almost growls, burying his face into her neck. As his voice is harsher so are his thrusts. “My sister will sell you to a sickly little boy, is that it? Why would Rhaenyra want an alliance with the Reach?”

Because the King is little more than a breathing corpse and who knows how much life he has left in him. Because eventually, he will die, and they both know what will come next.

She’s always known her part in this, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her brothers may well fight in battles to defend their mother’s claim, but wars cannot be won without the necessary support. The Reach, The Riverlands, The Vale, The North, they must all be secured one way or another.

With his face hidden from hers she allows herself to admire the way his muscles move and flex under the smooth, pale skin of his arm. Since leaving childhood behind, he seems to have this idea of efficiency, with no tolerance for excess. His arms are slight, but defined where he trains with his sword each day, where he hauls himself onto Vhagar’s saddle and steers her around Blackwater Bay.

“It’s always been expected of me,” she says, tracing her hand over his skin, almost perfect, save for a few marks: a burn after an unfortunate encounter with Vermax when he was just a hatchling, a scar above his elbow where he fell from an apple tree, and crescent shaped indents from their last tryst. “I will do my duty.”

“Duty?” He stops, grabbing her by the neck so her breath hitches in her throat. He leans into her, pressing his forehead against hers, caging her between his body and the bed. She sees nothing but a single eye and a sapphire, nothing but contempt. “You’re the antithesis of it, crawling to your uncle’s bedchamber every night, begging to be fucked.”

Anger flares in her blood. She clamps her hand around his wrist and digs her nails into his skin, hoping it will mark him. “I have never begged for you,” she spits, teeth bared, lips grazing over his, “and I never shall…”

Her words fade on her tongue when he resumes a punishing pace, urging her closer to oblivion with every thrust.

“Oh there you go,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?” He’s on his knees now, one hand still on her throat, the other on her thigh, forcing her legs further apart, fingertips pressing painfully into her flesh.

She tries to pull away from his grip, pushing herself further into the bed amongst the pillows, but Aemond has always been stubborn and does not relent. She has nowhere to go, no other option but to take it.

“You’ll be sent off to some castle in a miserable corner of the world, live the dull life of a Lady. Your Lord husband will trade swords and shields for you like a brood mare and fuck his children into your belly each night.”

She feels her peak building within her, the weightlessness rising and rising, she can hardly take much more. “Do you believe I will think of you?” she says with a grin, “as he touches me, as he spills inside me…”

Aemond grunts, folding his chest over hers, brushing his lips over her cheek as he hisses, “wanton little whore. I am the one you seek out, and as long as you do, you are mine.”

It tears through her quickly, a spark that turns to flame, a piece of kindling caught alight, pleasure that reduces her simply to feeling, warmth and the absence of his weight on her body. She claws her nails into nothing, empty space where she expects to find his skin.

Aemond has pulled away from her, groaning as he comes, spilling over her stomach and thighs. She watches him, jaw slack, brows angled like he’s in agony.

She basks in the numbness her peak leaves behind as he drags his shirt over her skin to clean the mess he’s made with a touch that is soft and slow. His eye trails along her body to her face. She sees nothing in him, not amusement or satisfaction, not hatred or remorse, and yet he comes to lay beside her, turning her onto her side, settling against her back and putting his arms around her.

She allows it, too used to the feeling of lying in his bed, too used to the scent of sweat and smoke and lavender.

Aemond’s chambers are ruled by order, every book has its place on a shelf, he does not leave papers, clothes or used cups of wine lying around. The bedchamber lies on the south side of the castle, with a balcony overlooking the bay where two of them used to watch the ships leaving the harbour. She likes the intricate tapestries, scenes of Valryian mythology, and his fondness for the colour blue. Even if she cannot see most of it in the dark of night, the silence and stillness is comforting.

“Lord Corlys’ ship was attacked,” she mutters, placing her hand over his, where his palm against her stomach. “We cannot be sure if he even survived.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aemond says, “I’ve also heard Vaemond Velaryon intends to challenge the succession of Driftmark, should the unthinkable be true.

“And I assume the Queen and the Hand will support him in this endeavour.”

Aemond’s chest stills. “They will hear the petitions and pass their judgement,” he says, quietly but finally.

“Then the decision has already been made.”

Aemond’s breathing is deep, her hair fluttering against her cheek as he exhales. Her mother has a similar way of scolding her without uttering a single word, as if to say the answer should be obvious.

With a scoff she pushes his hand away and drags herself out of the bed. The cold air stings her skin and she makes short work of finding her night shift, discarded on the floor, and dressing herself.

“Lucerys has no claim to Driftmark,” Aemond says from the bed.

“And why is that?” she says shortly, grabbing her shoes from the foot of the bed.

He won’t say it, but the word is there, in the way he teases Jace, the way his family watch her and her brothers and stare at them across the throne room with nothing but disgust. It’s there in his indifference towards her beyond the walls of his bedchamber, avoiding eye contact, muttering under his breath, insults and backhanded compliments. But the last time he said it, it cost him his eye.

She turns to face him, a defiant glare through the darkness now that some of the candles have started to burn out.

“Coward,” she whispers.

He does claim to disagree.

With her shoes on, she moves towards the hidden door without sparing him another glance.

But she hears a ruffle of fabric, his feet against the floor as he follows her. His hand closes around her arm, hard enough it feels as though it might leave a bruise. He turns her into him, placing her back and his palm against the panelled wall.

“Stay,” he says.

“Surely you would not want to sully yourself, sharing your bed with a bastard.”

“But it’s different with you.”

“How? How is it different?”

He cups her face in his hands, begging her for something but never saying it. He leans in gradually, kissing her firmly. It’s easy to follow his lead, to let him slip his tongue between her lips, let him pull and tug at her delicate flesh, to feel him and lose herself to him. It makes her weightless all over again.

Once it was easy to love Aemond. They found friendship easily as children, even when they bickered and argued, because they could always forgive each other.

Some time ago she realised that love has always been destined to fade away, like summer changing into autumn, winter snows melting away with the spring. There is no place for it amongst the animosity between their families, causes they were born to, that neither of them will ever forsake.

Aemond pulls away but stays close to her, a hand on her waist, the other on her cheek. “I want you to stay.”

“And what then? What do you think could ever become of us?” The one-eyed Prince and the bastard Princess.

Suddenly she hates the stillness of this room, the weight of his silence in her chest.

Aemond’s hand slips from her cheek, his expression falling from pleading to indifference.

She leaves him standing there, bare chested and breathless, with no light to catch in the cut edges of his sapphire. She fades back into the shadows of the passageway, amongst the cold and the dark and the bones.

The rot has set in. The King will die, and both the Blacks and the Greens will seek to claim his throne. The empty space between her and Aemond can only ever grow.

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narcoticv3nus · 2 months ago

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Burning Desire ౨ৎ Simon “Ghost” Riley & John “Soap” MacTavish

Kinktober Day II: Threesome

summary: your boyfriend returns home after deployment, bringing home his other plus one. tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, praise, a bit of degradation, anal, double penetration, ghoap, dom!simon, switch!john, sub!reader, alcohol consumption, smoking, cursing, use of pet names, author attempts at accents wc: 4.6k a/n: i’m a little late, but i didn't expect it to be this long. i had also never written a threesome before, so bare with me. sorry if it's bad i panicked.

MASTERLIST

Simon: Coming home late.

The room is shrouded in darkness, with only the soft, bluish glow of the phone's screen cutting through the obscurity. As the familiar ping echoes through the room, you let out a tired groan and shift your weight, reaching out with one arm to find your phone. Your fingers dance over the surface of your nightstand, searching for the device as you roll over onto your side.

Another ping rings out.

Simon: Johnny is staying the night.

As you shifted onto your stomach, you reached for your phone to catch up on your notifications. Despite the late hour, you were undeterred. You’ve grown accustomed to your boyfriend's unpredictable schedule and hold no resentment. Trust is the foundation of your relationship, and it goes both ways.

You: Okay. Drive safe.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh, feeling the weight of the day's stress bearing down on you. Tossing your phone somewhere onto the rumpled sheets of the bed, you rolled over, pulling the comforter snugly around you, and allowed yourself to sink back into the welcoming embrace of sleep.

The room's quiet was suddenly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps approaching and keys jingling. The distinct click of the front door being forcefully shut filled the air, causing your eyes to snap open in surprise.

As you lay in bed, you could hear the lively chatter of the Scotsman echoing through the walls, emanating from the kitchen. The sound traveled through the house, reaching your ears before your boyfriend intervened and reminded him to lower his voice. Despite the hushed tones that followed, you were already awake.

You let out a weary sigh as you sat in your comfortable bed. As you shifted to the side, your bare feet touched the cold, smooth surface of the wooden floor, sending a shiver up your spine. With a reach, you turned on the lamp, and the previously enveloping darkness of your room was replaced by the gentle, warm embrace of its soft yellow light, casting comforting shadows on the walls.

As you walked out, the soft light from the kitchen illuminated the distinct figure of your boyfriend, Simon. He stood tall and broad, his presence commanding the space. His friend was busy unlacing his boots, sitting on one of your kitchen chairs, while Simon leaned casually against the counter, a faint smile playing on his lips as he engaged in conversation.

You cleared your throat, making your presence known as you observed them with narrow eyes.

They halted their conversation, both turning towards you like they had been caught discussing something that wasn't meant for your ears.

“It’s four in the morning.” You said with your arms folded over your chest, your jaw clenching as you watched both gazes fall to your chest before meeting your face.

“Could you be a little quieter?” You let out a deep sigh of frustration, feeling your chest tighten as you looked down at the pristine white tiles of your kitchen floor, now marred by the unmistakable pattern of dirt and grime left behind by a pair of rugged combat boots. The once immaculate surface now bore the imprint of someone's rugged footsteps, starkly contrasting the pristine environment you had meticulously maintained.

“Seriously, Simon? How many times have I told you–”

“I did miss you, sweetheart.” As your boyfriend approached you, a wistful sigh escaped his lips, indicating a mixture of longing and resignation. His steps were deliberate, almost as if he were lost in thought, paying no attention to the words you had spoken moments earlier.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” As he loomed above you, you couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and anticipation. You felt his presence as he leaned in, his hands finding their place on your hips and applying gentle pressure. His face drew closer to yours, and you turned your cheek to him, feeling the warmth of his lips as they made contact with your skin

“I'll clean up the mess, love,” he grumbled, dissatisfied with your reluctance of his affection.

“Good.” You let out a frustrated huff, feeling the weight of your annoyance as you turned to look up at him. As your eyes met him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of softening in your demeanor. The tension and frustration building inside your chest seemed to dwindle as you gazed up at him slowly.

"I missed you too," you replied softly, your heart racing as you met his intense gaze. His lips curled into a satisfied grin, revealing a hint of dimples before they slowly pressed against yours, sending a rush of warmth through your body. His hand gently held the back of your head, pulling you closer, trapping you against him in a tender yet passionate embrace.

As you pulled away, you couldn't help but look over Simon’s shoulder to the man sitting at your table with a sly grin, his pale eyes twinkling in humor.

You’ve met John before on many different occasions, some similar to nights like these when they stumbled into your home, sometimes drunk and chattering like a couple of girls over steaming gossip.

You’ve come to terms with the fact that they're a package deal. John, who Simon affectionately calls “Johnny,” is always one step behind him, yapping on and on about something or other. Those two are so different, but they make it work like the sun and the moon.

John had a charismatic way of flirting that seemed to charm everyone around him, including you. Despite Simon's usual protectiveness, he appeared to make an exception for John, allowing him to get closer to you than anyone else. However, it wasn't just you that John interacted with suggestively. There were moments when you noticed the way John looked at Simon, and it seemed to go beyond just friendly admiration. At times, you dismissed it, attributing it to John's flirtatious nature, but there were hints of something more beneath the surface.

“Hi John,” you greeted almost bashfully, embarrassed to be standing in front of him in your night clothes.

With a warm smile spreading across his face, John greeted you in a deep, smooth Scottish accent, "Hey, darlin'. Didnae mean to wake ye up. Hope we were nae too loud, eh?" He flashed a teasing grin towards Simon before turning his attention back to you, eyes scanning your body with a flicker of appreciation. He stood up, revealing his impressive frame adorned in a loose, sleeveless shirt and shorts, showcasing his tattooed arms.

“Well… I’m up now.” You answered, making your way into the kitchen and opening up a bottle of wine to pour yourself a glass before returning to sleep. “Might as well hang out for a little while.” You missed the shared glance between the other two as you brought the rim to your lips.

Chuckling lightly at your comment, John sauntered to the kitchen counter, leaning against it effortlessly. His eyes followed your movements intently, admiring the curves of your figure hidden beneath the loose fabric. As you sipped your wine, he couldn’t help but appreciate your beauty in the dim lighting.

You watched as Simon disappeared into your room, likely changing into something more comfortable as he got ready for bed. You didn't think much of it.

Your attention was redirected as John approached you, casually reaching for the wine bottle, pouring himself a generous glass, and raising it in a toast. "To us, eh?" He clinked his glass gently against yours, maintaining eye contact. "Simon's a lucky bloke to have ye," he said sincerely before siping. John traced his fingers along the rim of the glass, enjoying the sensation of the cool glass against his skin as he waited for your reaction. His free hand rested on the counter, only inches away from yours.

You felt your heart race as you glanced downward, acutely aware of his proximity before locking eyes with him. His piercing, icy blue eyes sent shivers down your spine and ignited warmth. "Thank you," you whispered, moistening your lips with the tip of your tongue, your voice barely above a breath.

You watched his eyes flicker downwards before meeting your eyes again, a knowing grin on his face. He reached up, rubbing his jaw as he looked down at you. You conversed for a few minutes, the tension in the air increasing as your body grew warmer with anticipation. You couldn't care less about the questions he was asking you, only entranced by the softness of his gaze and the sultry allure of his voice.

The room fell silent as Simon reentered, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of you with a hint of knowing amusement. Despite the subtle flicker of emotion in his eyes, his expression remained stoic and unreadable, revealing nothing of his thoughts or intentions.

John raised his glass in a silent salute, acknowledging his presence without breaking eye contact with you. He took another slow sip of the wine, savoring the rich flavor while keeping his hand close to yours. Turning towards Simon, he asked, "What do ye say, mate? Another drink before we all turn in?" His voice was playful and suggestive.

The silence hung heavy in the air, but John never faltered, his easygoing demeanor masking the anticipation that surged beneath the surface. He set his glass down next to yours, his calloused hand brushing gently against your arm. With a sly grin, he continued, "Unless there's something else ye'd rather be doing?"

“I…" you whispered, your voice fading into the tense air as the two men fixed their gaze on you. You observed Simon approaching with confident strides, a hand resting lightly on John's back. He casually took the drink from John's hand, raising it to his lips, and savored the taste of the crimson liquid before running his tongue over his lips.

You watched as he handed the glass back to John, his hand sliding down his back before he made his way in front of you. His hands found your waist, his thumb idly drawing circles into your shirt before he hoisted you into the air and onto the countertop. You let out a yelp of surprise, lifting your cup into the air to prevent a spill.

“Simon! You–” he cut you off once more, taking the drink from your hand and setting it down beside you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I could've spilled that…” you murmured, his dark gaze silencing your protests.

Simon chose to ignore you as his hands drifted up and down your body, feeling you up before his hands descended to your thighs, parting them firmly yet gently.

“Wait… uhh…” you stammered, your voice coming out in a weak and shaky breath, anxiety bubbling in your stomach, knowing his best friend was watching.

John watched with hooded eyes as he moved in, enjoying your reaction to Simon’s assertiveness. His heart rate increased as the situation unfolded. Setting his glass down, John took a step closer, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your calf, eliciting a soft gasp from you.

His gaze shifted between you and Simon, drinking in your connection before finally focusing on your face. "It's okay, lass," he reassured you with a low whisper, his accent thick with desire. "We'll take care of ye." He let his hand trail up your leg, the touch gentle but possessive, as if claiming you for the night.

As you seemingly got lost in John’s gaze, you felt Simon’s hand cup your chin, redirecting your attention towards him as he leaned forward, catching your lips in another kiss, yet longer and more passionate, before his mouth descended towards your neck. Instinctively, you arched into him, your hands reaching up to entangle themselves in his hair, letting out soft gasps and airy whines.

With a lustful glint in his pale blue eyes, John followed suit. His rough fingers slowly worked their way under your shirt, exploring the soft skin of your lower back. He leaned forward, his breath hot against her ear. "Feels good, eh?" he asked, the question barely audible yet loaded with anticipation.

You nodded your head, gasping as you felt Simon’s finger dip between your thighs, fingers diligently pressing against your clothed clit, feeling the dampness of your panties from your arousal.

John’s hands continued their exploration of your body, moving to caress the swell of your breast. In sync with Simon's rhythm, Soap pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, the contrast of his stubble against your smooth skin sending shivers down your spine.

Time passed slowly as both men continued groping your body, Simon’s fingers parting your panties to the side, sliding his fingers up and down your pussy, coating them in your juices before pressing them inside. You let out a shaky moan as John continued kissing your neck and whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Simon's fingers slid in with barely any resistance despite being away for some time. “Simon…” you called his name, one hand clutching his bicep.

“I know, love,” he said, his voice guttural and thick with desire as his heavy gaze adorned you. It started off slow until his thick digits were twisting and curling inside you, pumping in and out in preparation for what was to come.

You could feel John’s breathing growing shallow and labored against your skin. He trailed his free hand down to the front of his pants, subtly adjusting himself; you couldn't help but think how uncomfortable it must feel. With a smoldering look, he whispered your name into your ear, “ye've got us both ready fer ye. Where would ye like us, lass?"

You suddenly remembered that you were still in your kitchen as Simon began to remove your shirt, exposing your breasts to the cold air and causing your nipples to perk in response. As Simon’s eyes darkened, his hand reached up to cup your breast, squeezing with an appreciative groan. “Aye’ve missed these two,” he said bluntly.

“Wait,” you stammered, breath shaky and uneven with excitement and anticipation. “We should… go to the bedroom.”

You yelped as Simon lifted you, tossing your body over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. Your eyes met John’s before he shot you a wink as he followed close behind, shedding his shirt from his back revealing his muscular torso. Your eyes roamed the hairy expanse of John’s body. His stocky build was lined with scars and tattoos decorating across his skin.

Once you reached the dimly lit space, Simon gently lowered you onto the soft bed. He swiftly removed your shorts along with your underwear, revealing your arousal to their hungry gazes.

John reached forward, running a calloused thumb along your inner thigh, spreading your legs further apart, exposing your slick folds. “Ye’re absolutely breathtaking,” he said, his voice thick with lust.

“Thank you,” you replied breathlessly as Simon’s large hand traveled down your body.

John leaned in, letting his fingers trace over your thighs, savoring the softness of your skin. He moved his thumb teasingly over your clit, watching as your hips bucked slightly at the contact. His eyes locked onto yours, drinking in your reactions as Simon’s mouth closed around one of your nipples, eliciting another moan from you.

"Got a pretty voice, Bonnie," he murmured, increasing the pressure and speed of his ministrations. His other hand snaked its way behind your knee, encouraging you to spread your legs wider for him before he dipped his head between your legs, replacing his thumb with his tongue, lapping up the sweetness you offered. He groaned appreciatively, losing himself in your taste and texture. His fingers slid inside, curling and thrusting in tandem with his tongue, determined to bring you to the edge.

“She does,” Simon agreed, removing his shirt and unbuckling his belt as he shook off his pants. You watched in awe as his fist curled into John’s hair, shoving his face deeper, causing his nose to press into your clit, as you keened in response, your fingers entangled into the sheets beside you.

His fingers continued to explore you, finding that perfect spot that made you squirm and moan louder. As your body tensed, signaling your impending climax, John picked up the pace, his tongue swirling and flicking relentlessly. He continued to pleasure you, savoring each moan and twitch of your muscles. With each stroke of his tongue, you felt yourself growing closer and closer to orgasm.

“That's it, love," he encouraged, "Let it all go.” His arousal was evident, his trousers straining against his erection. Finally, with a loud cry, you came apart in his mouth, your hips bucking wildly. John held steady, drinking in every drop of your release, his fingers still inside you, gently massaging your G-spot as your orgasm subsided. He pulled away, a satisfied look on his face, only to find Simon watching him intently, his gaze filled with lust.

John licked his lips clean before moving up to kiss you deeply, sharing the taste of your pleasure between the two of you. After breaking the kiss, John’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at Simon. "Care to join in properly now, mate?" he asked, gesturing towards your still-quivering body.

He ran his hand up your torso, cupping one of your breasts tenderly, while his other hand reached down to stroke Simon’s hard length, showing that he was just as eager to pleasure him as he was to pleasure you. Your thighs threatened to squeeze as you watched, your gaze dancing between them both before Simon leaned forward, hand still curled in John’s hair, before tilting his head back and capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss.

Their tongues tangled together hungrily, hands roaming over each other's bodies as if trying to memorize every curve and contour. Breaking the kiss, John shifted his focus to Simon, taking his hard length in hand and beginning to stroke firmly. He looked up at Simon through his lashes, his gaze filled with heat.

With an encouraging nod from Simon, John leaned forward, pressing his lips around the head of his cock, teasing him with slow, deliberate licks before taking him fully into his mouth, making sure to maintain eye contact while pleasuring him. You gasped in shock as you watched, moaning at the sight of another man pleasing Simon in the same way you did. Have they done this before?

John grinned around his cock as he increased the pace of his strokes, his other hand fondling Simon’s balls with just the right amount of pressure. You loved the way Simon’s muscles flexed beneath his touch, the sounds of pleasure he made, and the pre-cum that coated John’s lips.

With a growl, Simon grabbed Soap’s head, pushing him down further, and Soap eagerly obliged, his arousal mounting with each thrust—the room filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin.

Feeling left out, you reached out towards Simon, grabbing his arm closest to you as leverage to lift yourself onto the ground. You rested your hand on his cheek, turning his face towards you as you leaned in to kiss him.

Simon chuckled deeply, struggling to return your kiss as he moaned against your lips. “Please,” you begged, your body squirming in desperation.

