#^- { FALLEN INTO CACOPHONY }

[blimbo-buddy]

FallenLeaves' last attempt to get HollyLeaf to stay

[intro-to-calamity]

Why do I keep getting dreams of being pregnant

{ GAY }

[violetbarbarian]

i listened to paris paloma’s new album on repeat while i was reading a day of fallen night and it was one of the best decisions i have ever made. the last woman on earth followed by bones on the beach?? absolutely WRECKED me during the white ship scenes in wulf’s pov. would highly recommend

"if we had a daughter, I'd watch and could not save her. The emotional torture, from the head of your high table. She'd do what you taught her, she'd meet the same cruel fate." Are the most Glorian shieldheart lyrics ever written

[invoncible]

I’d love to see Invincible!variants meeting OG reader with powers/super strong because in their world, their reader is normal. I’d like to see their reaction when they’re expecting someone weak and then they suddenly fly off or get decked in the face!

INVINCIBLE VARIANTS & reader who can put them in their place ✧˚. ft. nogoggles!mark, mohawk!mark, viltrumite!mark, the surviving 8 cw. canon typical violence

— this is so funny ily nonnie but uhh rereading this i feel like i lost the plot, hope u enjoy nonetheless lol <3 ! — reader is with MAIN!mark & has scarlet witch type powers

when multiple versions of your boyfriend were zipping around the planet causing indescribable amounts of destruction, you were a little confused. all of these guys... were mark? what mark could've been if things went a little different?

you held back a little when fighting them because they had the face of the boy you loved so much, but after seeing them in action... they had to go.

you were flying beside your mark, the only good one apparently, when cecil barked in your ear.

"y/n, i need you." your comm buzzed to life with cecil's instructions.

"kinda busy, cecil." you muttered under your breath.

"please, i know you're done with me. i know both of you are. but don't turn your back on the people who're in danger."

"what does he want?" your mark snapped, the distaste evident on his face.

"help." you answered him with a sigh, your moral compass guilting you into seeing where you were needed. you promised mark you'd be back soon.

"just tell me where the problem is." you shot back at cecil.

NOGOGGLES!MARK

"i need you at guardians' HQ."

you narrowed your eyes in concern. "the guardians are down?"

"it's a batshit crazy version of mark, what do you think?"

you rolled your eyes and rerouted your flight path to guardians' base. within minutes you warped right in the middle of the action.

"what the fuck..." you whispered in horror. kate and her duplicates were out, shapesmith was ripped in half—immortal was the only one still going and even he was struggling.

"nice, they sent someone else!" mark stopped immortal's punch nonchalantly with one hand, grinning down at you from where he hovered in the air. he squinted then gasped, throwing immortal to the ground.

"y/n? why would they send you?" he floated down to you, approaching you like a wild animal.

"you know me?" you stalled, eyes darting around your periphery to make sure that the others were at least alive.

"do i know you?" he laughed, figuring that was a good enough answer to your question. he circled around you with an approving hum. "aww, you playing dress up? i like this color on you—"

activating your power, your tendrils of chaos magic snaked around his body, picking him up and throwing him across the room. you flew to where he landed, lifting the debris of his prior battle telekinetically and sending the slabs of concrete crashing into his body.

your feet touched down on the ground as you walked calmly towards his fallen body squirming under the projectiles. he shot up and out of the pile of rocks with a feral grin on his face.

"holy shit. you're nothing like my y/n." he set his fists and accelerated towards you.

you stopped him with the raise of your hand. his punch stuttered in time and space as he tried his hardest to push past your power and land a good one. you ducked under him, yanking at his ankle and slamming him to the ground so hard he bounced.

"yes," he chuckled lowly, wiping the blood dripping on his chin. "yes. can i take you home with me?"

"no."

"i'll fight you for it," he stood up, rolling his neck. you cringed when you heard the cacophony of cracks that followed. "wanna fight me for it?"

"s'not gonna be much of a fight." you smiled, shifting your weight before taking off again, gaining altitude and using your power as a jet engine to collide your leg with his face.

to your shock and horror, he just stood there and took it with a smile, his body skipping across the floor like a rock over a lake .

"oh..." he grinned, sliding to a stop and licking the blood off his teeth. "oh. i love you."

you blinked in confusion, tilting your head. your body warmed as you channeled your power again, a ball of energy accumulating over your palm. "i'm... going to kill you."

"i know!" he laughed, punching his fist into his palm as he got hyped up again. "that's the best part."

"you're actually enjoying this." you meant it as a question, but there was no room for debate. this mark was 100% delighted by the fact you were trying to kill him.

mark swayed on his feet, blood dribbling from his split lip. his breathing was uneven—you couldn't tell if it was from exertion or excitement—and of course that fucking grin was still there.

"you’re so fun," he groaned, licking his teeth. "i love my y/n, but i bet they could learned a thing or two from you—"

you didn’t let him finish. with a flick of your wrist, your energy surged forward, wrapping around his throat. his words choked off into a strangled gasp as you lifted him into the air.