You looked down to see John releasing Simon’s cock with a wet pop as he grinned up at the both of you, a devilish gleam in his eyes. His gaze shifted between your hungry expression and Simon’s lust-filled face.

Breaking away from Simon’s embrace, John stood behind you, trapping you between them as he encircled your waist with his powerful arms and pulled you back against him. His erect manhood pressed firmly against your lower back as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “Ye can have whatever ye want tonight, lass,” John promised, nibbling lightly on your lobe. His hands roamed over your curves, sliding up your torso until he cupped your breasts, gently kneading them.

You moaned, your hands resting against Simon’s chest before he took your wrists into his hands, backing you both up until you felt John’s hands pulling you down onto his lap. He shifted backward and urged you along until Simon’s knees caused the bed to dip low.

You shivered as John’s hands glided down your sides, appreciating your softness and warmth with an appreciative hum. “God, ye’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his Scottish brogue thick with desire. He leaned back onto his elbows, supporting your weight with ease. As you settled on his lap, John shifted slightly, allowing his hardened length to slide between your legs. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, and you could feel his hips bucking up into you, teasing your entrance.

You watched Simon closely, his eyes never leaving your joined bodies. “Fuckin’ Christ,” he groaned deeply, his eyes raking over your body. With a knowing smile, John leaned forward, capturing your lips once more as he slipped his hands between your legs, his fingers dancing along your inner thighs.

Simon leaned forward, yanking your face from John’s before sliding his tongue against yours, pressing his body against you before he abruptly pulled away, twisting your body around with your chest against John’s. Your breathing picked up as your eyes met his, your fingers sinking into the skin of his hairy chest. He chuckled at your expression, his large, warm, calloused hands dragging down your back before cupping your ass and squeezing.

You gasped as you heard the signature pop of a bottle opening before feeling the cool liquid slide against your puckered hole. You've done this before with Simon, but knowing you're going to be filled in two places at once has you shuddering violently.

“Hold still,” Simon’s voice cuts through the air as he holds you by your hips, halting your squirming. You whine, burying your face into John’s neck as you feel two thick digits push inside of you. You've never gotten used to the stretch, even as his fingers spread wider into a scissoring motion, pumping into you like he did before.

You hear John chuckle from above you, his hand petting your head gently as he bucks against you, continuing to catch against your hole before pulling back.

“Ready, lass?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. He gripped your hips firmly, guiding you down onto his eager cock, his muscles flexing underneath you.

You held your breath as you slowly lowered yourself onto his erection, your wet heat clenching around him in a tight embrace. He let out a deep growl of pleasure as he filled you.

John wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you adjusted to the fullness inside you. His fingers trailed up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake before he gripped your shoulders firmly. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Just hold on, pretty,” John whispered, his voice husky with desire. He felt your body momentarily stiffen before you began to move, your hips rolling against him in a rhythm that made him groan. He reached up, gently tugging his fingers in your hair as he guided your head towards his. Your lips met in a searing kiss, your tongues dancing together as John moved his hips in tandem with your movements, driving himself deeper inside you.

Simon pulled his fingers out as he situated himself behind you, “Easy, love,” he reassured, sensing your tension as Simon prepared to enter you from behind, placing his hands on top of your ass before spreading them wide and spitting on his cock for good measure. He took himself in his hand, slapping the tip against your entrance before sliding inside, letting out a deep grunt as he slowly thrust forward, filling your ass inch by inch. As Simon pushed in, John focused on maintaining his rhythm. His hands roamed your body, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched.

You clutched John for dear life as Simon’s hand curled into your hair, pushing you forward as leverage to sheath himself fully inside you. You reached backward, holding the hand firmly on your head, your nails digging into his skin. “Thas’ it, sweetheart. You can take it.” Simon groaned, his gentle thrusts quickly turning rough.

“Fuck, ye’re so tight,” John whispered, his voice husky with desire. His eyes never left yours, watching the pleasure dance across your features, your breasts bouncing with every thrust. He reached up, tracing your jawline with his thumb before tilting your head back, exposing your neck for him to taste. His teeth grazed your sensitive skin, eliciting a moan that punched from your chest.

“Ye like this, don’t ye?” he asked, his accent rolling over the words. He felt your body tighten around him, your breaths coming in ragged pants.

You nodded swiftly, words unable to form on your tongue as wanton moans spilled from your lips uncontrollably. You’ve never felt so full in your whole life.

You feel John’s grin against your neck as your body adjusts and accepts them. He pressed his lips to your skin, suckling gently, his hand finding its way to your breast, kneading it softly as Simon’s hips continued their relentless rhythm.

“That’s rieht, love,” he murmured, “Just let go.” You could feel your orgasm building, your inner walls contracting around them, your moans growing louder. He slid his other hand between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, teasing you. “Cum fur us,” he urged, his voice strained with restraint. You felt Simon’s grip tighten on your hip, his pace quickening, the headboard hitting the wall in a steady beat.

John’s movements were confident and practiced, each stroke sending electric sparks coursing through your body. Your moans grew louder, your breathing more erratic, as you neared your precipice. His thumb circled your clit faster, applying more pressure, his fingers dipping lower to gather your slickness. You felt Simon’s thrusts grow deeper, more urgent, and knew they were both close. John leaned forward, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as your orgasm began to build, your body tensing above him before you let out a silent scream as your release overtook you.

John let out a deep growl as he joined Simon in their mutual release, filling you. The sensation of their combined pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you spent and satiated. As they came down from the high, he kept his lips locked with yours, savoring the intimate connection. You felt Simon’s weight shift as he pulled out of you, allowing John to move closer, cradling you between them.

Your heavy breaths mingled in the quiet room, the only sounds being the distant thunderstorm outside and your racing hearts. Pulling away from the kiss, John pressed his forehead against yours, sweat glistening on his brow.

“Fuck that wos gud,” he breathed, his voice still husky with lust. He gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back as you heard Simon retreat into your bathroom. The signature sound of a faucet running echoed in your ears.

You were spent, slumping against John’s body as the heaviness in your eyelids soon overtook you. You whine at the sensation of Simon cleaning you up. The rough and wet texture of the hand towel against your sensitive bits had you leaning away.

“I know, I know,” Simon grunted, stilling your hips as he cleaned you. Once he finished, John repositioned you on the bed, pulling the covers over your spent body before kissing your cheek.

“Git sum sleep, hen.” he chuckled, his arm wrapped around your middle. Simon settled in next to you, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pant pockets, resting one between his teeth.

As the faint, lingering scent of cigarette smoke wafted through the air, you felt the warmth of a pair of hands gently tracing intricate patterns across your skin. The soft, rhythmic motion of the hands, combined with the soothing aroma, created a tranquil ambiance that gradually lulled you into a state of peaceful slumber.

main masterlist, rules

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darthfighter · 5 months ago

Text

what do you see?

Chapter Three of Your Shadow series

warnings: tension, vulnerability, character death, angst like a mf, character development, sexual tension at the end…

summary: as qimir takes you in, he welcomes you into his home and the two of you grow closer physically and mentally (especially mentally)

word count: 3.3k

authors note: i’m gonna be so real i cooked with this chapter. i’m so proud of it, i hope you guys like this. smut in next chapter..

part two here !

Hyperspace always brings comfort to you. The quiet yet loud humming of traveling through the galaxy. Slightly feeling the force of gravity change. It’s like it’s just you in those moments. Like time doesn’t exist.

Time. Time. Time.

Time always moves forward while you look back. Your legs keep walking while your neck keeps looking back for your memories. Your neck should be sore at this point. You sat in Qimir’s ship, traveling with him and not knowing what the future held for you. You’d think that’s what you’d be thinking about, the future, but no. You thought of pristine glossy floors that reflected your every step. The Jedi temple floors. As you close your eyes and think about pacing, stomping, skipping through the massive halls, you find your comfort. The comfort that makes you feel warm inside again. Though, if you spend too much time. You get hot. Hot burning memories that scorch your head and skin. Some days at the Jedi temple, your again– hot tears would splash onto the reflective clean floors.

As if on cue Qimir comes around the corner. With your unspoken, and not so quite understood connection you have with him, you don’t doubt that he sensed your distress.

Your hand reaches your face and delicately wipes your salty tears off your undereyes while disguising your action with now scratching your eyes pulling them down to show a shade of pink beneath your white and colored eyes. The scratch burnt.

“We’ll be there soon.”

You nod. A couple silent seconds, and he takes you in with his gaze. Sucking, or lightly biting his lip. It makes your heart escalate. Qimir turns around and walks over to his kitchen, rummaging around. You stare at his build as he isn’t looking at you. The way his hair is long but not too long, his clothes and how they hug his body, his forearms with veins traveling around them like vines. He turns to grab a bowl on the other counter letting you see his side profile. He is smiling showing his unavoidable smile lines.

He knows. He knows your orbs are set on him. You look down to your hands in your lap and very loudly curse in your mind. Of course he can tell what your actions are. He’s a– well you were gonna say Jedi in your head, but he’s not. If anything, you hate to think, but he’s better than a Jedi. At least so far. He sees you the way you wish to be seen.

“Here.” You look up to him holding the bowl out for you. Relief washes over you. Your hands take the bowl without a second thought. Before even thanking him as you should in a moment like this, your hand meets the spoon and scoops up whatever is in it. You are so hungry you don’t even care to know. As you satisfyingly taste and swallow the food he gave you, he turns back to the cockpit making his way there. Your stuffed mouth is more than a thank you.

The slop in your bowl moves as you jump out of hyperspace, falling a bit more to the side.

—

You walk off the ramp of Qimir’s ship with a full stomach to be met with crashes of waves. The air smelt of salt and sea making the air damp and cold. Feeling as though moving your hand through the air could get your hand wet with all the moisture.

You slightly walked behind him, following him since this is his element. He looks back at you. The two of you look at each other, and the distance between you two is left unsaid. No words. Although with the short amount of time you’ve known Qimir, you can tell the two of you talk more with your eyes. In this moment his eyes say to follow him, and you do as such.

Shoes walking on uneven rocks, waves crash in the distance, cliffs with different ridges and textures, and comfortable silence. This island is nothing like what you grew up around. Feeling out of place is what you need. Nothing can make you feel like you're back in your child's body, besides the thought on how this can't compare to your home.

Your knees begin to use their strength with the elevated path you two began to walk on. Now walking beside the huge mountain resting on this piece of land. Eventually, you make it in front of an entry into the mountain. The uncertainty of it causes your pace to suddenly end. Your eyes inspect the entry. Though, Qimir is already halfway into the cave-like hall. Without turning around he speaks and his voice echoes against the rock walls, “Come on.”

He can read you, you thought. Why stop now?

Anxiously, you step into the hall. With each step more and more gets revealed. Before you know it you are greeted with a lair like house. There is a bed built into the mountain, a kitchenette, and a small hot spring. It’s not much, although you can’t help but find pieces of Qimir when you look around. How he made this his home. You’ve had more homes than you can care to keep track of. The only one you consider home is the one your family resided on. Home is gone.

This is home, for now.

With a full stomach means you feel satisfied and relaxed. Meaning your senses were decreased. Making Qimir’s verbal tour of his place muffled through your ears.

“Kitchen is over here. Workbench over there. I can leave if you wanna take a rinse off in the hotspring, or you can go to the shore. Over there is the-” Your body is already melted and stuck to the bed like a childlike sweet on a table in the suns. After Qimir looks at you, he finishes his sentence“-Bed.”

—

You jolt up awake. Alert. You're still here in Qimir’s home. You're not running, for once.

You’re still dressed in your poorly made disguise you put together to scout your old home, but since the climate is different, you decided to take off a sheet of cloth being your robe that rested on your shoulders. The air on this island was cold from all the crisp water, so all you needed was your thin dark green shirt, your baggy black pants, and work boots you’ve kept since one of your old jobs on a planet you forgot the name of.

Qimir was nowhere to be seen. It felt weirdly empty to be in his home without him in it. With that thought, you decided to go explore as much as you can.

Your legs wandered until you made contact with the waves meeting the shore. As you continue to wander, you find a rather comfortable spot with a large rock to rest your back against. Making contact with the rock made your back cold, sending shivers down your spine.

You were cold. Not hot. So you close your eyes, and start cold in your past.

“Master.”

“I will not hear it!” Your master's demand vibrated through the Jedi Temple training room. “Get up. And try again.”

You were sore. Countless fails. Many bruises. One weakness. Family. Early in your padawan days, you had a hard time being away from your family. Your mother and brother. They sat comfortable in your mind for your whole life, and to have the Jedi order be in your main mental chair, was a hard adjustment. Your family clouded your thoughts. To Jedi, this is a weakness. Though in their defense, you can care for your family, but to let it be in control of you, was not. In this case it was the reason behind everything to you.

Your family is the reason why you talk the way you do, the reason why you walk is because of your mother, the reason why you have compassion is because of your brother, the reason you can handle immense amounts of heat is because of your home. Where your family stays.

These thoughts cycled through your brain during training at this moment. Making you tumble to the floor.

“Again!”

“Master.. I’m tired.”

Before your master protests, she sees a bruise on your arm start to grow a darker shade. As well as a burn imprinted on your left hand from accidentally burning yourself with your own lightsaber due to your clumsiness. She puts her hands behind her back.

“Tomorrow, we resume. Let your thoughts not be clouded tomorrow.”

Now, you look down to your hand. You only see a scar. The reason for the scar not being your accident of combat, but a reminder your family will forever be on the front of your mind. Uncontrollably.

Although now it's warm. Your eyebrows frown at knowing you're not hot at your negative thoughts that aren't here, but you feel warm for another reason.

“Mind if I join you?”

Qimir stands above you. He radiates heat whenever you're around him, like he is a source of energy.

You scoot your bottom a bit to the side for him to position himself next to you, and when he does, there is barely any distance between the two of you. His bicep rests directly next to your arm as you both stare into the endless amount of waves onto the shore.

“So with what you said, before. On the roof.” You pick up a rock near you to examine as you ask Qimir your question, but he pays attention to you. Looking at you as you speak to him. “With joining you. You.. teaching me.”

He takes the rock out of your hands lightly. “What do you think it means?” He asks smoothly.

Quickly you retort “By using the dark side.” You don't even have to look at him to know he’s shaking his head. Your eyebrows frown together, trying to meet as one.

As he shakes his head he looks up to the shore as he answers you “You were molded to think that way. I'm gonna help you crack yourself out of the way the Jedi shaped you.”

You inhale through your nose to take his words in, like you needed to ingest them through your senses. Then, you grab a hold of the rock this time. Now feeling the warmth rest itself on the surface of it from both of your frictions caressing it.

“How will you make me chip away then?”

“Show you that you can do good in your own way. The natural way.”

“You think the dark side is natural?”

“I never said it’s the dark side.”

After going back and forth, he takes the rock back into his hands. This time, taking his sweet time lingering his touch on yours meaning his fingertips brushed your skin a bit longer than before. His touch burns you.

“You already are a natural at it.” You look up to him and his eyes are already set on you. He looks down to your lips for a split second and speaks again “I saw it. Yesterday on the roof.”

You don’t speak your mind at this moment. Though your mind is thinking about how right he is. You turn your neck in your mental memories, and look back at all the times you “failed” as a Jedi, but it was you just feeling the natural feelings that resided in you. Qimir seems to bring that out of you.

You agree with him as much as it is new to you to agree with such a different way of thinking than what you’re used to. It frustrates you on how it doesn’t feel wrong to agree with him.

Qimir personally hands you the rock this time, you lightly take it out of his hands. It’s warm.

He stands up to his feet and is looking down at you as he says “Tomorrow. Let your thoughts free.”

—

The next day you wake up feeling like you got the best rest since you left your childhood home. Maybe it had to do with our last conversation, you thought.

You lift up your body from the bed to see Qimir stirring a spoon in a pot. Instantly the smell of his meal hits your nose like a punch. You get up from the bed and walk over to join him. He pours out the liquid into your bowl. You reach out for it but he takes back the bowl slightly leaving your arm in the air before saying “Don't hide your thoughts today.”

“Okay.”

“Or your actions.” He leans the bowl towards you for you to grab and instantly the hot bowl meets your hands.

This was new to you. It went against everything you were taught. It was a new way of living. If anything, it felt like he was going to teach you how to breathe all over again.

After both of you finished your meals, you both silently got ready to prepare for your first day of training. If that’s what this is, you said in your brain.

You followed Qimir’s lead until he led you on the top of the mountain.

It felt and looked like you were in a dream. The fog that covered the top of the mountain like a blanket was all around you. Beyond Qimir who was about two steps in front of you, you couldn’t see beyond that. It was just you and him. As you rested from your very difficult hike up here, you breathed in and out.

Inhaling and exhaling the air, the fog traveled its way into your lungs. Now residing in you, making a sheet of fog in your insides.

Qimir then sits down in front of you. As he sits criss crossed, he looks up to you. You already know that look, so you join him.

“So how does this work exactly? Do I just tell you my darkest thoughts?” You humorly ask.

Although Qimir stays honest, “You don't have to tell me anything.”

This makes you feel comfortable, immediately.

“All I ask is for you to let your mind and body do everything for you.”

Your eyebrows frown in a question-like manner.

“When you think of anger, what do you see?”

You keep your eyes on Qimir as he asks this question. As he faces your silence, you close your eyes. You see yourself young. You’re hurt and bruised. You feel the fire in your chest as a Padawan. Being taken in to be trained as a powerful Jedi while your family is left behind. You remained homesick and it clouded your thoughts. It caused you to not perform well. Caused you to fall behind. Especially because your Master was extra hard on you. Thinking back on this, you shake your head in that moment thinking how a grown adult could be so cold to a young one like this. Qimir see’s this reaction, and asks his next question.

“When you think of fear, what do you see?”

Being taken in by the Jedi. The day you left is a memory that will always pop into your head every single day. How devastated your brother looked as you left him behind. Your mothers face is full of wet tears, and as you look at her, her eyes are nothing but red from despair. But despite her red eyes, she held a smile on her face. A smile to let you know you’ll be okay, as will they. As you boarded the ship, your knees shook below you. You walked by yourself onto the ship. Once the hatch closed, you fell to your knees. Kneecaps crashed onto the metal floor stinging you instantly. A Jedi present softly laughed at finding humor in it, but how could you, a child, find humor in being so afraid of being on your own that your legs gave out on you.

“When you think of loss, what do you see?”

The intercom. You see the hologram of a good family friend, broken apart as they tell you it’s your brother. That it is his last stretch. Surprisingly, The Jedi Council agreed to let you visit your home this one last time. It was only your third visit since becoming a Jedi. The other visits were to come back and heal your brother. Your brother was the hardest worker you knew. This brought him to his death. Working his blood, sweat, and tears wore him out. Those two times, you were lucky enough to be a medicine to him. To make him better. That third time, you weren't so lucky. Once you got to your homeplanet and landed your ship and booked it off your platform, you made it to your home. Where he laid. There was one specific thing you remember about that day, that being how cold he was. Walking up to him in your clean Jedi robes, to him in his worn out room. You began to do what you came to do. To heal. Your hand came in contact with his. In that moment, you gasped and underestimated how cold his flesh would be. Your heart stung in agony, but you needed to remain focused. You tried to heal him. You tried to make it work. You tried again. Again. You tried.

He was too far gone for saving.

Although you knew. There was a chance. A chance to revive him as you have done previously, but that meant he’d take your life. You’d give him yours. You turn around to your mom who has been hiding in the corner like a shadow. She says your name low, like a monster hiding in the dark. She disapproves. She scares you. You don't care. You grab his burning cold hand and start to use the force. You’re thrown out of your trance as you are thrown to the floor. Your mother stopped you. You rise to your feet as she throws her hands in the air, rambling to you how this was life. How life has beauty and ugliness. That this was a part of the ugly life, the life you didn’t want to face.

Your mother looks you dead in the eyes like a dagger, and tells you that this was the Jedi way. No attachments. Let it go.

You couldn't accept this. You attempt to push past her, but your emotions made you weak. You know you’re a million times stronger than your mother and can easily get her out of the way, but you couldn’t bear overestimating your powers and accidentally hurt her. So you wail like a baby instead, in her arms like the day you were born, on the day your brother died.

Your chest rose and fell at a pace that was noticeably fast, and you open your eyes to see Qimir. As you thought back on your worst painful memory, he sees you in this state. Vulnerable and hurt. Though, you see something in his eyes. You see resemblance. He’s also lost something.

You close your eyes again and with this familiarity between the two of you, you start to control your breathing. You feel the need to relax. To get warm. You think of home on the hottest days. You think of your mothers juice. You think of the excitement of finding your kyber crystal. You remember the anticipation to cut off your padawan braid. You again feel the relief of turning away from The Order. You reminisce on spending your first paycheck on blue noodles. You think of Olega, how arriving there you felt like something was there, waiting for you. You think of bumping into Qimir. You think of him seeing you as you are.

Your breaths are steady. Precise. You open your eyes.

Qimir’s eyes are set on you. With his teeth sucking in his lip.

“When you think of desire, what do you see?”

You look at him in front of you, and as he waits for you to close your eyes again. Your eyes stay open, seeing Qimir.

#qimir #the acolyte #qimir x reader #star wars #qimir the acolyte #manny jacinto #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #star wars x reader #fanfiction

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chantiepie · 7 months ago

Text

💞ESPRESSO💞 Yoongi +18

Yoongi x Reader

Synopsis: You are the complete opposite of Yoongi... And he can't get you out of his head.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, masturbation.

Words: 5k.

ko-fi ☕

Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh Is it that sweet? I guess so

You liked pink, feeling the morning sun caress your skin as you went for your morning run. Your favorite coffee was with milk, you enjoyed pop music, your shoes were always soft and colorful, perfectly matching the delicate bows adorning your wavy hair.

Yoongi was the complete opposite. He preferred black. At night, he went out to drink whiskey, finding comfort in the smooth burn of the drink. In the mornings, it was pure coffee, without the addition of milk or sugar, just the invigorating bitterness to awaken his senses. Ink stained his skin, almost covering it completely, each drawing telling a story he kept to himself.

He couldn't understand where that attraction to You came from. He spent hours thinking about pink bows, something he had never done before. It all started three months ago, when you walked into the bar accompanied by some people he already knew. The moment your eyes met his, it was as if a magnet drew him to you. Throughout the night, even as he tried to disguise it, it was difficult for Yoongi to look away.