"i'm not them," you said, voice steady even as you watched him gasp for air.

then, with a sharp twist—you snapped his neck. his body dropped to the floor, limp. you stared for a second, waiting for any signs of movement. nothing. finally, you let out a breath and turned away.

"ugh..."

you froze and spun around. his voice was wet, choked with laughter.

"you're not making it easy to stay away from you."

MOHAWK!MARK

"the penitentiary. prison's getting ransacked."

you were at the scene within the minute, zapping into existence just to see mark with a fuckass mohawk fighting off some heroes tasked with taking him in. they were unsuccessful of course, as when you arrived they were in piles of limbs and blood on the concrete.

his eyes flickered to you, widening in recognition. "y/n..?"

you raised your eyebrow. guess he knew you, or a version of you in his world. it didn't matter to you.

he lit up and tossed a severed hand to the side. "oh, hey!" he walked towards you. "what're you doing here, babe? i know you love when i go crazy but this is a biiiiit dangerous—"

you restricted his movement, pulling him towards you with your magic. you squeezed and squeezed until you heard his breath hitch. "i'm not your y/n."

"yeah, i can see that." he crooned, feigning an impressed tone. "you got a little power now? if you wanted me close, you don't have to be rough. just ask. i'm happy with any version of you." he failed to hide his little grunt, squirming in your hold.

if your grimace was any indication of your sentiment, he didn't take it to heart. he took it as motivation. he broke through your magic, pummeling through the air towards you. unfazed, you slapped him off course with a bolt of magic. he crashed into the wall with a groan.

mark stood up, the dust and rocks falling off his back. "my y/n was a sweetheart."

"i can be sweet," you mumbled more to yourself, brows furrowing as you strategized how to finish him off quickly.

"just not for me, though." mark grinned. "i see how it is. is it the hair?"

"kinda." your eyes flickered up to his hair and you couldn't stop the little smile on your face. all you could think about was your mark with that style. it worked on him, not that you'd admit it.

you picked him up and slammed him down, picked him up and slammed him down again, over and over until he was hanging limp in the air.

satisfied, you synthesized restraints from imagination and fastened them over him. you barely climbed out of the sunken crater you carved with his body when he coughed up blood, eyes fluttering.

you pressed a finger to your ear. "cecil, send someone else to bring this guy in. i've got to get back."

"you just gonna throw me around and leave?" he scoffed, words slurring together from the beating.

"someone's gonna take you in, and you're gonna tell us everything about how you got here." you sigh and barely spare him a glance over your shoulder.

"i won't talk." he sang teasingly.

"you will."

"i'll do it maybe if you come a little closer." he egged you on, a stupid little smirk on his face. "got something real special to say to you."

"shut up."

he groaned petulantly and started to push against your magical binds.

"stay." you narrowed your eyes.

his eyes darted up to yours, staring for a moment before huffing a short laugh. he leaned back against the caved-in pavement, man-spreading and getting comfy against the slope. "yes, ma'am."

VILTRUMITE!MARK

"he's off fighting spawn. the poor guy's probably already dead."

"got it."

"watch out for this one, y/n, he's..." cecil sucked in a breath. "i dunno. full viltrumite indoctrination?"

"i can handle him." you reassured him before phasing over to the variant's location.

you watched as he ripped the hero apart, flying him into the highway below for good measure. you soared down behind him, saving all the cars that were launched from the road and setting them down at a safe distance.

mark watched as the cars were gently rescued. he turned around like he had all the time in the world and looked pained upon seeing you.

"please no." he sighed softly. "they shouldn't have sent you."

"why not?" you humored him, stepping gracefully over the rubble.

"i won't stop all this. not even for you, my love."

"i'm not your y/n..." you pursed your lips, getting a faint sense of deja vu. you felt like you said this a few times already.

"don't worry, it'll be over soon. why don't you wait all this out—"

you teleport before he can finish, reappearing behind him mid-air. a surge of energy coils around your hands as you slam a concussive blast into his back. he stumbles forward, muscles tensing from the impact.

he spun around in a flash, hand gripping your throat as he shoves you back-first into the nearest building. the collision sent shockwaves rippling through the complex, glass shattering, debris crumbling to the ground.

"cute tricks." he breathed against your ear. "this is new. but don't make me fight you."

you stabbed your fingers into his pressure points, channeling your power through his nerves. his grip faltered for a fraction of a second, enough time for you to flip, plant your feet on his chest, and kick him off you.

mark spiraled back, barely catching himself mid-air. he wipes the blood from his lip from being effectively electrocuted, chest rising and falling.

"join me," he whispered, watching you in awe. "join me. we can rule the universe together."

"the fact that you think you can ask that and get a good answer proves that you don't know me at all."

"i do."

"you don't."

"we could have everything." he floats towards you. "power. control. be reasonable, won't you?"

you phase behind him again, placing one hand on his back and charging up your energy. he tries to turn around, but you're a second faster, releasing the pent-up force directly into him. mark grimaces in pain as the blast sends him spiraling into the air, flipping and tumbling before crashing into the ground below with a deafening thud.

you crashed onto the ground, unwilling to let him have another opportunity to get up. he saves you the trouble and holds a hand up in surrender.