He mentally thanked his friend when he called his group to join them, even though there was no direct interaction between you.

After 10 minutes, he watched you, laughing at everything that was happening, engaging in lively conversations with the group.

After that encounter, things went from bad to worse for Yoongi. He was never one to get emotionally involved with anyone, preferring casual or no-strings-attached relationships. However, your presence stirred something within him in a way he couldn't understand. You were everything he avoided: outgoing, funny, sweet, the type of girl who seemed destined for a conventional life, marrying some heir who majored in business at Harvard and now works at a major Wall Street investment firm.

In that regard, he wasn't wrong. Yoongi, after that night, didn't make any advances since he discovered during the conversation that you were committed and that your boyfriend couldn't attend because he was tired, having recently been promoted. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but think about you, even when he tried to keep his distance.

Say you can't sleep, baby, I know That's that me, espresso

The second time you guys met, during a game night, or as they call it when the real goal is just to drink, Taehyung asks about your boyfriend. Yoongi continues to pour whiskey pretending not to hear..You respond that he's not coming because he's been really busy lately and quickly try to change the subject by letting out your classic laughs. 'What a surprise,' Tae whispers while sending only an eye roll. You listen, ignoring afterwards. However, Yoongi realizes that something isn't right in your reaction.

During the small party, as he scans the room, most people are standing around smoking or chatting, and the lights are partially dimmed, emitting only a kind of light that slowly changes colors. He notices two shadows in a corner near the kitchen and quickly realizes it's you and Jimin talking. From the movements and body language, he can see your expression of disappointment, with a look of indignation that he can't ignore. It's not sadness, but rather a clear disappointment that hangs over you.

Min rises from the couch, deliberately ignoring the tempting gestures of the redhead seeking his attention. With determined steps, he crosses the room, passing by everyone without exchanging a word, and ascends the stairs towards the balcony on the upper floor of the house. His steps echo softly through the hallway as he approaches the open area of the balcony, where the night breeze welcomes him.

Upon reaching the balcony, Min takes a deep breath of the cool night air before reaching for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. He eagerly seeks nicotine, longing to find brief relief from the tensions surrounding him.

The glass door is open, inviting him to enter. He settles into one of the chairs, immersing himself in his own thoughts, when he notices someone approaching and sitting beside him. He recognizes the presence without needing to check.

"Can I have one?" The question is simple but loaded with meaning. Min needs no more than that to understand. Without uttering a word, he extends the cigarette along with the lighter, sharing the gesture in silent understanding

"Someone asked about you yesterday," Jungkook, a guy who recently started working at the same bar as Yoongi, said casually as the two of them organized the glasses to open the establishment.

Jungkook, the youngest among the staff, was still attending university, carving out his path for the future. The guy had moved to the capital in a rush, without having had time to plan properly. Now, he found himself dependent on his parents for expenses, which made him feel like a burden on his shoulders. Determined to become more independent and relieve the financial burden on his family, Jungkook began looking for part-time jobs or ones that were only on weekends, which led him to Hoseok, who introduced him to the opportunity to work at the bar.

The next morning was just another ordinary workday for Yoongi. As he organized the glasses, his mind wandered among the bar's tasks.

"Someone asked about me?" Yoongi asked, trying to disguise his interest, but his curiosity was evident in his tone of voice.

"Yes, it was a girl," Jungkook replied, grabbing more glasses to organize. "She seemed interested in getting to know you better."

A shiver ran down Yoongi's spine. Was it her? Was she finally showing some interest? He couldn't help but feel a mixture of hope and anxiety.

"Do you know her name?" Yoongi asked, trying to sound casual.

Jungkook thought for a moment before responding. "I think it was... Yuna? Yeah, I think that was it."

The excitement on his face quickly faded, turning into a bored expression. He remembered her, the redhead, she was very pretty, but his mind was already made up.

Jungkook noticed, but chose to stay silent about it, quickly changing the subject and focusing on Hoseok's birthday that would take place at the bar in a month.

I can't relate to desperation My "give a fucks" are on vacation And I got this one boy and he won't stop calling When they act this way, I know I got 'em

The third time he saw you... Well... He wasn't sure if he really saw you or if it was just his mind conjuring up your image. It was late at night, during his off-duty hours, and Yoongi was outside a liquor store, along with some customers who had become closer to him. The night was too hot to stay indoors, so he decided to accept one of their invitations to hang out. Let's just say it was just for drinking and smoking outside some liquor store downtown.

After many bottles, including one being accidentally dropped on the ground, he looked at a corner and there you were, or at least he thought it was you. You were wearing a blue dress that reached mid-thigh, adorned with a large bow of the same color adorning your hair from behind.

Suddenly, everything flooded back into his mind, as if a wave of memories hit him, turning into a tangled mess of soft colors, filled with smiles and shared moments, as if he were reliving a scene from a romantic movie. Among the flashes of memory, images of cute teddy bears and affectionate gestures emerged.

It seemed incredibly real, but it all happened so fast. He began to doubt his own sanity, something he had been doing for some time, and the idea of going after to find out who that person was came to his mind. Under the influence of the adrenaline that alcohol provided, he began to seriously consider the possibility of acting, taking advantage of the fact that nobody he was with knew you. This propelled him to overcome his shyness and hesitation, especially in front of the common circle of friends you shared.

One of the friends, probably taller and louder, nudged him on the shoulder with a wide smile. "Hey, Min! What are you staring at so intently? If you keep frowning like that, you'll get more wrinkles."

Yoongi shook his head, trying to play it off. "No, it's nothing. Just... I think I saw someone familiar over there on the corner."

The friend laughed, patting the pale man's back. "Ah, okay, we get it. Let's focus on the bottles, alright?"

Yoongi just nodded, but deep down, the glimpse he had of the figure on the corner continued to echo in his mind, like a soft melody he couldn't forget.

Walked in and dream came trued it for ya Soft skin and I perfumed it for ya

"Please, Madonna is a queen," you declare to Jimin with conviction as you both enter the venue, amidst a lively debate about pop divas worthy of a Twitter thread.

"Not just a queen, she's a goddess, along with Cher, baby," Jimin backs up his argument.

The bar belonged to Yoongi, and it was a cozy yet stylish establishment tucked away in a trendy corner of the city. The entrance greeted patrons with a neon sign flickering with warm hues, drawing them into a world where music and conversation flowed freely. Inside, dim lighting cast a soft glow over plush velvet couches and rustic wooden tables, creating an atmosphere that was both inviting and intimate. The walls were adorned with vintage posters of iconic musicians and artists, adding a touch of nostalgia to the modern ambiance. Behind the sleek bar counter, shelves lined with an impressive array of spirits and liquors glimmered under the spotlights, inviting guests to indulge in their favorite drinks. As you and Jimin settled into your seats, the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air.

The noise of the music in the bar was loud, but not loud enough to prevent Yoongi from hearing your voice as you entered the establishment. His eyes locked onto you, dressed in a pink dress that hugged your curves irresistibly, outlining each contour with elegance. The suggestive neckline added a touch of boldness, leaving anyone who looked at you drooling with admiration. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders, framing a delicately made-up face that exuded confidence and charm. You seemed like a vision of pure sophistication and sensuality, and a subtle hint of jealousy struck Yoongi, though it was something he would never admit out loud.

Finally, it was Hoseok's birthday party, and the bar was packed, considering he was so sociable, seemingly friends with half the city. Yoongi didn't know even 20% of the people there, but he had let his friend invite whoever he wanted as a gift.

As a way to not make it too obvious that he had a crush on you, Yoongi kept himself busy with party duties. He served drinks, helped set up with Jungkook and Taehyung, who, by some miracles, actually started to pitch in... More often than not, they ended up hindering rather than helping.

As they worked on the preparations, Yoongi occasionally cast furtive glances in your direction, observing your movements and conversations with the other guests.

He found himself looking at you again, chatting animatedly with Jimin. You whispered to each other and glanced around, seemingly engaged in a private conversation that no one else could hear. His attention was soon taken when the music stopped, and he saw the guest of honor for the night on the small stage used for live music nights.

"I'm glad everyone's here and I want to thank you all, but especially Yoongi," Hoseok pointed to the dark corner of the bar where his friend was busy making drinks. When Yoongi realized that all eyes were on him, he felt a warmth creeping up his cheeks. But what really embarrassed him was noticing that you were watching him with your big eyes and a smile that made your face glow. "He provided this exclusive space for us. This party would have been impossible without you, brother."

He definitely wasn't used to being the center of attention, and the sensation made him uncomfortable.

As the party was in full swing, a sweet pop song started playing, and that's when he noticed the commotion around him. You were closer to him, and he didn't know how that happened, but something slipped from your lips as you stared into his eyes:

"Oh, he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger."

You put the straw to your lips and gave him a slight smile. Before he realized it, you had vanished into the crowd.

But this empty space didn't remain so for long. Jimin, the guy he always saw you with everywhere. Something Yoongi suspected at first until he realized, through social media, that besides you being really friends, the guy with the big lips and cute smile had a girlfriend who strangely looked a lot like him. Jimin also got closer to Yoongi a bit before you showed up. He was friendly, not always, but had an aura of a playful boy.

"You got the message, right?" Jimin stopped in front of Yoongi and said this with a somewhat arrogant smile on his face as he nodded toward the upstairs, which not ironically was where Yoongi kept a second home when he wanted to escape from the world or felt too tired to go to his luxury apartment. The older man returned the smile, not wanting to show that he was lost.

"What are you two up to?"

"Why would we be up to anything?"

"You know you're always involved in something, right?" Yoongi raised his left eyebrow slightly as he questioned.

"Are we communicating in questions now?" Jimin repeated the act.

Yoongi remained silent, just waiting for the next response.

"Uh, I'm just getting things done here," he spoke again, pointing to Yoongi's house with his head. Jimin was already pushing him towards the stairs, not allowing Yoongi to think things through. "I need you to grab JK's bag, he left it there."

"Why is his bag in my house?"

"I don't know, just go already."

Yoongi climbed the stairs, trying to go unnoticed, a bit suspicious about what was going on. As he entered through the wooden door, he found the place completely silent and everything in place, the small living room and kitchen were in perfect order, with no sign of anything suspicious. He decided to turn back and return, but before he could do that, a loud noise coming from the bathroom made him freeze in place.

"That's a heavy door," the unmistakable female voice reached his ears, and in seconds, he understood all the strangeness that had occurred downstairs. You appeared in the hallway leading to the bedroom, perfect as always, but stumbling a bit with your tall white boots, most likely due to the force of the door.

Yoongi quickly turned around trying to leave the place unnoticed, but when he tried to open the door, it was locked from the outside. He mentally cursed Jimin for whatever the hell he was trying to do. He turned his gaze to you.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, trying to get your attention. Your surprised expression gave away that something was wrong, but he could see a hint of shyness glimmering in your eyes.

"Yoo-o-ngi?" You cleared your throat, still a bit incredulous. "Is something wrong? I needed to wash my hands. You know? Drinks, dancing, spilled... Jungkook told Jimin and that you authorized me to come here because of the bathroom line... Um, that's it, I guess?" It was like a meltdown, you spoke hurriedly in seconds, Yoongi barely caught on. That nervousness had an explanation.

What Yoongi didn't know was that you were enchanted by his figure, the way he remained mysterious, his large and firm hands holding the whiskey glass... Yoongi was far from the type of guy you were used to dating and attracting, but people like him were your ideal type of guy, the one you imagined before falling asleep or when watching a romantic comedy. It wasn't just a crush, you genuinely had developed an admiration for him in this short period of time. His organization and the way he fought for his goals were like a moment of silence in the daily chaos.

It was difficult for you to find a moment to talk to him because it seemed like the only thing he knew how to do was work. Besides, it would be strange to show up alone at his bar, right?

But it was becoming complicated to hide when you two met. Most of your friends had already noticed your glances, you weren't someone who could pretend. Now, in front of him, alone in a place illuminated only by the moonlight, it was difficult to hide.

"Jungkook didn't warn you, did he? I'm sorry, I-I..."

"Y/N," Yoongi's voice echoed through the hallway, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes met in the dim light, sparking with palpable tension. You held your breath, feeling a wave of desire course through your body. Yoongi's intense gaze pinned you in place, as if you were ensnared in a spell. You could feel the electricity in the air, the attraction pulsing between them like an invisible current. Your lips parted, ready to form words that were never spoken, but the sound died in your throat. You couldn't decipher what he was feeling.

"Just shut up," that wasn't what you expected. "I think I know exactly what's going on."

The tone of voice used left you feeling flushed, it was embarrassing. You tried to ignore all the reactions of your body and began to think about the events. And when you realized the plot, all your eyebrows raised and your cheeks violently reddened in understanding.

Jimin had convinced you to make a move today.

"The plan is easy." He spoke with calculated confidence, as if conducting a masterclass. The images on the TV screen flickered, displaying a variety of suggestive outfits. "You throw him some charm, something subtle but not too subtle, it needs to be teasing but not overly, something like a discreet invitation," Jimin explained, sliding the slides skillfully.

"I'll choose the clothes that please me," you retorted, with a tone of disapproval.

"Your clothes already have a vibe of another reserved, so it's all right," he replied with a mischievous smile. "Continuing, second step: you'll touch up your makeup in the bathroom upstairs. You know how it is, at these parties the main bathroom always gets crowded. Are you understanding?"

"Yes, Professor Park," you replied, feeling somewhat frustrated. "But why do I need to touch up my makeup?"

"Think with me, Y/N," Jimin said, adopting a persuasive tone. "That will probably happen after a while. I want to make sure that, by the time he sees you and you talk, you look absolutely stunning." You trusted Jimin's guidance, even if the reasoning behind it didn't make much sense.

"So, I'll lead the conversation with him and keep him around. When you come back, you'll be ready. You'll throw the charm, disappear, and then come back triumphant," Jimin concluded, outlining the plan with unwavering confidence.

Your hand automatically hits your forehead. You felt a little humiliated, especially considering his strange reaction.

"Yoongi, what did he tell you to come up here?" You don't look at him, avoiding any proximity.

"Does that really matter?" He was in front of you, making it impossible to look away. He saw you biting your lips in a moment of pure impulsivity, and that aroused him to the true Yoongi, the guy who doesn't need to woo someone, he fucks without a care.

He leans towards you, his lips meeting yours. His lips were soft, but you could hardly feel them, due to the force with which he grabbed your waist with one hand and the other behind your head, pulling your hair slightly. Their bodies pressed against each other, seeking relief for the tension that had built up between them.

You moaned in the form of a sigh, and he let out a arrogant chuckle in the middle of the kiss.

"Y/N... We haven't even started and you're already moaning like this?" Yoongi didn't want an answer, but he leaned back slightly from your face, pulling your hair again, this time with force, forcing you to look at him. He took advantage of your stretched neck to lick it up to your ear.

"So needy," he put his tongue back into your mouth.

Suddenly, Yoongi returned to what he was before he met you. The arrogance was in the air. You could only moan and murmur.

When one of his hands slipped between your legs, you choked in the middle of the kiss, stopping in alarm, but that didn't discourage Yoongi, who continued to move his fingers lightly over your panties.

Your mouths were close to each other, but remained separated, so close that Yoongi could feel your breath hitting his lips. Some strands of saliva still connected you. The older man's movements began to get faster, his reactions were making you embarrassed, you were about to climax without him even having touched you properly. A finger slipped into your wet hole.

"Yoongi," you were in ecstasy, broken, looking at his face, eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed, and mouth slightly open. You felt his breath close to yours, sighing, but without touching, it was a tease. Yoongi's hand slid to your jaw and held it firmly. He knew you were close by the pulsation of your pussy and the grip on his fingers.

"Yoongi... I'm going to cum, please don't stop, please," you whimpered as the tingling began from inside your belly, he kept up the pace; it was so wet there.

"Yes, fuck, cum on my fingers," that was enough.

And so you did, in small gasps and with tightly closed eyes, you melted over him, almost falling to the ground.

You barely noticed when he put you on top of the kitchen table and, with a gentle push, laid you down, pulling up your dress to your waist. Yoongi's large rings made contact with the warm skin of your belly, bringing more sighs.

Yoongi looked into your eyes asking for permission, receiving only a pleading look to continue. You threw your head back, completely lying down. It was only possible to hear the metallic sound of the belt being opened and a light sound of his pants falling to his ankles. Peeking, you came across the most promiscuous scene you had ever seen. Yoongi looking directly at your pussy still covered by panties, with his lips between his teeth, while he masturbated lightly. He grunted like an animal before approaching.

He pushes the panties aside and slowly slides into you, earning a dragged moan from you. He takes advantage of his position and, running his hand over the outside of your thighs, he pulls you closer, returning to vigorously swinging his hips towards you.

His breathing becomes heavier as Yoongi's gaze fixates on the action that is taking place. He is ignoring everything as if that were the only thing that mattered, just listening to the sound of their skins colliding.

"Don't stop," your voice comes out in a whisper, knowing that he is close to climaxing. The movements accelerate more than possible, and Yoongi's voice becomes a tangle of grunts and sighs until he buries himself deep inside you.

You feel every movement of his, every part of him inside you, an overwhelming sensation that makes your whole body tremble. Your breathing becomes heavy, your heart beats irregularly, and the heat between you is palpable, enveloping you in an intense aura of desire and passion.

The last thing you remember is him with you in the shower, bathing you while you played around like two idiots. The hot water running down your naked bodies, the laughter echoing in the small space of the bathroom. Shortly after, without even bothering to dry off, you both fall onto the bed, your bodies still wet, but your hearts filled with an intense and profound connection.

Jimin would be punished for lying.

Is it that sweet? I guess so That's that me, espresso

Two men were inside a large black car parked in front of the bar across the street. The party had ended an hour ago, nearly 7 a.m., but they remained there for an important reason.

"Did it work?" The man with large eyes asks.

"Believe me, I don't give it five months for Y/N to show up with a grumpy mini-Min ready to cry on my shoulder," he says, taking another sip from the cold beer can, taken from Yoongi's special stock, but he knew he deserved it, as they had taken care of the place and closed after the party.

"Anyway, I hadn't even noticed... This... um... thing they have... Jimin, when you wanted to talk to me, I thought it was about Yuna," the other comments.

"Haha, that was a lie. She's obviously attractive. I just wanted to test him a little before leaving my best friend in his hands," Jimin says naturally, gesturing with his hand to support his own plan.

"Lie?" Jungkook turns his body fully towards Jimin, with his eyebrows deeply furrowed and his arms open in indignation.

Jimin puts his hand on his shoulder and follows his gaze to the second floor of the establishment.

"You know, a good cupid needs to ensure all possibilities." Jimin checks his phone one last time before leaving, and only one notification catches his attention.

"Your NETFLIX login is no longer available. Would you like to sign in with another account?"

A scream was heard throughout the neighborhood.

Hello everyone. Just popping in to let you know that next week I'll be posting the second chapter of Get This Man <3.

#bts #yoongi #yoongi fanfic #jimin #jungkookfanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #bts au #jung hoseok #myg #bts suga #suga fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter's King 25

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: 😁.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The queen snores in her bed. At last, peaceful. You leave her as she is, piled in bedclothes amid the glow of the low-burning fire. You emerge into the corridor, silent, and the door drags closed with a scrape at your cautious pull. The shadow by the pillar shifts.

You glance over at the guard. Gilles has been relieved of his watch and another man stands in his place. You think you recognise him. He must’ve been one of those which helped the queen seize your cart. The road feels so very long ago and yet there is still much ahead of you.

“Hold,” the guard warns and gives a whistle, the noise echoing along the high ceilings.

There’s scuffling further down and you turn to face another silhouette, this one slender and lithe like a wraith. Ezme steps into the light of a lamp and stare at you placidly. She beckons with a hand.

“Come, maid, I will show you your quarters,” she says.

You bow your head and go to her. It is unusual you wouldn’t be left to find your way to the servants wing yourself, likely near the kitchens, and yet you are much too weary to question any of it. She turns and you walk at her side. The promise of sleep, even if only a little, has you aching to recline.

The corridors are quiet but for the soft pad of your footsteps. Fewer lamps light the way than in the daytime and the path grows black. You follow the stirring of the women next to you as she carries on. She touches your arm to stop you, nudging you to the right. You wait and listen as she lifts a latch, the metallic noise cutting through the din, and hinges creak loudly.

She guides you into the dark chamber by your wrist. It is lit only by moonlight and a brazier burning at the foot of a broad bed. The door clanks shut and you shiver. Ezme moves around you, her skirts brushing your own, and she goes to the low mattress. You squint, these are not servants’ rooms. The bed frame, the brazier, the space swathed in darkness; more often, bodies crowded over bags of hay or on the scant tatters of blankets.

“You will sleep here,” she says softly, “with me. You will be safe.”

“Safe? From what?” You croak and rub your cheeks as they burn with fatigue.

“Need you ask,” she replies knowingly, “it is much too late for those questions. Come, lay, the morning will be upon us swiftly.”

You don’t argue. She is right. You go to bed and remove your apron and cap. You fold them and put them to the foot of the mattress. She moves a dark square over the blankets towards you. You pause and reach to touch the obscured shape as the dim light offers only vague outline. It’s soft, furry. You feel around and find the familiar rough patch sewn into the lining. It’s the king’s cloak.

“You will want to keep that close,” she says, “the soldier made certain to leave it for you.”

“Bryce?” You wonder aloud, “is he your friend?”

“He is a familiar face,” she shrugs and pulls her dress over her head. “The Lord of the Castle likes him well enough.”

You shift the cloak over your apron and strip off your outer layer, standing only in your shift. You mirror the maid across from you and slip beneath the thick blankets. A sigh escapes you as your muscles finally release the tension of the day. She is still on her back as you lay upon your side, staring at the low flicker of the brazier against the wall.

Curiosity nips at your exhaustion. How does a servant come upon a room like this? Is it simply at your expense? For whatever reason Bryce has bid her to keep you close. Certainly, the old soldier is overly cautious.

Your eyes close before you can think very much on the unexpected resting spot. The day has been turbulent and full of many surprises. You only dread those that await you on the morrow.

⚔️

Ezme wakes you from a heavy slumber. You both dress in the morning hue, rinsing from a basin before you face another day. You leave the cloak on the assurance it will be waiting for you. A thought glimmers of what the king might think should it go missing. Would he blame you?

You emerge and part from your nocturnal companion. You procede to the queen’s chambers to find them open and the corridor a titter. A pair of servants, themselves dozy, carry one of her chests through as her shrill cry careens through. You approach as the steadfast guard with the fiery hair watches you with narrow eyes.

You peer within and find the Queen Jazlene digging through the contents, tossing fabrics without a care, in a desperate search. You are stunned to find her awake with the sunrise but not disheartened. It might be a good omen.

"Where is it?" She throws her hands up and scowls as her eyes skim around, "you," she points in your direction, "where is my blue dress? The one with the silver lace? It must be here!"

"Your highness, perhaps another chest," you step inside.

"You did remember to pack it, didn't you?" She accuses as she stands, "I did bid it."

"Yes, your highness," you affirm, though it was Merinda who would've taken the order. "Shall I go look in the luggage?"

"Oh, yes, you shall," she struts toward you, "I will not be dressed as some northern wench for the banquet."

Banquet? You withhold your curiosity and bow your head. You have a task and it is always better to tend to it without question.

You spin and hurry from the room. You nearly collide with another servant, a tray in their hands. Another chore you needn't attend. You press on and find your way through the kitchens to the rear of the castle.

The luggage remains mostly in the stables which entails a venture into the wintry without. You mourn the cloak upon the foot of the bed but it would be worse to flaunt the king's patch so heedlessly. You tuck your hands into your sleeves and put your chin down before you push through, the door resisting your strength as the wind blows against it.

You stagger through and the heavy wood slams just as quickly as you clear its breadth. The gales are strong but the snow has relented. You see dark bodies speckled amid the white as powder dusts up in heaps. The servants work to clear away the thick piles and make pathways around the castle's yard.

You cross to the stables and delve into the stink of horses and hay. The beast nicker and neigh as you pass as others doze without notice. You find the luggage, chests still upon carts as others litter the unswept floor. If you find the dress, it might just reek of horse.

You recognise the crest of Debray upon a chest and the painted sides of a few others. You unstrap several lids and raise them, the cold nipping but sweat rising nonetheless. The longer you sift through the contents, the number your hands and fingers become, the clumsier you are.

A patch of blue, so pale and shiny it's almost white, gleams from beneath the heaps of cloth. You yank upon it, bringing out several other gowns with the effort, and claim victory. You do not neglect to suss out a pair of slippers and a hair net you think might go with it. You set it aside and pack away the mess you've made, breathless from the expense.

You hug your lot and curl around the next row of horses, searching out Daisy as she leans her head against Chestnut's dark neck. Their eyes widen at your approach and they huff almost in time. You pat their noses before you apologise that you must leave them.

Once more, the violent gusts greet you in the open, sending a spiral of snow around you and dusting you with the chill. Your teeth chatter as the wind pushes you from behind and fill your skirts. You can hardly aim your steps as you end up against the castle wall, sidling along until you're at the door.

Within, the cold follows and lingers in your bones. You flit through the kitchens, pots steam as the large ovens blaze and bodies cluster and clash. You barely avoid a collision as you pass into the corridor. As you step around one figure, another appears.

“Aye, there the mouse is,” Bryce greets as he folds a leaf around his finger, readying it to pop in his mouth, “I see she’s got you at work already.”

“Sir,” you stop before the soldier, “how was your night?”

“Eh, dark,” he shrugs, “and you? The other maid saw to ya?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. If ye can, stay close to that one at the feast,” he girds, “she’s wise. She knows well how to bide the shadows.”

You nod and hug the fabric, another shiver flowing through you. He tilts his head as he continues to play with the leaf between his fingers.

“Don’t tell me you were outside without a cloak,” he accuses, “where’s yours, then?”

“Sir, it was only for a moment--”

“This cold does not soften for summer maids,” he tuts and shakes his head, “you will make yerself sick and who should have to deal with it, hm? Who should have to hear the king rant of it?”

“Apologies, I was only in a rush,” you pout.

“Don’t be sorry,” he steps closer and touches the dress in your arms, “in a rush for flimsy gown. These halls are too cold for satin.”

“The queen bids it--”

“Oh, I would expect,” he chortles.

You purse your lips, slanting them one way then the next, as you recall your task. You watch him pinch the silk before he rescinds his reach. He puts the leaf in his mouth and chews.

“You said feast and the queen said banquet? Is that this evening?” You wonder.

“Certainly, is,” he sucks on the sweet leaves, “Lord Vesemir would celebrate our departure most fervently but as any good winter lord, he would not send his guests out in the cold without full bellies.”

“Oh,” you utter thoughtfully.

“And I suppose, it will appease the queen,” he adds, “for a time before she is once more miserable in the wildlands.”

“And we are to leave on the morrow?”

“Aye, by the nightfall,” he crosses his arms. “They must clear the pass and ready the horses and carts. It will be a labour but best we move on.”

“I believe so too, sir,” you teethe your lip.

“Aye, you are prudent, as ever,” he lowers his gaze to the floor, “mouse.”

You shift on your soles and exhale solemnly, “I must...”

“Yes, very well, go on to your queen,” he steps aside, “I must find our king. I suspect he might be hounding the lord of this castle, if not sparring with him.”

There is a reluctance between you as you carry on your way; Bryce to one wing and you to the other, as if to mark the divide of king and queen. You come up the stairs and hurry along, the queen’s doors still ajar. Her voice carries still and servant scuttles out as a plate is hurled after them, crashing onto the floor as it narrowly avoids their foot.

You slow and cautiously peek into the room. The queen shakes her head and pinches a morsel of brown meat on her plate, eyeing it with scrutiny. For a moment, her face twists, then she forces herself to shove it in her mouth. She chews as a battle rages across her features.

Her gaze is drawn by your movement and she gulps down her mouthful. She stands, nearly overturning the stool upon which the tray rests. She brings her hands up as she storms over to snatch your armful. You back away as she lets the dress unfurl and you bend to gather up the slippers and hairnet as they fall.

“Ah, wonderful, a proper attire for my first proper appearance as queen,” she beams and dances around with the dress, “oh, my hair, my hair. You must braid it for me.”

She lays the gown on the bed and gives it a longing touch before she retreats. She clammers to the plain wooden table upon which she’s had a looking glass propped up. She leans forward as you stand behind her. Her hair remains in the braids she’s worn for some time, looking wilted and ratty from neglect.

“Yes, your highness.”

“I suppose the king feels horrid for his display yesterday,” she preens at herself. “He must realise he cannot keep a lady like me cooped up.”

You think to mention that it is more send-off than anything. That is on Lord Vesemir’s whim, rather than King Geralt’s. At least that’s how you have it. Yet, you know well not to argue. Let Jazlene believe as she well and the world is always a bit more pleasant.

You set to undoing her hair, gently as you notice how dry it is, whether from the cold or the air. She snaps her fingers and demands another servant bring her the tray off food. She picks at it as you unwind her hair and let it free.

She looks at herself one way then the other. She smiles and wipes her mouth with her sleeve.

“I am still pretty, aren’t I?” She asks, “I will be after the child comes, won’t I?”

You swallow and nod, “yes, your highness.”

“Gilles, Gilles,” she chimes and waves a hand, “come, come,” she turns in her seat and you pull away from her, not wanting to tug on her locks. “Tell me, how pretty am I?”

The man steps into the doorway and clears his throat. He looks as sheepish as you’ve ever seen. You glance back at Jazlene as she poses and bats her lashes.

“You are beautiful, my queen, as the summer sunsets,” he avows.

There’s a click in your head, a wriggle in your chest, and a churning in your stomach. No. No, it can’t be. She wouldn’t betray her marriage.

Yet you thought the very same of her husband. That’s different. The king rules all, even the queen. And that she so garishly flaunts her fleeting affections. But how can you judge, when your own folly looms over you like a cloud?

You think of the king’s story; Cerrill and Wynifred and their forbidden romance. It tints in a different effect now, it aligns more evenly, for you do not see this ending well for either queen or guard should they stray. Just as you don’t see yourself faring any better.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #winter's king #the witcher

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perpl3x · 4 months ago

Text

Late Nights - Logan Howlett / Wolverine

Summary: Logan has phoned you on numerous occasions for a late night hook up. Tonight is no different. Pairing: fwb!reader (afab) x Logan, sub!reader x dom!Logan Words: 5,889 Tags: explicit filth 18+, praising, dirty talk, sex, begging, mentions of alcohol Notes: sorry for the long word count, I got a bit carried away. whoops.

The apartment door pulled open, and a rugged Logan stood before you. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and a shadow of stubble covered his chin, nestled between two sideburns. He was wearing a fitted black t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and some well-worn bootcut jeans that had clearly seen better days, frayed at the hems and faded at the knees. His eyes, a piercing shade of navy, seemed to look right through you, carrying both warmth and a hint of mystery.

He glanced down at you, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, revealing a dimple that softened his rugged features. His eyes glinted with a mixture of mischief and warmth, a playful sparkle that seemed to invite you into his world. He gestured for you to step inside with a casual flick of his hand, the movement confident and familiar.

His voice, rough and gravelly like gravel underfoot, held a teasing edge as he drawled, “You gonna stand there all night, bub, or are you gonna come in and keep me company?” The words rolled off his tongue with a lazy charm, the kind that made you feel both welcome and intrigued.

As you stepped inside, you were immediately met by the amalgamation of smoke and worn leather, intertwined with his own natural musk. The air was thick with it, creating an intoxicating and familiar scent that enveloped you like a warm embrace. The aroma of his favorite brand of cigars mingled with the rich, earthy scent of old leather, emanating from the cracked, well-used sofa and the leather jacket draped casually over a chair.

The faint sound of music, now more distinct, filled the room as the vinyl quietly spun on the record player. The charming crackle of static added a nostalgic touch, the slight imperfections of the analog sound giving it a warm, authentic quality. As the melody emerged, you quickly recognized it as Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the shadows, revealing the rugged charm of the room. The atmosphere was unmistakably Logan's, a blend of nostalgia and understated sophistication. The walls were a collage of eclectic posters, showcasing his love for gritty rock bands and iconic classic films. A large, flat-screen TV dominated one corner, perched on a sturdy, timeworn wooden cabinet that bore the scars of age and use. The cabinet was flanked by a powerful stereo system and a vintage DVD player, each piece meticulously maintained, evidence of Logan's appreciation for quality and craftsmanship. The TV's faint glow was the room's primary source of light, casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls. On a small table nearby, a few records lay scattered, their worn covers hinting at Logan's enduring love for the warm, rich tones of vinyl.

Logan sauntered over to the makeshift bar tucked into the corner of the kitchen, the battered wooden countertop bearing the marks and scars of countless years of use. He reached for a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, its label worn and peeling, and poured himself a generous measure. The amber liquid caught the dim light as it splashed into the glass, reflecting a warm glow. Without a word, he poured a glass for you, the gesture casual but welcoming.

As he did so, you discarded your shoes and coat before settling into the couch, feeling the weight of the day sinking into the cushions along with your body. "I've been thinking about you today," you call out nonchalantly.

Logan's eyes flicked to you over the rim of the glass, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He took a swig from his glass, the whiskey burning a trail down his throat, leaving a familiar warmth in its wake. A satisfied sigh escaped him, the sound low and gravelly. With a nod, he ambled over to the couch, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, each step resonating with the weight of experience.

He set both drinks down on the coffee table with a practiced ease, the amber liquid glinting softly in the low light. Next to the glasses, an ashtray held a freshly stubbed cigar, its fragrant smoke lingering in the air, adding to the room’s hazy atmosphere.

He sat down beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he settled in. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the soft crackle of the music playing in the background and the faint hum of the city outside. Logan's hand found its way to your knee, his fingers gently tracing circles, the touch light and teasing, yet grounded in a comforting familiarity.

"Been thinking about me, huh?" he asked, his voice low and husky, the words a seductive rumble against your ear. His breath was warm, a puff of air that sent a shiver down your spine, mingling with the intoxicating scent of whiskey, leather, and cigar smoke that clung to him. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement.

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes slightly as the warmth from his breath lingers on your skin, a comforting sensation that sends a gentle shiver through you. A small smile plays on your lips, the corners lifting in a mixture of contentment and affection. Your hand instinctively reaches to cover his on your knee, fingers brushing lightly against his. “Mmm, I might have,” you admit, your voice soft and breathy, almost a whisper. The words are wrapped in a hint of playful intrigue.

As you pull your hand away from his to take a sip of your drink, your gaze lingers on his, the room's dim light casting deep shadows across his rugged features. You lean in closer, the warmth of your breath brushing against his ear, sending a shiver through the space between you. Your arm falls back to its previous place, lightly grazing his side as you whisper, "You know, it's been a long day. I could use a release." Your hand trails up Logan's arm, your fingers dancing along the defined muscles, feeling the subtle strength beneath his shirt. As you pull away, your touch lingers just a moment longer, leaving him with a smoldering, sultry smile.

Logan let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and sending shivers down your spine. "I think I can help you with that, bubs," he said, his voice heavy with innuendo as his hand snaked its way to the nape of your neck and gently tugged you towards him, fervently kissing your lips.

His tongue sought entry, and as it met yours, it danced with a hunger that mirrored the desire in his eyes. The kiss deepened, his hand sliding down from your neck, to your back, pulling you closer, the heat between you both intensifying. Despite his hands being large and rugged, he somehow managed to touch you like fine china that he didn't want to break, even despite the lust and desperation.

He pulled away, his breathing heavy, the desire in his eyes unmistakable. "You know, I've been thinking about how I'm going to bend you over this couch, your pretty ass in the air, just begging for it," he said, his voice thick with lust. A shiver ran down your spine at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hands on your body. You nodded, biting your lip in response, the anticipation of his touch making your heart race.

"Would you like that, sweetcheeks?" He asked softly, his hot breath fanning against you neck as he gruffly whispered into your ear, still keeping a firm grip on you as his hands burried into the sides of your hips.

A shiver ran down your spine at the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hands on your body. You nodded, biting your lip in response, the anticipation of his touch making your heart race.

Logan's fingers dug gently into your sides, urging you to verbalize your desire. "Say it for me, bubs. Tell me you want that," he uttered, his voice a sultry rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His breath was hot against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air in the room. He pulled away slightly to look at you, to drink you all in.

You hesitated for a moment, the words catching in your throat as you looked up into his intense gaze. His eyes, deep and piercing, seemed to hold you captive, the world around you fading into insignificance. "Yes," you finally breathed, your voice dripping with desire. "I need you Logan. I want you to fill me up until I can't even think straight - until I'm nothing but a moaning mess begging for you to let me cum."

Logan's eyes darkened with satisfaction as you gave in to your desires, a satisifed and carnal smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasted no time in acting on your words, pushing you back into the cushions of the couch laying you down on your back, his body towering over you as he propped himself on his forearms, the muscles straining as he leaned in. His lips eagerly worked on the skin of your neck, the stubble of his beard scratching your delicate skin in a way that sent shivers of both pleasure and discomfort down your spine. You let out an airy breath, your head falling back against the cushions as his mouth trailed lower, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

As Logan's lips traced a path down your neck, his words grumbled against your skin. "I'm going to worship every inch of your perfect little body," he growled, his voice thick with lust. The intensity of his touch made you squirm under him, the anticipation of what was to come building within you. You could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of him, as he loomed over you, his presence commanding and intoxicating.

Instinctively, your body reacted to his touch as you arched your back towards him urging to close the gap between you - needing every inch of your being to physically be connected. His fingers began to work on the buttons of your blouse, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring each moment. As the garment fell open, revealing the lacy bra that encased your breasts, he leaned in to nuzzle your cleavage, the scratch of his beard a sensation that mixed both pleasure and discomfort.

Logan continued to lavish attention on you, his large hands cupping your breasts through the lace, his lips tenderly sucking and nipping at the skin of your exposed chest, hot breath causing goosebumps to flare over your skin. "I can't wait to hear you moan for me, bubs," he uttered with the usual gravel in his voice, lust laced in his words. Your eyes fluttered shut, the sensations overwhelming as he continued to worship your body.

As he helped you slip out of the blouse, now unbuttoned and sliding effortlessly from your shoulders, his gaze shifted downward, drinking in the sight of you. His attention lingered on your bare legs that just peaked out of your skirt, his admiration evident in the way his eyes darkened with appreciation. His large hands moved to your thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh, a gentle squeeze that sent a thrill coursing through you. The warmth of his touch spread like wildfire, igniting every nerve, as he explored the contours of your skin with an almost reverent focus. His grip was firm yet tender.

"You're so fucking beautiful, bubs," Logan murmured, his voice thick with desire as he leaned in to nip at your inner thigh, his beard grazing against your skin. The mixture of pleasure and discomfort from the stubble had you gasping, your hands gripping the fabric of the couch as you arched into his touch. His capable hands traced higher, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt, the fabric tight against your curves. He pulled it down slowly, his eyes never leaving your body as it was revealed.

As Logan pulled down your skirt with ease, revealing your matching lacy thong, his gaze lingered on the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire. The lace of the thong hugged your curves, the material sheer enough to offer glimpses of your arousal, the dampness evident against the fabric.

The sight of you, laid out before him, your body flushed and eager, was a sight that turned Logan on immensely. The flush of your cheeks, the way you bit your lip as you squirmed under his touch, the way your breath hitched with each touch, were all sights and sounds that fueled his lust. It was clear that you wanted him just as much.

You began to toy with the hem of Logan's dark t-shirt that hugged his physique, your fingers tracing the fabric as a subtle signal for him to remove it. Logan took the hint quickly, reaching up and sliding it over his head. His muscles flexed in the dim lighting, the shadows accentuating the chiseled contours of his abs and the broad expanse of his chest. The light highlighted the dark body hair that spanned his torso, a rugged trail enticingly leading down to the waistband of his jeans.

Veins stood out on his forearms, their prominence accentuated by the strain as he wrestled with the shirt. His pelvis, with a few veins visible just peeking above the waistband of his jeans, bulged with the effort, adding to the raw, masculine allure of his figure.

You couldn't help but stare, admiration and lust mingling in your gaze. Logan's body was a sight to behold; every muscle was defined and sculpted, each curve and ridge a result of relentless training and perseverance. "Fuck..." is all you could mutter, drinking in his rugged appearance that only fuelled your carnal desire for him.

With a cocky grin, Logan chuckled softly, clearly reveling in his own chiseled, god-like presence. "Do you like what you see, bub? Don't worry darlin', it's all yours." The confidence in his expression was palpable, a mix of pride and self-assuredness that only added to his already commanding aura. His amusement was not just in his smile, but in the way his eyes sparkled with a sense of satisfaction, as if he were fully aware of the effect his imposing physique had on you.

Logan's large hands continued to roam, his fingertips grazing the edge of your thong. He trailed his fingers lower, the pads of his digits pressing against the fabric that covered your clit. His touch was gentle, yet firm, as he began to rub in slow, deliberate circles, feeling the heat emanating from you through the thin material.

"Look at you, bub. You're dripping for me, aren't you? Can't wait for me to fill you up, can you? Aren't you such a good girl for me, hmm? Your pretty pussy all ready for me. That's what you want, isn't it darlin'?"

Logan didn't give you any time to respond as he dove down to you again, he captured your lips in another kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as his fingers continued to tease you. The sensation of his fingers against your clit, combined with the warmth of his kiss, had you moaning into his mouth. Logan loved the sound, his own arousal growing with each moan that escaped you.

His fingers continued to expertly rub against your clit, teasing the sensitive nub as he leaned in. Fervently, he pulled away nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. With a wicked grin that you couldn't see, he pressed his lips to your neck, sucking gently, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses that sent shivers down your spine. Your lips parted in a silent plea for him to return, your body craving the warmth, the moisture, the intimacy.

"You're so desperate for this cock, aren't you? Beg for it, bub." His head still buried into your neck, you couldn't see the carnal desire that you knew was laced in his expression but you could hear it in his gravelly uttering. "I bet you'd do anything for it, wouldn't you? Tell me how much you need it, and I might just give it to you."

For Logan, there was no greater pleasure than hearing you admit your need for his cock, the raw, visceral desire in your voice. The thought of his thick, member filling you, stretching you wide, your wet, tight walls gripping him with every thrust, sent a jolt of satisfaction through him. He imagined your face flushed and contorted with pleasure, your moans and cries growing more frantic as he pounded into you, your body arching to meet his every thrust, your voice stuttering out his name in a primal cry of ecstasy.

Logan's own arousal was a tangible thing, a throbbing, insistent presence straining against the confines of his jeans. The outline was stark and unmistakable.

Your breath hitched in your throat as Logan's fingers continued to tease your clit, the sensation overwhelming. "Please, Logan, I need your cock. I need you to fill me up, to make me yours. I'll do anything, just please, please fuck me."

The plea for Logan's cock spilled from your lips, the words tumbling out in a desperate, ragged rush. Your voice shook with a raw, unabashed honesty, the vulnerability and need in your tone leaving no doubt as to the depth of your desire for him. You were painfully aware of how pathetic your begging might sound, but in that moment, you were utterly helpless before him. Logan was your undoing, the one who could strip you of all sense of control, reducing you to a quivering, desperate wreck in his presence.

"Is that all you've got, bub? I want to hear you really beg, show me how much you want it. Tell me what you'd do to have this cock inside you." His voice was a low, gravelly rumble, as he continued to torment you with his fingers, the cruel tease driving you mad with lust. He brought his teeth to the tender skin of your neck and gentle nibbled at it.

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and desire. Logan's demand for more left you squirming beneath his touch, your body aching for release. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you tried to gather your courage. The thought of submitting to him, of groveling, made your core clench with a heady mix of lust and shame.

"I'll do anything, please, I'll worship your cock. I'll bend over and take it deep and hard, let you use me however you want. Just let me have you, Logan, please, I need you."

The words were a raw, unfiltered expression of your desire, a testament to the depths of your need for him. You knew you sounded degrading, but in that moment, it was the only way to express the urgency and intensity of your desire. You were willing to do whatever it took to have him, to finally feel the blissful fullness of his cock inside you.

Logan withdrew his hand, a smug grin on his face as he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbow. He gazed at your flushed, disheveled form, taking a moment to savor the sight of your desperation and need for him. Your eyes, heavy-lidded and sultry, bore into him with a yearning that was both intoxicating and exhilarating.

"You'll let me use you, huh? Just how I want?" His voice was thick with lust as he considered your offer, the image of your eager, submissive body a temptation he found difficult to resist. "Well, bub, if you're offering yourself up like that, I think it's only fair that I take what you're offering."

He pushed himself up from the sofa, his skin was flushed, heat rising in his cheeks as the intensity of the situation and his own desire became apparent. His sinewy muscles seemed to ripple beneath his skin, the light catching on the slight sheen of sweat that had begun to form. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

As Logan fumbled with the buckle of his belt, the action slow and deliberate, his broad chest heaved with each breath. The dark, piercing eyes that met yours were fierce and intent, seemingly trying to undress you with their heated gaze. The air between you grew thick with tension, charged with the electricity of desire as he practically eye-fucked you, leaving you squirming in your lingerie on the couch.

Once the buckle was undone, Logan took hold of the belt, beginning to carefully unthread it from the loops of his jeans. With each smooth, deliberate motion, the tension in the room grew. He discarded the belt to the floor, the metal hitting the hardwood with a soft clink.

Taking a momentary break from his task, Logan reached for the glass of whiskey that still sat untouched on the coffee table. He downed the amber liquid in one smooth gulp, his throat working as he swallowed. A satisfied hum escaped him as he licked his lips, the sensation of the whiskey warming his insides. With a heavy hand, he placed the glass back on the table, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Logan's hands moved to the button of his jeans, slowly sliding it through the hole and popping it open. He began to lower his pants, the fabric resisting his movements, bunching around his thighs. As he freed himself from the confines of his jeans, his hand found its way to the bulge in his boxers. His fingers brushed against the hot, rigid length of his cock, rubbing through the fabric in a slow, teasing motion. The sight of him pleasuring himself, even through the barrier of his underwear, was enough to make you squirm on the couch, the need for him growing more insistent with each passing second.

Logan's voice, deep and gravelly, filled the room as he spoke, the teasing lilt in his tone sending shivers down your spine. "Do you want me to show you what you've been thinking about all day, bubs?"

He continued to toy with his cock, the way his fingers moved over the fabric a tantalizing dance that left you aching for more. You could almost feel the heat radiating from him, the thick, veiny length straining against the confines of his boxers, begging for release.

You nodded eagerly, your eyes locked onto his hand as it continued to stroke over his cock. The pulsing, throbbing need between your legs grew more and more unbearable, an insatiable hunger that demanded to be sated. You fought the urge to start pleasuring yourself, knowing full well that Logan enjoyed making you wait, enjoy the anticipation, before finally giving in to your desires.

Logan's smirk deepened, a sly glint in his eyes, his voice a low, husky rumble. "Use your words, darlin'. Let me hear that pretty voice of yours. Put those lips of yours to work."

Logan's teasing continued, his tone alluring as he urged you on. "Come on, you've been such a good girl already. Say 'please'." Instead of simply stroking, he now gripped his erection, the outline of his cock now painfully obvious through the thin fabric of his boxers. The sight of it, combined with Logan's relentless teasing, was enough to push you to the brink of insanity.

Finally, you found your voice, your words shaky and desperate. "Please, Logan, show me what I've been thinking about all day. Please, please, show me your cock."

Logan's lips curved into a satisfied grin, his teeth flashing as he bestowed praise upon you. "Good girl, bubs. I knew you had it in you." He took his time, moving deliberately and teasingly as he slid his boxers down his legs. The fabric caught on his thick, erect member, the sight of it being released, springing free and smacking against his abdomen, was pure torture. Once it was fully free, his cock bobbed, standing proud and upright, the head glistening with precum.

He didn't linger any longer, sliding both his jeans and boxers off of his legs, which had been pooling around his knees. He stood before you, fully and completely naked. His body was a sight to behold. The veins that bulged at his pelvis continued to run down his rigid length.

His large, calloused hands wrapped around his shaft, the grip firm and confident. Logan began to stroke himself, the slow, deliberate motions drawing out the pleasure. As he moved, he made his way back towards the couch, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. Logan's approach was both eager and gentle, his large hand wrapping around your wrist with a tenderness that belied the raw power and strength he possessed. With surprising ease, he dragged you gently, positioning you so that you leaned over the arm of the couch. Your body followed his lead, naturally conforming to the position he wanted, your ass now raised in the air, presented to him, ready for his taking.

A satisfied hum rumbled in Logan's chest as he took in the view, his hands moving to explore the curves of your ass. His fingers traced the lines of your cheeks, the pads of his digits pressing into the soft flesh, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Logan's hands continued to roam over your ass, his voice a low growl in your ear as he uttered dirty, filthy words. "You're a good girl, coming over here tonight, begging for my cock. You're just aching for me to take you, aren't you, bub? To fill you up, to claim every inch of you as mine."

Logan's hands squeezed your ass cheeks, his fingers digging into the flesh as he kneaded and massaged you. His touch was firm, possessive, as if he were claiming you through the physical connection. With a slow, deliberate motion, he used his thumbs to slide your underwear to the side, revealing your wetness to him. Two fingers slipped inside, the warmth enveloping them as they slid in with ease. A contented murmur escaped him, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

The sensation of Logan's fingers inside of you, the way they delved deep, was almost too much. You couldn't help the breathy moans and lustful exhales that escaped your lips, your face pressed into the leather seat of the sofa as he pleasured you from behind. Your body arched, your hips rolling back to meet his touch, encouraging him to go deeper, to claim more of you. The way he talked to you, the filthy words that rolled off his tongue, only served to fuel the fire of your desire, making you squirm and writhe against his touch.

Logan's grip on your hip tightened, using it as leverage to push you down into the cushions. As he withdrew his fingers, they were slick with your arousal, the evidence of your need for him. He used that same hand to grip his cock. He spat onto his hand, the warm saliva mixing with your arousal, creating a makeshift lubricant. Logan rubbed the wetness onto his cock, coating it in the mixture before slowly edging the head of his cock against your entrance, the wet tip teasing you, making you whimper in anticipation.

Logan's voice was a low growl, the words dripping with lust and dominance. "Is this what you wanted darlin'? My fat cock fucking into you, huh? Is this what you've been thinking about all day? Have you missed this bubs?"

The question hung in the air, a challenge, a confirmation of what you'd been fantasizing about. Your body trembled, your breath hitching in your throat as you finally found your voice, your words thick and needy.

"Yes, please, Logan. Yes, I've missed this. I need you. I need this. Fuck - I need your cock so bad."

Logan's response was immediate, his hips bucking forward ever so slightly. The head of his cock dipped into your entrance, the slick tip teasing you, making you moan into the couch. Logan's praise was laced with satisfaction, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. "That's a good girl. You're so eager for me, aren't you, bub? You're just begging to be filled by me, to have every inch of you claimed by my cock. I knew you'd be a good girl, always wanting me, always craving my dick."

Your promise was fulfilled as he bucked his hips forward once more, this time not stopping at the entrance. His cock filled you completely, the sensation of him stretching you, making you gasp and moan into the cushion. Your body gripped the material of the couch, your fingers digging into the fabric as you tried to hold onto something, anything, as Logan claimed you. Your core clenched around him, the wet, slick walls of your pussy adjusting to the size of his cock.

As if sensing your need, Logan's primal instincts took over, his rhythm quickening as he began to fuck into you deeply and with unrelenting force. The head of his cock brushed against your sensitive spot with each thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. Your body arched to meet his, your hips rolling in sync with his, encouraging him to go deeper, to claim more of you. Your moans grew louder, your body quivering with each thrust, the pleasure building within you, threatening to consume you whole.

Logan's grunts filled the room, the sounds of his satisfaction mingling with your own moans. He used both hands to grip your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh as he sought the perfect angle to hit your sweet spot, to make you writhe and squirm beneath him. "You're such a good girl, bub. Look at you, taking my cock so well."

Your body tensed, your core clenching as Logan's cock continued to thrust into you, the subtle pressure overwhelmingly nice. Your breathing hitched, your voice strained as you managed to utter, "Fuck - L- Logan-"

His voice was a husky growl, his words a promise of what was to come. "Mm, that's it bubs, my name sounds so pretty coming from your lips." His hands moved to your back, the firm grip pushing you down into the couch as he continued to take control, to claim you fully.

Logan's thrusts grew more forceful, each one driving deep into your core, his girthy cock stretching and filling you completely. Your body surrendered to the sensation, your hips arching to meet each powerful stroke. The sound of your moans, breathy and pleading, echoed through the room, mingling with the wet slap of flesh against flesh, the rhythmic symphony of your shared passion.

Logan's face contorted with his own pleasure, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you fall further under his spell. His voice rumbled through the room, a deep growl of satisfaction, "You like that, bub? You like how I own you like this?"

The question sent another wave of pleasure coursing through your body, the heady mix of submission and dominance pushing you closer to the edge. The tension within you coiled tighter, the sweet torment of Logan's edge play threatening to tip you over the brink. You nodded, your body trembling, your nails digging into the couch as you fought to hold onto the last threads of coherence.

"That's my girl," Logan praised. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping you tightly as he continued to thrust, the rhythm of his movements a relentless march towards your climax.

Leaning down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Tell me when you're ready to cum, bub. I wanna hear those pretty little words leave your mouth." His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine.

Logan's keen senses, honed by his mutation, allowed him to detect the most minute changes in your body, the subtle shift in the pitch of your moans, the heightened surge of oxytocin that coursed through your nervous system. He reveled in these signs, knowing that you were nearing the brink, the culmination of your pleasure. Yet, there was something else he enjoyed even more. He wanted to hear the words spill from your lips, to witness the undoing of your composure, to have you become a blubbering, breathless mess as you confessed your impending climax.

His grip on your hips tightened, and he increased the tempo of his thrusts. The walls of your sex clenched around him, and you could feel the pressure building, the familiar coil of tension that promised release. As your body tensed, the tell-tale signs becoming more pronounced, Logan's eyes gleamed with anticipation. The sight of you, flushed and writhing beneath him, was a sight he could never grow tired of.

Your whispered confession, "I'm… I'm close, Logan. I'm gonna cum…" sent a jolt of pure satisfaction through him. It was like a trigger, igniting the fuse that would lead to the explosion of your pleasure. "That's it, bub," Logan encouraged as he continued to thrust into you, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the room. "You're doing so good. Let it take you. Just a little more, bubs. You're so close. I can feel it."

His hand slid down your body, slipping between your legs to find your swollen clit. With a gentle yet firm touch, he began to rub in circles, adding another layer of stimulation to your already heightened senses.

The combination of his words, his touch, and the sensations of his cock buried deep within you pushed you over the precipice. Your body arched and squirmed beneath him, a cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure escaping your lips. The sound of your ecstasy was accompanied by the soft crinkling of the leather sofa beneath you. Logan continued to stroke your clit, milking every last drop of pleasure from your orgasm, his thrusts slowing as he rode out your climax with you. "Good girl, bub," he praised, his voice laced with satisfaction.

Logan felt his own release drawing near, the rhythm of his thrusts becoming more urgent, his breath hitching in his chest. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fought to maintain control, to prolong the agonizingly sweet edge he found himself teetering on.

As Logan felt the telltale signs of his own impending release, he pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your juices. With a growl, he aimed himself at your back, releasing his hot seed in thick ropes onto your skin.

The warmth of his cum cascaded down your spine, the sensation both arousing and exhilarating. Logan's gaze followed the path of his release, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he watched the evidence of his pleasure. "I've always loved the way you look when you're spent, bub."

Logan's chest heaved as he caught his breath, the afterglow of their passion washing over you both. "I'll go and get a towel for you, bubs," he stated softly. He gave your ass a gentle pat before heading towards the bathroom, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And I'll run you a nice hot bath. You're going to need it after all that."

Link to the rest of my work!

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pluvialpoet · 8 months ago

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bergamot

Summary: moments of quiet reflection reaffirm what you both already know to be true- he’s always going to come back, and you’re always going to be waiting with open arms

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader

Requested: no

Warning: idiots in love, friends to lovers, mutual pining, scarecrow's fear toxin, mentions of death and grief, slight angst, fluffy ending, loosely based off of batman: hush (2019)- but no major spoilers

Word Count: 3,930

masterlist

a/n: I know that dick has a tolerance against/is immune to scarecrow's fear toxin, but let's pretend he isn't...for the plot

Sleep is cruel in the way it continues to evade you when you crave it most. Mocking and teasing, exhaustion morphs into desperation. Even with your eyes shut dreams fail you, and nightmares taunt.

A siren wails, bellowing out into the night and echoing caution even after the initial cry has faded. Could be a police car, or an ambulance. Maybe even a fire truck. You try not to consider all of the possibilities, knowing it’ll only starve your slumber, further. With a huff, you adjust the heavy comforter, pulling it up until it bunches just under your chin.

In a few weeks, branches will be stripped of their leaves. Snow will fall, and the city will suffocate under a blanket of white. July was only yesterday, sticky and never-ending- infinite until finite. Now, January lurks around the corner- weeks away, but daunting, nevertheless.

The pillow tucked behind your back is a poor imitation of the brawn you wish feathers and fill could replicate, just as the one pressed to your chest acts as an imposter mimicking the body meant to be sleeping peacefully beside you. It’s impossible to tell feelings of loneliness apart from being alone, and deep down you know that reminiscence is merciless. Memory is wicked. But you can’t help remembering. It’s the only way you won’t forget- and even then, so much time has passed that you’ve begun to fade, and he’s begun to blur. Spiraling further and further away from reality and control, you drift towards hope, feeding each dangerous possibility until you have nothing left to give, but delusion takes and takes and takes…

Answers elude like comfort- and sleep. When, how, and why is lost upon you. He’s been gone for so long. Even so, your life has continued, evolving to accommodate the gaps he used to fill. Though, it’s about as effective as papier-mâchéing an open wound shut. Everywhere you look, everything you do, every time you shut your eyes, he finds a way to bleed into you, one way or another, and you welcome it every single time. All you really have are memories and a space in your bed which has always been his to come home to.

Outside, the wind howls. Angry and violent, the sound rattles the windowpane and you burrow deeper into the covers trying to block it out. Shadows dance across the ceiling, but none of them belong to the ghost you’ve been waiting for. Another frustrated huff fails to quell burning exhaustion, and you rub your eyes with the back of your hand before checking the clock next to you. Neon green flashes, all too pleased to report that it’s well past midnight and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Already tomorrow, and you’re still mourning today.

Pushing the covers off, you shiver. There’s a chill in the air and little comfort to be found in the fact that the entire apartment feels cold and empty without him in it. At least it’s not just the bed. It’s the entire room, the hallway, and the kitchen, too. You reach for the light above the stove and begin to search the cupboards for a mug. If nothing else, at least a cup of tea will warm you up. Thanks to muscle memory, you act on autopilot, filling the ceramic with water and placing it in the microwave before picking a teabag and waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, always waiting. Three monotone beeps call your attention back before it has another chance to wander away from you, and you retrieve the cup and place the teabag inside. Steeping time be damned.

You can’t wait any longer.

One leg curls under the other as you take a seat and bring the mug to your mouth. It burns the tip of your tongue, a small price to pay for your greed, and you swallow the too-hot liquid regardless of the consequences. The pain barely registers, anyway. With both palms pressed to the vessel, warmth finally finds you, and a barely contented huff passes your lips to blow the steam from the cup. It’s not always like this. It’s not supposed to be, but for so long, it has been. Never months, always weeks. You don’t know how to do this or how much longer you can put yourself through this torture when every sunrise twists the knots in your stomach tighter and tighter. How much longer until you snap?

You’re so tangled up in your suffering that you miss it the first time, until the hair on the back of your neck bristles. Did you imagine it? Silently, you wait, setting the steaming mug down to listen, and this time, you hear it. Faintly, but there. Real.

Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap.

I’m here. I’m safe. Can I come in?

Your feet move before the rest of your body does, and the chair scrapes loudly across the hardwood as you jump from it in shock. A cocktail of excitement, worry, disbelief, and fear bubbles and swirls through you when you spot a familiar glimpse of black and blue through the window near the fire escape.

“Dick?”

Crossing the room without any memory of doing so, you fiddle with the latch that keeps you from him, and him from you, until finally it clicks. With only one foot through the window, you reach for him, desperate to savor the illusion until mass, warmth and a heartbeat prove it to be real. Upon realizing, your breath hitches. He’s real. He’s real, and he’s here. No longer a dream. No longer a nightmare. No longer a vision only sleep can grant or mold, he stands before you. He takes a moment to properly slide the window shut behind him, returning the lock to its rightful position- keeping the rest of the world and the winter, out- before turning to face you once more. He can’t even get a word out before you’re pressed against him, wrapping your arms around him and holding yourself back from crushing him with the intensity of your longing. Overly cautious of injuries you can’t physically see- mindful of bruises, tears of flesh, and wounds that remain eclipsed by kevlar and moonlight- you embrace him with a hesitancy that severely undermines your fervor. Holding him gently- delicately, tenderly- the way you’ve dreamt about entwining with him on nights when sleep has been generous instead of cruel, you finally look up at him.

A sigh of relief dispels the hoarded tension in your neck, shoulders, and chest when you rest your head against his chest and inhale. Sweat and copper muddle his natural scent, but even when he’s covered in his victories, even when he’s drenched in his defeats, he still smells like home- warm, safe, familiar, and comforting.

He hesitates to envelop you with the same thinly veiled desperation, holding himself back.

Every muscle in his body carries the strain of battles fought and won. His head throbs with the force of his thoughts, and the inescapable dizziness that always accompanies crashing down from a high. Then again, he’s never been one to ease into things gracefully. Tiny cuts and scrapes, angry blacks and blues, and even gaping gashes that are still seeping and tender to the touch hardly register as anything other than a stinging, burning sensation. Everything is dull. Ferocity and intensity both subdued. Through the haze of everything that competes for his attention, you’re the one thing that’s clear. As always, the hold you have on him, both physical and metaphorical, brings him back to his senses, but doubt keeps him withdrawn.

Warily wrapping his arms around you, Dick returns the gesture as best as he can. Cages built of muscle, meant to keep you close, refuse to lock you in place, and he finds it increasingly difficult to resist surrendering to you entirely. Just as his nerves begin to settle they spike once more when the gravity of the past few months finally begins to sink in. As you continue to tremble in his arms, he swallows a lump in his throat and fights the urge to hold you impossibly closer. If he weren’t so afraid, he’d never let go again. But he’s not the same man he was the last time you saw him. Having seen too much, he knows that he can’t let this become something more. Fear is rotten. He’s seen the future, and if he keeps leaning on you then he’s only going to drag you down with him. Regardless of what he really wants, he won’t let this become something more, but then he looks down at you in his shirt and realizes it’s always been something more- and it terrifies him more than anything.

When pink swirls around the drain- a muted severity of soapy lather and remnants of crusted, oozing red- he rests his forehead against the cold tiles and lets out a deep sigh. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a proper shower. Under the trickling scorch, he allows his shoulders to slump forward, letting the too-hot water soothe his muscles like a balm, and it stings in a way he welcomes- a reminder that he’s done it again, he’s survived the worst and now he just has to survive the recovery.

He’s never been good with the after, always losing himself in possibilities of what comes next without taking a minute to catch his breath, but he’s trying to be better. He owes it to you. Not only you but himself, too- but mostly you. So, he tries to forget. He pushes memories too fresh to be forgotten somewhere else, banishing them to the far corners of his mind and locking them away until he’s ready to face his demons at his own pace, on his own terms, but his wicked creations fight back. Even when they’re crafted from delusions, mirroring real-life counterparts with a precision too exact to be a figmented replication, he finds himself engaged in an internal match that never crowns a victor. It’s a conflict that never ceases, even after his own surrender. Still, he’s found that the intrusions are less when copper is overpowered by citrus, and when red, inevitably swirls into pink.

Steam amplifies the smell of sweat and body odor, so pungent that the only word to describe it is bad, and he holds his breath while he reaches for your soap once more. He can’t believe you let him anywhere near you. It’s even more unfathomable that you sought an embrace, despite the remnants of battle that’ve woven themselves into his being- lingering, even long after. He’s repulsed by that which exposes him, a stench so strong that it serves as a testament to the fact that he reclaimed you as soon as he could, coming right back to this haven of sorts without any prior stops, and his stomach churns uncomfortably, the once soothing mist tainting each attempt at air, and a weight teases the aching muscles of his chest which breath does not alleviate.

Through the haze, he sees the truth- when reality remains undistorted by the tricks of his own want and longing, he recognizes fact without his own warped perceptions of fantasy- and he realizes just how careless he’s been. By allowing desire to suade better judgment, he’s put you at risk. Guilt punishes with an onslaught of emotions ranging from frustration to anger, sadness to grief, and even regret to sorrow. His own reluctance to accept how dangerous it was, and always has been, to lean on your affections as a crutch has finally caught up to him. After all that he’s seen, after everything he’s been forced to bear witness to over the past few months, coupled with a lifetime of loss, he’s no longer able to ignore the thought that’s broken free from the shackles of elsewhere. What was once dull, always there but never really forgotten, has become intense and persistent.

Every time he finds his way back to you, he invites peril into your life. He’s hazardous. Even if he’s not, being attached to him- in any way- puts you at an even greater risk of endangerment. Trying to justify something even as tame as a friendship is absurd. You’re so much more than that. Whether he meant for it to happen or not, you’ve found a place within his heart. Every beat echoes your name and carries secrets of his devotion. All that remains of the walls meant to protect both of you is rubble, and Dick stands alone in the epicenter of the aftermath, unsure and torn between chaos and order. Selfishly, he wants. Greedily, he craves. Morally, he knows that he should just walk away- but he can’t.

The scene shifts, ceramic tile falling away to reveal an eerie, yet familiar boneyard, and he shakes his head. It’s not real. It was never real- but it was so vivid. Cold fog obscures his vision, and he closes his eyes. This is a trick. This isn’t truth. He knows what comes next. Forced to indulge in his worst nightmares, the shrill, piercing sound of your terror renders him numb. He can’t move. Paralyzed, he fights limbs of lead, but he can’t act. It surrounds him, your agony, and he can’t do anything to save you. He can’t protect you. With each cry of his name, you plead, but there’s nothing he can do. When silence follows his ragged breaths, he refuses to look down. He hates this part the most, but he doesn’t have a choice. Crimson stains the black and blue weave, and he can taste metallic. He doesn’t have any control over this hallucination, born and bred from his greatest fear, and all he can do is witness the fallout of your shared torture- your blood on his hands, his body slumped against your tombstone, and the triumphant laughter of a clown, a scarecrow, a ventriloquist, and a hundred more that delight in your demise.

He can’t catch his breath. Drifting further and further away from reality, he struggles to claw his way back towards the light. When his vision begins to fade, he reaches for more soap. In for three counts, out for four. In for three counts, and out for four, again, Dick feels lightheaded. There’s no limit to how far he’d go to keep you safe, not a single rule or code he wouldn’t break to protect you from anything and everything- and that’s an entirely different threat, in and of itself. His loyalty has the potential to become his ruin, and he’d let it- for your sake- but would that be enough? Could his devotion be enough to keep you safe from the otherwise brutal fate that awaits you with, and without, his intervention?

The bite of a washrag leaves his skin raw. Lost to his thoughts, he’s been mindlessly scrubbing away at his flesh, dousing himself with bubbled distraction. Another breath fails to alleviate his unease. All he can think about is that which is out of his control, and he can’t help but wonder, is there even a chance for the two of you?

Every thought is a contradiction.

He could wax poetic to Bruce about love- how precious and fragile and conscious it is- but he can’t even bring himself to act upon his own advice. Even worse than following in a denialist’s footsteps is being a hypocrite, but there are just too many variables for him to take into account- too many what-ifs and maybe’s that enable him to cower behind words left unspoken.

In spite of this, he dares to dream of a future where you’re his and he’s yours, and nothing else matters. Lost to his delusions, a smile threatens to work muscles that’ve remained dormant for months of disuse. It hurts. Stretching, pulling, and manipulating his face to actually convey what he’s feeling instead of trying to veil it, hurts. However, the worst pain follows. As he reaches for the illusion, it slips through his fingers- so close he can almost hold it, yet just out of reach, simultaneously- and just like that, reality distorts the mirage. Pried from him, ripped away and sporting his claw marks, what could’ve been remains what could’ve been- and it’s all his fault.

Fear suppresses his love.

He’s already lost so much, he can’t lose this, too. He won’t. However glutinous, he craves more- even when he knows he can’t have it, he wants with a desire that’s almost too strong to ignore. Almost. Locking his feelings away, he throws away the key, but his ribs begin to expand with the intensity of his longing, and his chest feels tight. This isn’t like before. It seems as if his secrets have outgrown their cages, and he finds himself at a crossroads. His mind begins to drift and he wonders if this agony is why Bruce kept Selina at arm’s length…

A sigh, and a revelation- he’s not Bruce, and you’re not Selina.

Dick’s been going about this all wrong. Despite everything he’s been taught about love and loss, he’s allowed a life outside of a domino mask and kevlar. He deserves to cherish someone, to protect and devote himself to something other than his work- someone to fight for, someone to come home to- and he deserves to be beloved, too. Even if only for tonight. Even if tomorrow isn’t promised and all you have is right now, you’re here. On the other side of the frosted glass screen and plaster, you’re waiting for him. Another smile, less forced and genuine, feels like a relief instead of a burden. His skin pebbles under the frigid stream left in the wake of molten steam. With a shiver, he seeks your warmth, reaching for the faucet and stepping out of the enclosure.

A worn shirt rests atop the counter, the fabric faded from years of wear and wash, folded neatly beneath a pair of fresh boxers and socks likely left behind from the last time, or the time before that, or even the time before…truth be told, he thought he’d lost it, misplaced it, or given it away. Of course, you’ve had it in your care, all along. The corner of his mouth threatens to twitch into a smile. Slipping the towel from around his waist, he begins to dress, wondering when you managed to sneak in without him hearing you. The door used to creak, and he realizes that you must have fixed it while he was gone. It’s hard not to think about what else might’ve changed since the last time he saw you. Would you have stayed with him, if he asked you to? You always have. Six years and counting, he muses if you always will…

His hair is getting long, again. Droplets fall from the overgrown strands at the base of his neck down his back, making him shiver and reach for his towel once more. He pats his hair down, ruffling it with the towel a few times before wiping away at the mirror. Making eye contact with his reflection he’s the first to look away. He’s looked worse and supposes that's a small win in and of itself, though he can’t stand the sight of himself any longer than he has to. A deep exhale and a shake of his head diverts his attention to the countertop where a spare toothbrush has been left out for him to use. Of course, he already knows where the toothpaste is. He helps himself with a growing smile and places it in the holder right next to yours when he’s done. His chest expands with something he can’t quite name when he finds himself surrounded by gentle reminders of your care. A small cup of water and painkillers act as physical embodiments of your thoughtfulness and he revels in the knowledge that you’re letting him know you’re there for him while giving him space to come down from whatever adrenaline rush the past few months have spiked. It’s in those silent gestures of love that he hears it the loudest, echoing and amplifying all around him.

It must be killing you to act so selflessly, and he tries not to be selfish with your affections, but it’s difficult not to feel like a burden when you’ve rearranged more than just a spot on the counter, or a place for him to keep his toothbrush next to yours, for him- giving him a home without expecting anything else in return.

Down the hall, the mattress protests against his arrival, angry springs squeaking from months of disuse before welcoming his weight and warmth on the side opposite of yours- his side, from the very moment, years ago, when he found his way back to you after a night that left him bloody and beaten but not broken. Never broken- not when he’s always had you. Though most memory of the first evening spent beside you remains a blur, the ability to recall details and specifics stolen from him as his wounds wept crimson tears that stained your hands and upholstery, fondness prevails. Despite robbed recollections, tender warmth, and affection remain. Even then, he knew. Without really knowing, without certainty, he was certain- he loved you, and you loved him, and every gentle, devoted gesture has always reaffirmed the one thing he could never doubt. Every silent offering, every selfless sacrifice, and piece of yourself that you’ve surrendered to him further insists that your heart acts in favor of three words never spoken.

His arm finds your waist easily, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around his reluctance to accept what this is, anymore. Not when you’re here. Not when you’re waiting so patiently for him, and snuggle back into his hold the moment he reaches out for you. Some limbs tangle, but not yours- the two of you fit perfectly together, like you were truly meant to be, and the moment that you’re allowed to converge, you press your palm flat against his arm, holding him close to you.

Reacquainting yourself with him after is always your favorite part. Though, your heart cleaves when your fingertips ghost over a new scar- the skin still raised and angry, even if the wound has closed. With something akin to sympathy, an apology for the pain he’s suffered that you can’t take away, you gently trace the new mark in acknowledgment.

Tomorrow, or later today, when the sunlight illuminates the sky, you’ll ask him about it. Or, maybe you won’t. When the first glimpses of warm light threaten to spill over the horizon, you might get answers to the questions you’ve spent the last few months pondering. Or, perhaps everything unasked will remain unresolved. Either way, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the fact that tonight, you’ll sleep- safe and protected, at ease and engulfed by all things him- and even if it only lasts for the night, you’ll cherish whatever small moments of intimacy the moon grants before the sun, inevitably, rips them away- a fate you’ve grown to expect, time and time again.

Still, you let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the silence for only a moment before it’s interrupted.

“I love you,” Dick confesses softly, words warm and whispered against your shoulder encouraged by a fleeting moment of courage- and the tender caress of your touch- that prompt the secret to spill from his chest, an accident he fears he may have to render excuses for to salvage whatever broken pieces are left of this unspoken relationship.

“I know,” With your back towards him he misses the stretch of a smile ghosting your lips, and finds himself tensing behind you. Could you have really known? All this time? Is that why he always comes back? Is that why you let him? “I love you, too,”

“No, I mean, I really lo-“

“Tell me in the morning, yeah?” You suggest before he can get too far ahead of himself. Torn between wanting to clarify his confession and realizing that maybe he doesn’t have to, Dick relents. He can’t really argue, anyway- having kept this to himself for so many years, another few hours won’t hurt. With a breath- of acceptance, not defeat or surrender- he closes his eyes and finally relaxes into your embrace.

It’s over.

For now, Dick can rest easy knowing that when the smell of bergamot fades, this tacit love will always remain, and he finds enough comfort in the realization to let it lull him into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: I love him so much!!! this has been rotting in my brain for nearly a year and I just found it in my drafts last night lol! anyway, this started as a challenge to myself where I wanted to see if I could write something with only five lines of dialogue, and I'm curious to hear how you all think it turned out! as always, requests are open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

everyone who requested to be tagged: @idyllcy @wicked-laugh @ul4lume

Send me some feedback, or request to be added to my taglist! (please specify which taglist you’d like to be added to- character or general) !Requests: OPEN!

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#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson angst #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fanfic #dick grayson fanfiction #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing imagine #nightwing fluff #dc titans #dc imagine #dc comics imagine #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n

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kaylopolis · 6 months ago

Text

Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter Four

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months sooner than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. Afterall, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down, but also challenge your grab for power…

Tags: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This chapter needed to happen to expand the plot. Don't worry, smut is coming soon - like next chapter soon! BTW this was written after episode 7 of Helluva Boss, Full Moon events have not yet happened.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Four - The Meeting

Content Warning: none, but let me know if I missed any!

Husk said he didn’t think you liked surprises and boy was he right.

Charlie screamed the second you entered the kitchen, thrusting a present box into your arms. You were pissed, having not slept, tossing and turning in the silence of the night.

You really needed to find a radio - it’s music had lulled you to sleep in the past - but now you were hesitant. The radio was Alastor’s domain, and you didn’t know what kind of power the device would have now that he was back in Hell.

It’s the same reason why you never got a cell phone - you didn’t want Vox tracking your whereabouts or having access to your video camera. It would be a lot easier to figure out who you were if you did.

You used the new collection of syrups and powders to make real creations for the staff to enjoy. You had to admit, it was fun, and finally gave you a chance to make a jasmine latte to your liking - something you hadn’t had since your early days working at the cafe.

Alastor was nowhere to be found. So he didn’t see the tension in your body as you ate breakfast. He didn’t see you slip out after Angel and Husk got into it over the news of the Porn Star’s employer - now officially revealed to be Valentino. He didn’t see you tiptoe to your room, lock the door, pull your leather armor and cloak from the Void and clean them before today’s meeting.

You checked for his shadow of course, to see if he was watching, but for whatever reason, the darkness was still.

Doning your black garb, you double checked the silver stitching around the hood of your cloak, ensuring the magic seal was still intact. A few loose strands caught your attention but nothing serious enough to disrupt the enchantment.

Okay. You were going out. In broad daylight. To attend a meeting with the most powerful Overlords in Hell.

What could go wrong?

____________________________________________

“Ope! Ope! Ope! Ope!”

You landed on the sidewalk in a pile of… eggs?

They stopped their incessant noise making before turning to you, confused but intrigued by the smoke pooling at your feet.

“Are you on fire?”

“Why can’t we see your face?”

“You smell like jasmine.”

“Can I touch your cloak?”

Sir Pentious’ eggs. What were they doing here?

You took the elevator to the penthouse - which was really weird. Normally you’d just fly to the top and take the terrace entrance in, but Carmilla Carmine was hosting and she had earned your respect. Not simply because she had invited you, but for the many things before.

“...I’m sure you’ve all been wondering!” Alastor’s voice hits you at the same time as the static finds your skin.

Fuck.

“Not really, but welcome back in any case.” You tried hard to hold back your snort as you rounded the corner, appearing at the entrance of the conference room.

“Ah, you’ve made it,” Carmine gestures to you.

All eyes flit to you, cementing you to the tile floor where you stood. You did your best to keep your eyes locked with Carmilla’s not wanting to send the wrong message with a wondering gaze. You weren’t here to challenge anyone, certainly not on your first day, you were here as a guest of Carmilla’s and to stake a claim to the seat which has been offered.

They room falls silent before Zestial finally speaks up. “Tis this the infamous Shadow thou spoke of, Carmilla?”

You bow your head to the Overlord - and you mean “The” Overlord for he was the first. You had never met him in person before, but you’ve heard of him.

God, he was even more glorious in person. You could taste the power wafting off him from where you stood.

“What the heck! What is he doing here?” Zeeze began to protest.

The colors of her fur were wild enough to make you sick.

“I invited him,” Carmilla answered dismissively as if it was obvious. Zeezee and a few of the other Overlords protested save for Rosie and Alastor. You didn’t dare turn to them, however, you couldn’t risk anyone in this room catching any hint of your relationship with the Queen of the Cannibals nor could you risk Alastor suspecting any familiarity.

Fucking Alastor. You blocked out his gaze the most from your mind.

“The Shadow has risen to power faster second to none other than Alastor himself.” She gestures to the Radio Demon whose eyes haven’t left your form. “He now holds enough souls to rival even your own count, Zeezee. He’s earned a spot at this table.”

Ha. Fuck you.

“This is the Shadow…” Rosie chimes in. “Ha! I thought he’d be taller.” She laughs from Alastor’s side.

“Well then!” The Radio Demon’s smile reappeared, catching you off guard. It’s a really good thing they couldn’t see your hands shaking beneath the cloak. “Please, do take a seat!” He motioned with his microphone to a chair at the end of the table. A shadowed hand wrapped around the leg and pulled it out, inviting you to sit. Once the others saw Rosie and Alastor cave, they felt a bit more relaxed - not enough to drop their guard, however.

Rosie’s eyes caught yours at the other end of the table. She gave you an imperceptibly small smile, fleeting so as not to attract too much attention.

At least you had one ally in this room.

“This year's Extermination was brutal, far more even than years past. We have assessed that about 16% of the population was lost,” a slide projector turns on behind her. “With the angelic legions now returning twice as quickly, I think it prudent we…” The door slams inwards, a loud-mouthed Velvette barging into the meeting.

God, it was good that you needed to keep yourself composed here, otherwise you’d rip her head off and burn it to ashes. Every interaction you had with her just pushed the line more and more.

She hangs up the phone, turning to grab the back of your chair and… “What in the Hell is this!?” Velvette motions to you sitting in the chair. “What is this piece of trash doing, sitting in my seat!?”

Smoke began pooling at your feet, angrily twisting about itself in waves.

“Nice of you to join us, Velvette. Will your… colleagues be joining us?” Carmilla ignored her.

“What? No, they have better shit to do than to listen to an old windbag who thinks she's tough shit. I'm here to represent or I would be if this wanker would get out of my seat.”

You didn’t move an inch. Moving would be yielding power to Velvette and you couldn’t let that happen.

“Velvette, let me introduce you to the Shadow,” Carmilla motioned to you.

Her red sclera flit between you and the weapons-dealing Overlord. “Are you fucking kidding me? What kind of name is ‘Shadow’ anyway?” She snorted. “This is so going on my Sinstagram. I can’t… Oh!” The purple phone explodes in her hand.

You didn’t do that…

Alastor laughs from his chair, “Oh my, what a mess you’ve made.” Her phone lay in a heap on the ground, electrical sparks flying every which way.

Her tan skin turned a beat red, “Listen here you cock-sucking…” Her hand phases through your cloak as she attempts to grab you. She stands stunned, staring at her hand as if she couldn’t believe it herself.

It was a cheap trick, but oh-so satisfying when it happened. No one could take the cloak off of you. Not unless you were dead or they knew who you were.

You loved old magic.

Velvette stood shell-shocked and speechless.

No one stood up for you. No one intervened. They were all just as curious to see what you would do next.

With a snap of your fingers, you pulled a chair from the Void, surrounding the materialization process with blue flame - just for flare. It was a dingy chair, metal and worn - nothing compared to the grand plush ones set aside for the other guests. That, however, was intentional. Summoning the chair wasn’t giving in to her tantrum, it was an insult in and of itself.

“Thank you, Shadow,” Carmilla nodded to you. “So, as I was saying, we need to discuss…”

Velvette uses the chair as a stepping stool, shooting daggers with her eyes at your face. She steps before you, her feet on the table, blocking your view of the room.

Bitch.

“On the subject of discussion…” She throws the severed head of an Exorcist across the table.

Oh, here we go! A dead Exorcist - if that didn’t speed up your plans you didn’t know what would!

You watched as Velvette launched herself into a - obviously rehearsed - speech regarding an assault plan on Heaven.

Ha! Vox and Valentino sure had big balls if they think they can take the fight to them. On the other hand, you would love to see that happen. They’d be squished before they even made it to the gates, turned into a pile of recycled electronics and whatever the fuck moths had - feathers?

You’d find some way to take Velvette down personally. Take her out in the chaos with an angelic blade and blame it on the Exorcists of Heaven. You wouldn’t have the credit for the kill of course but did you really need that to begin with?

The only reason you were sitting here, showing the world a face, assigning a name to your killings was because of Rosie. She was the one to convince you to take hold of the power you so rightfully earned when you were adamant about staying in the shadows.

You couldn’t lie to yourself, though; the power you had in sitting here, seeing Velvette’s face turn red, was worth it.

“We know not how this perished. Mayhaps t'was not by a demon's hand at all. If we rush to war without knowing mightn't, they purge all of Hell for daring an uprising?” Zestial chimed in.

You chuckled deep and low, earning a glare from Alastor.

“Oh, I get it. So Grandpa is too pussy to fight, so I guess there's no point, right?” She jumps into the Overlord’s face. “Oh, what's the matter, Fossil? Too senile to make a real power grab for…”

“You better show some respect!” Carmilla interrupts Velvette.

Ugh, Sinners were always so dramatic. This was like dealing with the Crimson Mafia but worse - they didn’t have some Gen Z spoiled brat to deal with.

You took advantage of the distraction, using the time to study each of the Overlord’s without them knowing. Zeezee was a big… uh… Hell hound? Which didn’t make any sense since Hell hounds were Native born, but that was a mystery for a different day.

The Von Eldritch representative was absent, but you’d never interacted with him before either. The unnamed Overlord sat to Zeezi’s right, silent and emotionless. Carmilla and her daughters you had already known for years. Zestial was… God, he was a dream.

The Overlord dripped with power. You wondered, just out of curiosity and not actuality, what he would be like to fight. He seemed so elegant and refined, sitting there sipping his tea. Is his fighting style much of the same? Would he seduce you with his lethality? You had heard that lesser demons flee just upon the sight of him. What has he done to earn such respect? You wanted to know, you wanted to…

Static crawled its way up your spine, freezing your muscles and silencing your thoughts. You felt the air shift beneath your smoke - no, the shadows shift beneath your smoke. They were cold, like how a summer day’s temperature drops in the shade. You could feel them as they shifted beneath you, slithering against your robes.

Alastor.

You looked up to find the Overlord peering down at you, both hands crossed, his chin resting in his palms. His eyes were half-lidded as they raked over your cloaked form, like he was analyzing you, like he could see straight through the smoke and shadows to you underneath. It made you feel vulnerable. It made you feel weak.

You met his gaze, not letting his intimidation show. You sensed curiosity from the Overlord. Sniffing, you tried again to smell his emotion, but the room was filled with the iritation wafting off of Velvette and Carmilla - cinnamon. Ugh, you hated cinnamon.

Your eyes narrowed at the red demon, hoping he moves his gaze, but when he doesn’t relent you decide to repay his stare with a wandering set of eyes of your own.

He was lean, yet built - his broad chest forming an upside down triangle disappearing into a slim waist line. Donning one of his well-pressed suits and matching slacks. His sense of style was impeccable you had to give him that - but of course, Rosie dressed him and you loved everything she made. Even if she forced you into a dress. He wore gloves - he always wore gloves - but his hands though…

Images of his claws scraping across your cheek and down your skin come flooding back. A shiver runs through your core at the memory of his touch on your neck, the way he licked his lips at the sight of the blood pumping through your veins. Alastor turned ravenous at the thought of tasting you. Fucking cannibals.

But the way you moaned? God, how embarrassing. You had never made a sound like that in your life. Where had it come from? Why had it happened?

And why did you like it?

Why did you want him to squeeze harder, to drag your lips to his…

Stop!

Your face heated at the thought. Alarmed, you pulled your gaze back into your lap, earning a small chuckle from the Radio Demon.

Where the fuck did that come from!? Get your shit together! You’re supposed to be a badass Overlord in a very important meeting right now. There was no space for thoughts of Alastor and… NO. NOPE. NOT GOING THERE.

Of course such a devious man would be so enticing! It’s probably how he claimed his victims up top. Get them to like him and smile at them. Maybe he flirted and twirled their hair, before taking their hand and luring them into the dark forest with promises of… NO! STOP IT!

Jesus Christ, it was a really good thing no one could see your face right now.

Velvette suddenly appeared, her nose mere inches from yours, “This isn’t fucking over!” She jumped to the ground, kicking the chair you pulled from the Void into the wall. “Safe travels back to the nursing home, fuckers! Kiss my ass!” She flipped you all off on her way out.

It was silent for a beat before Alastor chimed, “That was a productive meeting!”

What part of that was productive?

The Overlords all got up from their chairs and headed for the exit, you follow suit, a little saddened at the fact that this meeting went nowhere. You had such high hopes the moment Velvette pulled out the severed head. Ugh, guess you were going to have to continue with Plan A.

“Shadow,” Carmilla called. Her and her daughters hadn’t yet moved from their spots. “May I call on you later?” Zestial stood next to her, finishing his tea.

You nodded before…

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” Alastor stepped into your path, his hand outstretched. “Alastor, pleasure to meet you.”

Your palm was far, far smaller in his grip than you had expected. If his hands were this big then did that mean his…

You stifle a cough, hoping he doesn’t notice. “Charmed.”

His eyes narrow.

Oh, he noticed.

“May I interest you in a drink? I see it impertinent to get to know someone such as yourself as we may be able to… benefit one another.” The edges of his smile curled. It made your stomach bubble with anxiety - not the same feelings as butterflies, you should point out.

Your eyes drifted back to the room, finding Rosie absent. You knew Alastor was going to pay an interest in the Shadow once he was made aware of your presence. You had risen to power just as fast as he had - how could he not pay attention to you? You just didn’t expect it right off the bat.

“Alastor is a respectable man,” Carmilla jumps in. “He can be trusted” Her eyes weighed heavily on you. She was throwing you a bone, trying to tell you what to do in this situation.

Alastor respected only those who respected him. Insult him and he will show you no kindness - Vox being the prime example. You weren’t prepared to take him on just yet, and if he ever found out who you really were, it would completely derail your plans. Besides, if you shut the door now, there was no telling if or when it was going to open again. Remember what you had decided last night at the bar: get to know the Radio Demon, throw him off the scent.

Pulling the obsidian calling card from your breast pocket, you held it out to him. “A drop of scarlet beneath night’s mistress.”

A drop of scarlet: blood. The night’s mistress: darkness. Anyone in possession of an obsidian calling card merely had to drip a single drop of their blood atop the card. That drop of blood was the tie in you needed to begin a deal with whomever summoned you.

Only certain people carried those cards, those who you had bestowed the gift upon. Only once had a card fallen into the wrong hands - and ONLY once. You would never let that happen again. Which was why, from here on out, you needed to be picky with whom you entrusted these to. You didn’t know if you could trust the Radio Demon, but again you couldn’t let this door close.

“Oh! How ominous.” He slipped the card into his jacket pocket as you exited the conference room, doing your best to ignore the pinpoint glare on the back of your head and the demon who held it.

____________________________________________

SLAM! Velvette kicks the door open, stomping her way into Vox’s office. “That cock-sucking bastard! Who the fuck does he think he is!?”

Vox rolled his eyes, continuing to click away on the computer monitor, “No, please Velvette come right in.”

The brat demon slumped into a chair, her boots kicking up on the desk’s top. The female Vee reclined in the chair, a look of pure anger on her face. “He sat in my seat. My seat! And insulted me right in front of the Overlords of Hell!”

“Uh-huh,” Vox feigned interest, continuing to click away.

“And the Old-ass Hag let him! They all just sat there and let him! Where was the fucking respect!?” The Vee jumped to her feet, a thumb jabbed into her chest. “I’m Velvette - the Velvette. I’m a fucking Overlord! He’s just a glorified bed sheet with an attitude!”

“Yeah,” Vox switched to a different browser - still not listening.

“He’s dead.” Velvette declared, climbing onto the desk. “He’s fucking dead the next time I see him.”

“That sounds nice,” Vox mindlessly added.

“That sounds nice? What… What the fuck are you doin’?” The female Vee reached down and spun the monitor around.

A thousand tabs were open, each containing different social media page profiles, image searches, or links to various surveillance cameras around town.

Velvette shot the media demon a dumb look. “This is why you had to skip the meeting!? You’re still lookin’ for that girl, aren’t you?”

“What?” Vox pretended to look offended. “No! I’m not… I mean… Why would I…?” His words trailed off at the sight of Velvette’s irritated face. “Maybe.”

Velvette rolled her eyes. “Give me your phone,” she held out her hand.

“Use your own phone!” The media demon snapped.

Velvette’s glare turned lethal. “You do not want to mess with me today, princess. Give me the goddamn phone!”

Vox knew better than to argue with the female Vee when she was in a mood.

Handing over the device, he watched as she clicked across various different media sites before she paused on one in particular. All in all she took about three minutes total of searching before she turned the device around.

And there you were. Hidden amongst a million photos of bugs and random blurry pictures of red ceilings and floors was you in Angel’s arms.

“How the Hell…” Vox reached for his phone, staring dumbfounded at the photo.

Velvette smirked, a wicked gleam in her eye, “Guess where your mysterious Alley Girl is staying…”

Vox read the page name, his one eye blinking red with rage, “Alastor…”

____________________________________________

“The Vees are going to be a problem,” Carmilla pondered, one hand wrapped around her chin.

“I agree,” you growled from your place atop the terrace. The night was colder than expected - perhaps an ominous omen of what was to come.

“What do you suggest, Mother?” Odette chimed from the chair. Her sister silent and still as always.

“I suggest we do nothing,” she shrugged, “but wait and watch. If the Vees want to take up arms against the Angels they will not do so alone. We need to ensure that they stay alone.” At that, she eyed you.

You knew what that meant - a lot of fucking nights at the V Tower listening to a whole lot of nothing. She needed you to play spy. Carmilla would do her part, of course, watching and learning using her own set of spies - she wasn’t one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell for her weapons business alone.

You stood there and waited for her to name her price. Watching the Vees was in her best interest - not yours. She didn’t know that, but she knew you disliked them so and she knew your services weren’t free. They were never free. Finally, she laid down a number. You weren’t happy with it, but you also owed Carmilla for your seat at the table. Thus, you wouldn’t complain.

Turning, you headed for the edge of the balcony, preparing to jump before she stopped you again. “I feel the need to explain myself.”

You had another place to be tonight and, of course, you were already late.

You don’t turn back to her, expecting this to be brief.

“My girls and I have known you from the beginning,” Carmilla began. From the corner of your eye, you watch Odette and Clara’s eyes grow big. “And although you don’t trust me anymore, know this. I do not do the things I do for you because of who you are, but because of who you have made yourself into.”

Images of Clara’s blood and Carmilla’s screams fill your vision. You shake the memory away.

“The last thing I wish to see is you harmed.” Her voice breaks. “I. Am. Sorry.”

Your eyes flit to Clara, yet the girl didn’t meet your gaze, guilt held in her tight-lipped mouth.

You knew how sorry she was. You knew.

You take off into the night.

____________________________________________

From the shadows of the I.M.P office rose a figure clad in red.

The imp working the desk jumped in shock, spewing coffee over the papers on his desk. “Holy shit! Mr. Radio… The Radio… Over… Demon Lord…”

“Alastor, is fine. Pleasure,” the demon smiled, his teeth and eyes practically glowing in the night.

“Moxie! Millie! Fuck! Get in here!” He screamed at the door, sprinting to the otherside of the desk to pull out a chair. The wooden seat shoke in his arms, clacking against the floorboards. Even the Natives were afraid of him, it seemed.

Two smaller imps burst through, but jumped back at the sight of the Overlord seated in front of Blitz’s desk.

“The… The… Radio… De… Demon…” Moxie tried to speak from behind the cover of his darling wife, but words would not agree with him.

“Yes, yes,” Alastor waved. “I believe we’ve covered that part already, haven’t we?”

Blitz pulled out about fifty pens, only one making it into his hand and the other fourty nine spewing onto the floor. He ripped a few pieces of paper before finally pulling one free and set about writing notes. “What can we do ya’ for, your Overlordness?” He gave an awkward laugh, his elbow tipping the cup of coffee over on his desk. “Shit. Fuck. Shit. Moxie get me a towel!”

The lesser imp and his wife disappeared from the room.

“I need you to find someone for me,” Alastor purred, his hands resting atop his microphone.

“Find someone… We don’t really do…” As Blitz talked, the green glare of Alastor’s aura began to fill the room.

Blitz swallowed dryly, trying to think. “Yeah, Oh… Okay we can find someone for you. What’s their name?”

“I don’t know,” Alastor’s smile strained. He didn’t like not having the upper hand in any situation. Part of the reason why he was here, he needed more information. He needed leverage, just in case.

“You don’t know…” Blitz rose an eyebrow.

“What’s a hound got to do to get some sleep around…” A female Hellhound turned the corner, coming eye to eye with Alastor before slinking away, whining as she went.

“No, I do not know, for they are already dead and do not go by their Christian name,” Alastor continued.

“Already dead… What the fuck are you here for? We kill alive people.” Blitz was now thoroughly confused, but Alastor was having none of that.

“I want information on who and what they did when they were alive,” His smile was strained against his teeth. His patience was being tested.

“Why?” The imp asked.

Wrong thing to say.

“Oooooh, shit,” Blitz jumped behind his desk to shield himself from the growing mass that was Alastor’s demon form. “Okay! Okay!” The imp caved. “We’ll do whatever you want! We just need a name! Shit. Somewhere to start, at least!?”

The Radio Demon shrank back, finally happy to hear some progress. It was getting harder and harder to contain his anger lately.

“She goes by Thestral.”

-> Link to Chapter Five

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

#alastor smut #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #radio demon #hazbin #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #reader insert #alastor shadow

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itsphoenix0724 · 1 year ago

Text

Hold Me Gently (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Azriel knew exactly what he signed up for when he became the court's spymaster, but sometimes everything gets too much for him to handle.

Warnings: Smut, angsty, negative thoughts about oneself, some dark stuff mentally

Word count: 1.6k

Bonus Chapter!

A/N: Hi loves! I'm excited to put this out for you guys I've been working on it for kind of a hot minute. Please read the tags carefully. I hope you all enjoy it, and as always constructive criticism is welcome. Plus I've got a special surprise coming in December that I may announce later this week so keep a look out. <3

Azriel swore sometimes he could still hear the screams that echoed off the stone walls of the Hewn City rattle around in his brain for days. Rhys had been clear this time.

Get the information through whatever means necessary, no matter what.

So that’s exactly what he had done, and it had taken hours. He sent Rhys a message with the information and winnowed directly into your bedroom. He knew you were downstairs in the kitchen because he had sent his shadows earlier to watch you, but he couldn’t bear to have you look at him right now. To have you look at him like he was the most amazing thing in the universe when you had no idea what horrors he committed just an hour earlier. Azriel hides his shame from the portrait of his mating ceremony, turning away from even your painted adoration. He is not the smiling male in that picture. He is not the male who deserves to put his blood-stained hands around your waist. He doesn’t deserve any of it. Not your kindness, not your comfort, not your kiss, or your smile. Not when he spent half the day ripping a man apart.

Maybe that male had a mate waiting at home too.

He sneaks carefully into the bathroom, turning the bathtub's faucet to boiling and letting the tub fill. Az peels off his leathers layer by layer, and they hit the clean white tile with a sickeningly wet sound, none of the blood is his. As he watches the red slowly seep onto the floor he knows that the tile’s just another thing he’s ruined.

He wishes he could peel his skin off as well.

Azriel sinks slowly into the tub, letting the sting of the hot water work every muscle. He wanted to erase everything, to let the water cleanse away his disgusting actions. His shadows send a whisper of you humming quietly from the kitchen and he almost bursts into tears. How had the cauldron given him someone someone so gentle? How did you wake up in their bed every day and not know you slept next to a monster? Az sinks under the surface, unable to bear the rushing in his head, and doesn’t come back up until his lungs are screaming for air.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You knew something was wrong when your mate didn’t immediately come to see you after returning from his mission. You had heard the faucet start to run while chopping vegetables for dinner, and you assumed Az was quickly rinsing off before he joined you. After half an hour had passed you started to become concerned. You knew your mate, and even though he never told you specifics, he sometimes needed time after his return from the Hewn City. You silently creep up the stairs of your home, avoiding all the creaking floorboards that might tip Azriel off. You swing open the bedroom door, but he is nowhere to be found the only evidence of him is a trail of blood that sends your heart into overdrive. You follow it to your bathroom door, now more worried about his safety than anything. The bond beating in your chest is dark, and it has been since Az left your bed this morning. Throwing open the door you’re met with a wall of crushing darkness. You fight through the swirling blackness, trying to call Azriel’s name, but you can’t see two feet in front of you. A rouge shadow comes to circle your wrist dragging you to your mate’s hunched form in the bathtub, base instinct takes over as you climb into the water hissing as the burning water scalds your thighs. “Azriel,” You call his name, taking his head in your hands. His hazel eyes seem unfocused like he’s looking through you than at you. “Az,” you rush out again. “Are you bleeding? Are you hurt?” You tilt his head this way and that way before scanning the rest of his body. You shake him at the shoulders trying to get him to see you. Finally, as if Az just realized you were there, he looks at you.

“The blood isn’t mine.” is all he says before his head thumps back against the porcelain as if it’s too heavy to hold on his own. Your shoulders sag in relief. “You shouldn’t be in here. Go back downstairs I’ll be there in a minute.” He runs the wet silk of your nightgown in between his fingers. You have no intention of leaving this bathtub until you figure out what's wrong with your mate.

“What’s happened?” You push running your fingers through the threads of his inky black hair. “Did the mission not go well?” Azriel scoffs, looking unbothered, but you can see the muscles in his throat tightening with effort to keep something hidden. You try to pull at the bond again, begging him to lower the obsidian shields he builds around himself, his hands shake with the effort of keeping them impenetrable. He still avoids your eyes, yet you try again refusing to yield. “Sweetheart…” you whisper softly and the Shadowsinger cracks before you. His walls rush down and crash against you like a tsunami, the wave of self-hatred that he had been holding in barrels against you with enough force to bring down the mountains. Silver lines his hazel eyes and your heart almost cracks in two. Wrapping your arms around Azriel you cradle him to your body, his hands tighten around your waist seeming torn between pulling you closer and pushing you away. His shoulders shake with the force of his sobs and all you can do is keep stroking his hair and make soothing sounds, trying to calm him down enough to speak. Az takes a shuddering breath, but the tears still stream down his face. You chase them away with the pads of your fingers.

“I do not deserve you,” he grinds out, voice rusty from the tears. You rub soothing circles into the joints of his shoulders and it makes Azriel want to throw up. “I am the monster mothers warn their children about at night. I’ve committed horrors that should make you run away in terror” You shake your head with feverance.

“I would never run from you Azriel. There is nothing too dark or too ugly that would make me love you any less. I promise you I can handle it.” Azriel does nothing but collapse back against you shaking his head back and forth. “Just talk to me please.” He takes a deep inhale, trying to calm his racing heart.

“I bled a male dry today. Rhys needed information, and he was harder to break than anticipated.” It’s all the information Az is willing to give. You have to stamp down the fury rising in your own chest. Both at Rhysand for putting your mate through this and at the Hewn City itself.

You’d tear this court apart brick by brick for making Azriel feel like he’s less than deserving of his life.

You’ll have to talk with Rhys later because for now, your focus is Az and Az alone. You refuse to allow him to continue to carry on like this, cursing yourself for not realizing the effects of this position wearing on him sooner.

“Look at me.” You pull his jaw towards you, forcing him to meet your eyes “There is no universe where you are not deserving of happiness. You have a job to do, and I understood that when I accepted this bond. I do not fear you, I do not balk from you, and I do not love you any less because of that.” The bond sings with light as the weight finally starts to leave your mate's shoulders. Golden eyes study you intensely before he hauls you against him in one fluid motion and crashes his lips to yours. He tastes like burning whiskey, and kisses you so fiercely you’re afraid your lips might bruise. You hold him together the best you can, afraid that if you let him go he will shatter into pieces before you. “Are you sure you want this right now?” You ask, you’ll give Az whatever he needs, and if he needs a distraction from his head then you’re happy to provide it to him. He nods, leaning down to press his lips to your collarbone. You run your hands along his back grinding yourself into him, and pour love and devotion down your side of the bond to him. His hardness presses against you as he nudges aside the scraps of lace before sheathing himself into the hilt. You let Azriel take what he needs, fucking you on his length, rocking you back and forth. He’s hitting the spot inside you that makes you see stars with such force water sloshes over the edge of the tub, washing away the blood from Azriel’s leathers. You run your hands along the edge of his wing and he roars, one hand almost cracking the porcelain of the bathtub. He changes his pace to pure brutality, using you like no more than a toy. Your thighs shake with the effort to keep yourself upright. He’s ruthless in the way he moves like a hungry predator finally tearing into its kill. Your orgasm tears through you with blinding energy, and you unravel faster than you’d like to admit, but Az always manages to have that effect on you. He loses himself soon after you, tumbling over the edge with so much force he rips the bottom of your nightgown into ribbons. You stare at each other for a long moment, relishing in the afterglow and grateful for the hot water in the tub.

“I’m sorry for ripping your nightgown,” Azriel rumbles and you laugh a beautiful golden sound.

“You can buy me a new one later,” you promise, “but for now let me wash your hair.”

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster

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gothghostiie · 7 months ago

Note

All your thoughts about Graves are amazing!! What if dear reader is his happy little shy housewife that decides to be bold and wear lingerie for his welcome home surprise- except he brought home a couple of close shadows with him to celebrate... so now you're being punished in front of them because Graves HAS to show his men his wife is his alone~ 🩵

thank you honey!! you have no idea how much it means to me 🫶🏻

cw: domesticity kink, exposure, light degrading, praise, creampie, teasing nipple play, talk about edging;sharing, spanking (ass and pussy), fem!reader, this turned out longer than I thought - not proofread

neither of you expected what the other one did - Phil didn't expect his usually so prim and proper, shy little wife to suddenly rock up in nothing but lingerie; you didn't expect him to bring some shadows home after a mission. usually he liked being alone with you, but usually you also wouldn't be waiting in that gorgeous, blue negligee, considering you only just bought it. you sat there in his armchair, legs crossed with the matching nylon socks being held up by lacy garters, heart racing when you heard the door unlock - face dropping when you heard the chuckles of multiple men. you panicked internally, frozen in your seat until it was too late to cover up, until he stepped in with his shadows behind him.

his face dropped briefly, eyeing you over and seeing you look at him like a deer in headlights - he couldn't help but grin. arms crossed over his chest, all of them still in uniform. "Well, what do we have here? if that isn't my sweet, little angel.." he hummed, carrying a note of sarcasm in his voice. you stuttered, stumbling over your own words for a good ten seconds before he shook his head and stopped you with a simple wave of his hand while walking over to you. slowly, Phillip bent down, hands on the armrests of his favourite chair, caging you under his gaze. "you wanted to surprise me like this? what happened to my innocent little darling who blushed when I even mentioned anything remotely kinky?" that same blush crossed your face again, making him laugh. "missed me so much while I was gone you had to throw yourself at me the second I came back? like a little slut?" he hummed, just loud enough for the others to hear. you blushed more, pressing your thighs together as he spoke, especially during the last word. he had never called you that, anything but darling, sweetheart and the like for that matter. but now he called you a slut in the most loving tone and christ, you'd be lying if you said it didn't make you wet.

"I- I'm.." you tried to speak but no sentence would form. he chuckled lowly, the shadows were now in the room but still kept their distance in case graves wanted them to leave. naturally he noticed it, noticed your eyes darting to them ever so often. He gave them a brief look before suddenly grinning, pointy canines on display as he turned back to you.

"should punish you for being so naughty darling.. I'm sure you won't mind the boys watching, do you? since you seem to love being on display like that.." he hummed, looking into your eyes, looking for any sign of hesitance. he saw the brief fear that got overrun by excitement, not to mention the way you rubbed your thighs together. "I'll take that as a yes." he said, suddenly grabbing your wrist with his gloved hand, pulling you out of the seat with ease. his other hand offered the shadows to take a seat in the living room, none of them hesitated even one bit to sit down. you glanced over at your husband, who dropped into his seat with a low groan, keeping you standing between his legs. "how about you get us all some drinks first, hm?" he asked, but it wasn't a question. you quickly nodded, cheeks still burning as the men told you what drink they'd like, you vanished into the kitchen. that wasn't something out of the ordinary, you usually liked making yourself useful for him and his friends.. just not almost naked with your nipples peeking through the thin fabric. with shaky hands you carried the tray back to them, handing everyone their drink - last but not least Phillip, who took the glass and patted his knee. "Sit."

without hesitation you sat down, making him smile in satisfaction. "you're such a dirty little thing aren't you? I can feel the heat from your pussy through the gear." he teased, his free hand snaking between your thighs, gloved fingertips grazing the damp fabric. you blushed, gripping the hem of your negligee tightly while refusing to look at him, or anything but the floor for that matter. "look at you, so shy suddenly." his fingers slowly pushed down on your clit, making you tense up. he chuckled at your reaction. "stand up. show the boys what I get to touch whenever I want." a shiver ran down your spine, yet you obeyed him like a dog. you stood up, even doing a little spin, the men eyeing you like hungry wolves. Phil meanwhile nodded, his semi pressing against his pants slightly. "over my lap." he commanded, you obeyed again. this wasn't a first, the two of you had tried some stuff and spanking is something that definitely stuck. slowly, almost teasingly he removed his gloves, putting them aside on the coffee table. "I'd say it's a shame to have to punish you but I'd be lying doll. I love it when you beg for mercy." with that the first smack landed, making you gasp for air. a few more followed rapidly, making your ass jiggle, your pussy growing more and more wet with each slap.

the men watched the whole thing go down, slowly growing hard and palming themselves through their gear - Phillip had laid down the ground rules while you got drinks, but you didn't need to know that. especially not when he landed the final, harsh strike, making you cry out. "stand up and show them how red your ass is. show them what happened when you're a naughty slut." he hissed, you obeyed with butterflies in your belly. you stood up, backside turned to the shadows as your fave burned in embarrassment, glancing at Phil briefly. he caught the look and gave you a reassuring smile. "so pretty, isn't she?" he hummed lovingly, pulling you in his lap again. this time your back was laid against his chest, his calloused hands sliding up and between your thighs while his lips peppered kisses over your shoulder. he was just about to speak up when he reached your panties, but instead raised an eyebrow. "oh? did someone enjoy her punishment?" he taunted, not even giving you time to think before forcibly spreading your legs, damp panties on display.

you cried out, shaking your head and hiding your face behind your hands. "i'-i'm sorry Phil, I didn't mean to, i-" he cut you off.

"now this won't do. looks like I'll have to punish that pretty pussy too." he hummed, before you could register it he began spanking your pussy too. every slap drew a loud whine or moan from you, legs twitching, pussy only drooling more. the first 10 slaps or so landed on your panties, the wet smack getting worse and worse, making him chuckle. "you're such a dirty little pervert angel.." he whispered, pulling the underwear aside to expose your sticky cunt, fingers rubbing between your folds. "I'm punishing you in front of my men and all you do is get wet and moan, not even showing remorse. I'm starting to think you wanted all of this, wanted to be showed off.." a smack landed on your bare pussy, making you cry out. "can't believe something so innocent and shy could be this dirty.." his voice was merely more than a low growl, boner pressing against your back as he landed another 10 smacks on your bare cunt, your slick dripping down onto his pants. by the last one tears of pleasure dwelled up in your eyes.

"Ph-phil.. please.." you whispered breathlessly. "can't take more.." your chest was rising and falling rapidly, hole clenching around nothing. your husbands hands slowly wandered up your torso until they reached your tits, groping them.

"oh? you can't take any more?" he asked almost sarcastically. "you want me to stop then?" he asked, yet you shook your head, trying to speak as his warm fingers slipped under the fabric to toy with your hard nipples.

"n-no.. I.. I want you.." you choked out in a shaky voice, nails digging into his thighs as you pressed your back against his chest. he laughed briefly, pinching your nipples lightly.

"say what you want. let them hear it." he whispered into your ear, nibbling right underneath it. you cried out, blushing in embarrassment as you looked over to the others, all of them with their cocks in their hands by now. you stammered, a soft sob escaping your throat as his grip on your nipples slowly tightened.

"i.. I want you to fuck my pussy.." you said shakily, almost crying from embarrassment - yet you wouldn't ever want to stop.

"fuck that naughty little pussy of yours?" he scoffed. "reward you after you enjoyed your punishment? seems a little strange, no?" he taunted, making you whine out. Phil chuckled, suddenly pinching your nipples tightly, speaking over you crying out. "beg for it." you hesitated only a moment before desperate pleas fell from your lips, begging him to take you. your voice was shaking, you were stuttering and fumbling with your words, him pulling yout nipples didn't help. only when they slipped out of his grip and your cried out loudly, arching your back he smiled, arms now wrapping around your waist. "good girl, there you go.. how can anyone say no when you beg so pretty?" he hummed, soothing you while one of his hands went to fumble with his belt. he peppered kisses over the side of your neck, nipping and sucking on it while you squirmed in his lap, moaning under his grip. only when he freed his cock and you felt the length against your back he stopped.

his hands snaked under your knees, with ease lifting you up and hovering you over his cock, tip just about grazing your still bare cunt, panties still pulled to the side. you peered down, breath hitching as he moved his hips back and forth, teasing you. "you ready baby?" he asked softly, no malice in his voice for once, just genuinely wanting to check in on you. you took a soft breath and gave him a nod, hands holding onto his forearms. he gave back and affirmative nod, kissing the back of your neck once before pretty much dropping you on his cock, the whole length forced inside your sopping pussy. you cried out loudly, arching your back as he growled, the feeling of your tight walls driving him insane.

"fuck, I missed your tight little cunt..." he muttered, hands gripping your lower thighs tightly to lift you again until he was about halfway outside of you, holding you there. he took a deep breath before slowly rocking his hips up into you, letting you get used to it. the feeling was intense, whether it was that he hadn't fucked you due to being away on a mission; or the eyes of the shadows burning into your cunt being split open by his cock. the thrusts were gentle but that didn't last long, he was growing desperate himself. no matter how hard he had tried to hold back, within minutes he was slamming his hips up into you, groaning and grunting while you were crying softly, drool running down your chin from the overwhelming pleasure. his fingertips dug into your thighs, feeling you become fully loose around him, the gushing sounds making his cock twitch. it didn't take long for you to squirm, getting closer to cumming with each passing minute. of course Phil noticed, he had seen it time and time before.

"you gonna cum?" he asked harshly, out of breath but refusing to slow his thrusts. "do you even fucking deserve that, slut? this was supposed to be a punishment.." his words made you shiver and clench, whining loudly. "should be so thankfulI'm m even fucking you right now.. should've just let the boys have their way with you.." his words made the knot in your stomach tighten by far, another sob escaping you. "shouldn't be letting you cum at all, should i?"

by now all your dignity and most of your shyness were gone, so almost naturally desperate pleas started falling from your lips. "please, Phil.. I gotta cum, can't take it anymore.. I'll be good I promise.. do anything you want.." the words made a chill run down his spine. even if he wanted to he couldn't hold back now.

"fuck.." he muttered, hand reaching towards your pussy to give it a good smack, you cried out. "cum for me doll.." he huffed through gritted teeth, fingers now rubbing your clit. within just seconds your eyes rolled back, all your reservation gone as you came over his cock, head falling back, whole body quivering as you drooled. incoherent thank yous spilled from your lips as he fucked you through your high, chasing his own - which luckily for him didn't take too long, especially with your sweet cries. he dropped you down on his cock again, the whole length disappearing inside you as he bit your shoulder hard, drawing a final cry from you before he came deep inside you.

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bonesofapoet · 3 months ago

Text

delicate [ lucanis dellamorte x rook ] author's note: the one where rook has the world on their shoulders and lucanis offers to help them carry it. explicit language word count: 1013

It was a strange thing, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. You don't even remember when it draped itself all cold and snug across your silhouette, or when it decided it was here to stay. This was a burden you never expected to hold, to carry with you during each passing moment, with every grounding inhale and exhale you took. It wasn't a welcome thing, these days; it had become so, so heavy, yet it was not something so easily discarded. Not even for a moment of blessed peace.

On the sleepless nights, a fire usually crackles and dances until it wears itself down to embers in the ashes, glowing soft and cozy as the moons begin to set in the sky. You would busy yourself with everything and nothing at all, to pass the time.

This night, however, seemed different. Felt different. You've let the hearth remain dark and cold, favoring the soft amber glow of candlelight instead. They chase away reaching shadows the crescent moon cannot touch. The comfort of a clay mug warms your fingers, curls of steam swirling off into the night. You've made yourself comfy in your favorite window to watch the landscape beyond, brightening by the gradual ascension of the moons.

And then you hear it. Soft footfalls. Faint, even in the blissful silence of an hour so late. They cease, hesitant outside the closed door, only to shift after a moment. The figure continues to linger, linger, linger until finally, a knock echoes through the wood.

You're unsurprised to find Lucanis standing on the other side.

"Can't sleep?" he says, hand curved around the door when he eases it open.

"Fast asleep, actually."

He huffs a laugh from where he stands. "Funny."

"According to you, I'm always funny." the barb is said with curved lips and a gesture to the chair nearby when he can't decide how to answer.

He's grateful for the offer, how you let his silence slip through the cracks. It's ridiculous, he thinks. He's a Crow for fuck's sake. Seduction, charm - it was literally part of his training; yet when it comes to you - well. Lucanis is absolutely delighted you don't twist the knife in his pride like Harding has started doing. Mercilessly, may he add.

He settles into the chair and pretends he can't feel you watching his every breath, his every shift until he's comfortable. When he looks at you again, he can see it almost instantly: the toll of what your lives have become. How you've grown and faltered, how you've shined and how you've crashed and burned. It's there, all of it, weaving it's way into your body language, your features, captivating as they are. And, of course - of course. He sees the way you catch him reading you, only to turn quickly back to the window, then to the contents of what remains in your mug.

That's what tipped him off, hearing you in the kitchen.

Silence, once again, nestles itself into the space, a warm blanket draped with care over the heaviness of a night bearing nothing but memory. It's something you've grown accustomed to, this comfortable stillness filling up the atmosphere when you and Lucanis are alone like this. It's nice. Reassuring, even. Like a little pocket held out of time and space, curated solely for both of you to catch your breath.

It's becoming something familiar, something Lucanis maybe even relies on, if only a little bit, when he remembers the crushing weight that he too, carries within him. This could be dangerous, he knows, whatever is blooming slow and soft and true between you, yet he's surprised to realize he doesn't much care.

He watches you swirl the dregs of your cup, curling steam no longer framing the divine contours of your face. His fingers grip the wood of the chair tight enough that it bites into calloused palms. He needs - well, to be honest, he needs a fucking minute, actually, or he's going to jump out of his fucking skin.

A fucking Crow - more like an embarrassment.

Naturally, it takes him little time to see an opportunity before he simply takes it.

"Let me get you another," he nods to the mug, resting loose in your grip, now that it's drained dry. "You stay where you are. Embrace the quiet while you can."

"I - it's -" You realize too late how you were never able to successfully lie to Lucanis. You had allowed him to learn you, and learn you well. An agreement stumbles through your lips instead. The cup is raised in surrender, with no thought to hide the exhaustion coating your voice with its poisoned tongue. "Thank you. Oh, and I made -"

"I know." He says, pausing when his fingers slide over yours to cradle the pottery. Your eyes meet, and neither of you move from the warmth, or the thrill of comfort that such a small touch brings you both.

And then, quick as it was cast, the spell shatters.

You melt into a teasing grin, still holding the attention of those lovely amber eyes. He doesn't seem to notice you're covering the frantic beating of your heart.

"Ah, so the Prince of Crows knows my drink order, does he? I am someone important after all."

Lucanis rolls his eyes and snatches the cup away. His turn is quick, not to hide his smirk, but the heat rising in his cheeks and nestling in his heart. What he can't hide, however, is the smooth rumble of laughter as he crosses the room. He lingers once more at the threshold, head angled toward your place in the window. He's unsure he should speak of it, but he decides he must, if right now, he cant offer you anything more.

His quiet words, when they reach you, are both a balm on your aching heart and a swift punch to the gut all the same.

"This is something we carry together, you know. Lean on us, Rook. Anytime you need."

Then the shadows of the hallway swallow him whole.

#lucanis dellamorte #dragon age #lucanis x rook #dragon age the veilguard #da4 #kas writes

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holdinbacksecrets · 11 months ago

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shadow, my shadow, my shadow

seungcheol: his name in your phone is cherries. no one gets it. it confuses all your friends. people don’t take the time to dissect what’s right in front of them. instead, they hope the answer will drop, release from its stem all on its own. here it is: he stains your skin; he fills your belly with laughter, with love, and it’s deep, an alluring maroon. the only color you ask for at the nail salon. the only color painted across your lips on a friday night. the only color saturating the sky in your dreams

jeonghan: he’s always just a telephone call away. he’s always just a handful of dialed digits away. he’s always close enough to touch before slipping away. he’s never close enough to believe. he’s a really fucking good dream, but it falters as soon as you wake up. he’s an almost. he’s an if only i had better luck

soonyoung: his embrace is overwhelming. it used to burn your skin. it used to keep you up for a night or two. it used to make you shake and press your hands against his chest, whispering too close, you’re too close to me. so you started to lay out in the sun and welcome the warmth. you started to visit tucked away cafes and drink delicious beverages. you started to welcome the love without argument, and his embrace became divine comfort, soft serenity, warm weather

wonwoo: your ceiling is beautiful. you’ve watched it for hours like a science project or a call to worship. sun rays display themselves so beautifully across it, covering crevices, blanketing stark white in something ethereal. you called in sick to work and haven’t looked at your phone since. you’ll stay just like this until nightfall and an embrace turns you away from the canvas high. he pulls you into him, whispers your name against your skin. you wonder if he says it as a reminder

seokmin: he’s beautiful. his constellated moles create your favorite sky—stars close enough to touch, and you’ve always wanted to touch stars. you drew fishing poles for three years as a kid, imagining a bucket filled with stars knocking your leg on the journey home. it sat beside number one on your christmas list, hoping santa clause would make a dream come true. he let it simmer, kept you waiting for a decade, kept you waiting long enough for the desire to slip, kept you waiting for so long that the real thing surpassed the imaginary

mingyu: he baked cookies for your birthday because you don’t like cake, and there’s something about the texture of frosting you can’t quite get behind—can’t trust the silky smooth. he brought home the milk that comes in a glass bottle. it’s delicious and thick and warms your heart with sweet nostalgia. you open his gifts first because he asked you to, and you find a beautiful goblet that’s the color of summer peaches. he fills it to the rim with glass-bottle milk. he fills his goblet too and presses a candle into the stack of cookies. the wish arrives as soon as you close your eyes

chan: he stands behind you in the kitchen, rests his chin on your shoulder while the sun rises. you’re early risers too. never were before. then this love unraveled in your living room, and you crave more of the day

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen blurbs #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seungcheol scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #soonyoung scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seokmin scenarios #mingyu scenarios #chan scenarios

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autumnaaltonen · 2 years ago

Note

Here’s an idea of the reader loving all of his forms

Like he would use his other forms to fluster the poor reader

Oh hells yeah. After conducting that Alucard simp poll a couple weeks ago, we now know that the love for Alucard's various forms stretch across the board.

Alucard Using His Shapeshifting to Fluster His S/O

It was common knowledge in Hellsing that there were many shapes and forms Alucard could take on. Sometimes he was shadows in the ceiling corner, spying on guests as they speak with his Master. Other times he could be mist under the dining room table, listening in on conversations between Hellsing staff on the goings-on of the manor. He was unpredictable, and this made everyone hyper aware of what they said while on duty.

You, on the other hand, have been his lover for quite a bit, and when you manage to wiggle into Alucard's dead heart as you have, guessing his patterns and whereabouts becomes a bit of a game for you.

Integra: "Damn that creature, he did not arrive for our scheduled meeting with the Iscariot, again. Where the blazes is he?"

You: "Oh, he was there. He's just hiding in your shadow again."

Alucard, from Integra's shadow on the carpet: "The sun was at it's peak. Why should I burn myself for those Catholic hypocrites?"

Integra: "Why you-get out of there!"

You: "I did advise you to close the blinds, sir."

As clever as you are, Alucard does not find this at all amusing. He lives on being a master of deception and trickery, and you just manage to throw off his whole vibe.

So one day, he decides to turn the tables on you.

You wake up early morning to start the day, and turn to kiss Alucard good morning, as he always joins you in bed before taking his daytime slumber.

To your shock, you turn to find a slobbery black dog cuddled up to your side. Baskerville licks a wet stripe up your face, getting slobber in your nose and eye.

"Hilarious", you grumble sarcastically, before shoving the hound off of you to go wash your face.

Later that afternoon, you go to retrieve a box of Sir Integra's favorite tea from the kitchen pantry, opening the door to find a young girl hanging by her neck from the ceiling. You scream in shock, falling to the ground in terror. But you quickly recognize the coal-black hair and ruby eyes.

"God damn it, Alucard! I nearly pissed myself!"

He giggles wholeheartedly from the makeshift noose, before you grab the tea bags and slam the door in his face.

You stay on guard after that, constantly on edge for the rest of the evening.

Catching onto his game, you consistently point him out from every nook and cranny you know he frequents, raining on his parade before he can get the jump on you again.

By the time you are getting ready for bead, you think he's finally given up, but then you feel the mattress and sheets shift.

"Don't even try it, Alucard. I know you're there," you grumble, just wanting some shut-eye.

But then you feel two strong hands grip your shoulders, and long legs barricade against your hips, pinning you down on the mattress.

"But why end the fun when the night is still young, my love?" a deep and sultry accented voice whispers in your ear. You look up to see the unmistakable face of Vlad staring you down, the best 'do me' look shimmering in his lustful gaze. He's stripped down to his underclothes, wearing a loose peasant shirt that gives you a welcome view of his hairy, muscular chest.

"Always keen on the element of surprise, eh Drac?" you hum.

"And there are many more surprises to come," he chuckles, before leaning down and kissing you, beginning what would turn out to be a very long night for you both <3

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alucard #hellsing alucard #alucard x reader #hellsing alucard x reader

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riaki · 11 months ago

Text

a spritz of peppermint | megumi fushiguro x reader

pt.6 of christmas event! cw: petnames i think idk, not proofread, there’s probably other stuff i’m missing but wtv happy birthday the prettiest king pls come back the food is cold

today is a very special day.

megumi notices that you rise early— mostly because when he wakes up in the morning, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes groggily with a groan, he notices you’re not there. he rolls over, and smacks his face into cold sheets, devoid of your heat.

it pisses him off. so he starts his special day out as a grouch.

when he eventually crawls out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen after pulling on some sweats, though— he stops just short of the threshold to that sweet smelling cozy haven you love to spend your time in. the scent of pine needles and fresh chocolate orange wafts across the space, warm and welcoming and awfully wintery. he’s impartial to the cold— but he likes seeing your nose get red, so he guesses that’s one point positive.

“megumi?” your soft voice drifts across the open space, and the frost around his grumpy heart melts just a little; a crack in the frozen surface of the lake.

he reluctantly emerges from the shadow of the hallway, past the bundle of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. the thought causes a memory to flash across his mind— your sweet smile and your prettier laugh; a distinct feeling of fuzzy warmth like a knitted sweater spreading across his cheeks when you pulled him close by the sleeve of his shirt and leaned in—

he shakes his head, trying to dash the stray thought. he’s supposed to be mad. it has no right to be there.

“why’d you get up so early?” he sighs heavily as he joins you at your side, scratching the back of his neck and running a hand through his unruly hair. you smiled sheepishly, turning to face him and you wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing lightly as a silent apology. he takes it with a grumble, snaking his arms around your waist and resting his face in your hair to bask in the scent of home before pulling away.

“it’s a secret.” you grinned, and he glares down at you, clicking his teeth in annoyance. you just laugh like the angel you are, leaving no room for guilt. you’re wearing one of his sweaters; you smell like him, and he supposes it makes up for the way you ditched him this morning.

“i expect compensation.” he grumbles, leaning against the counter as he watches you move about the kitchen, pale winter sunlight painting you like an ethereal dancer beneath the surface of misty lake water, crystal clear in your beauty. it’s mesmerizing.

you laughed, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip. “what, missed me? were you feeling lonely, gumi?” you smiled.

he just shoots you a piercing glare, the color of icicles in his eyes, but the warmth of your grin melts it away. you spend the next few moments in a comfortable silence, preparing a french toast topped with sweet berries and powdered sugar that looks so soft megumi could probably sink into it, until your lovely voice breaks the crisp morning silence.

“want black coffee?”

…

that’s weird. he never hesitates. and you know he takes his coffee black; of course you do. not because he wants to look cool, or look suave in another person’s eyes… well, except for you, of course. but not in the area of caffeine doses. and to be perfectly clear, all he needs is a dose of you to get him going.

he clears his throat. “can you make me hot chocolate?”

you pause, and he almost wants to bite his tongue off. why is he so embarrassed? but you just chuckle, like morning bird song across fresh dew on the grass.

“switching it up, huh? that’s cute.” you hum, and his face burns hot like embers in a brick fireplace. he coughs, throat scratchy like the pricks of a pinecone— but you make no note of it, simply going about your day.

he’s content to watch as you fish around in the rum-colored cabinets, pulling out a crinkly bag of cocoa powder. you put him on milk microwaving duty and he busies himself, lithe pale fingers unscrewing the carton of milk and pouring it into his favorite little painted dog mug. you were the one who’d made it; that silly little ceramics class you insisted on taking clearly didn’t help you too much in the way of smoothing down the bumps and blotches on the mug, but it holds your fingerprint, so he might as well memorize the shape of your hands when you’re not there.

megumi’s snapped back to reality when you grab a candy cane from the mini tree you decorated together sitting on the kitchen counter, smashing it up in the wrappings to mix the pepperminty dust with the cocoa powder. he eyes the pile of holiday drug warily as he brings the steaming mug over, placing it before you and leaning against the counter again to watch you work your mystery magic.

“that looks like brown cocai—”

“shh, megumi. keep your pretty mouth shut, please.”

he’s about to butt in again, lips parted before he presses them together irritatedly and resigns to sulk in silence.

you pour the hot chocolate mix into the milk, swishing it together as it forms a pretty spiral of cocoa; the color of dark chai and chocolate tart. he’s content to watch in silence, humming some christmas carol he’d overheard you listening to one gray afternoon— until he realizes you’re opening a bag of those sickeningly sweet and fluffy marshmallows he’d bought you on a whim. he only did it because his mentor told him they made the best gifts, but he’s beginning to realize it was the sweet tooth talking.

“hey— wait… are you going to put those in there, pretty?” he asks, putting a gentle hand on your wrist to stop you from vigorously emptying the bag into his poor victimized hot chocolate mug.

you glance up at him and flash a toothy grin, giving him one of those looks that makes his heart skip a beat. “trust me, gumi! you’re gonna love it.” you laughed, shrugging his hand off, and his lips curve downward. less because of the marshmallows that are toppling into his mug with a splash and more so because you freed yourself from his grasp.

obviously, you notice— your eyebrows knit together, a pinch of guilt weighing upon them like the snow on the streets outside. but it’s wiped away as quickly as it comes; before he knows it, you’re walking away with a bounce in your step, disappearing behind the counter before re-emerging with something behind your back.

“don’t look so sad, gumi. here,” you say, the cadence of your voice as soft and playful as he ever remembers it being when you pull a bunch of roses from behind your back. the bouquet is small and there’s dirt clinging to the stems— but his heart melts at the thought that you hand-picked them, prickly thorns and all, for him. “happy birthday,” you whispered, and his walls break.

“you’re not so different from them, you know.” you hummed, smiling as he takes them from you and gives you an inquisitive, quiet look. “you might be a little prickly on the outside, but you’re just as beautiful. you just have to look a little past the thorns.”

he feels his face flush; at this point, it’s probably as red as the stray candy cane shavings melting in his mug and the vibrant petals of the roses. he splutters and mumbles something annoyed under his breath, but he’s sure you can hear the undercurrent of fondness and affection weaves into each syllable like the beats of his heart, where you’re so close to. megumi thinks you might’ve just cut him open and made a home in his ribcage.

the bunch of handpicked roses for his special day sit on the marble counter dusted with cocoa powder and candy cane shavings, marshmallows bobbing at the surface of his hot chocolate like apples in a bucket as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in to press his lips insistently to yours, slow and tender like the way he always loves you. his hands curl around your sides, as if to ground you there; freeze the time in this bubble of warmth, forgetting the chill outside to warm his hands on your skin. you’re so little in his arms; he wants to hold you and never let you go, to keep you under his tree and have you make hot chocolate for him instead of black coffee every morning he wakes up, because it’s fine if you’re not there in bed— as long as you’re waiting for him with open arms elsewhere.

and when he kisses you, he realizes he might not need his hot cocoa to warm his stomach— your lips are as soft and pillowy sweet as the marshmallows melting in his mug, filled with steaming hot cocoa and all the love he could ever wrap his heart in this cozy winter; his christmas gift to you.

he’s grateful today is a special day, if only because of you and his sweet little painted dog mug filled with your heartwarming love.

stop this was so close to being late my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

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