"i won't fight you." he says simply.

you shake your head incredulously. "it's not a choice."

"i'll come find you when this is all over." he dismissed you easily, walking off your attacks.

"what—?"

he took off at supersonic speed, leaving you in the dust.

THE SURVIVORS

"they're all hovering over mark's house."

"what?! is—"

"debbie and oliver are fine. they're safe elsewhere." cecil cut you off.

you groaned and teleported over to mark's house. unfortunately, they were in your usual spot, hovering over the roof. you hung there in the air for a split second before they all pounced on you.

"we can't all have a y/n, can we?" full mask mark exclaimed, being the first to grab you and spin away from the group with you hidden safely behind him. "i'm taking them and mom back with me."

"you lost mom and y/n?" omnimark shook his head, like a father disappointed in a child. "how can you be trusted with this one?"

you narrowed your eyes. "i'm literally right here—"

"shut the fuck up." prison mark snapped at full mask mark, pushing past omnimark and jabbed a finger at the soft one of the bunch. "i'm tired of your bitching and whining. keep mom, i guess, i don't fuckin' care. but give 'em back."

"i hate you guys." sighed omnimark.

"who said you were getting them?" unmasked mark scoffed and crossed his arms.

"no one's getting me." you broke up the fight, momentarily forgetting that they were all mass murderers just cuz they had your pretty boyfriend's face.

"yeah, cuz you'd rather settle for that stupid fucking mark from this world."

"why'd you say his name like it's a slur?" you deadpanned. "aren't you all technically mark?"

"we're getting off topic." omnimark held out a hand to calm the congregation. "for what it's worth, i have my y/n safe and sound back home—"

"oh for fuck's sake."

© invoncible

[sunsets-and-crows]

Sleepy confessions

SFW - The Softest Sylus I could write.

I was feeling far too many feelings today.

I wrote this because I really needed to feel a little loved today and if a man isn’t going to do it, I’ll write it for myself. It’s deeply self-indulgent but this is the kind of love I want. Not just any love, but the kind that is all-consuming and unwavering. I’ve never been in love, nor have I ever truly felt loved and as I approach my 30s, I’m feeling it! Maybe this kind of love is unrealistic, maybe I’ve read too many stories that paint devotion in impossible hues. But if I were to be loved, this is how I would want it.

Sylus had always found the quiet unsettling. 

His life had always been loud and chaotic, dangerous even. His past life, too, had been filled with sound, of dragon wings beating through the skies and fire roaring over cities. When those cities came for him, their shouts resonated through the air, filling his days with a cacophony that became his white noise, his comfort.

Now, the sounds of guns blazing and motorcycles purring were his norm. Days were his nights and his nights were chaos, loud chaos. He was used to it, thrived in it even.

Silence usually meant that something was wrong. That something was building and chaos would erupt soon. Silence was deadly. 

But right now, in this moment, with you curled up against him, chest rising and falling, he thought maybe he could learn to love the quiet too. This moment of peace was far too precious, too perfect that he’d be willing to wage war on anything that dared to break the stillness.  

Poor thing.

You’d fallen asleep so quickly, curled on his lap. Your body warm and trusting, your cheek pressed against his chest. He could feel the soft puffs of your breath against the skin bared beneath his robe, the way your fingers had instinctively curled around the fabric at his waist before going slack. 

It was too much. Too tender. Too perfect. 

His heart squeezed dangerously, threatening to burst with emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for milenia. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

His hand moved on its own, trailing down your spine, smoothing over the curve of your back, fingers brushing lightly over your hair. 

Each tiny shift came with the softest little noises of contentment, sounds he wanted to bottle up and keep forever. 

This is what love feels like.

He’d experienced it before, with you. Love that was shouted from rooftops, that set cities aflame and was declared loudly, passionately. 

But this was something else. Quieter. Deeper. Unassuming. An entirely different kind of love to the ones he'd experienced before. 

It crept up on him in the silence and wrapped itself around his heart, squeezing tightly, narrowing its focus to only you. 

It wasn’t a sudden, violent force, like a city razed to the ground. 

No, this was entirely different. It was the moment that lobster realised that the pot was too hot to survive, the only choice was to surrender. 

And in the end, wasn’t that feeling of giving in a relief? 

His throat tightened. His eyes stung.

Sylus exhaled softly, shaking his head gently. “You really do trust me, don’t you?”

The words were barely more than a breath, a desperate attempt to preserve the quiet of the room, but they made that grip on his chest tighten imperceptibly harder.

You had no idea what it meant, how it affected him, to have you like this. Warm and safe in his arms. Completely unguarded. 

Completely his.

He scoffed lightly, remembering the way you had first met in this life. The fear, the hatred in your eyes, the anguish in his. 

“You're impossible,” he murmured, his voice even quieter now, almost reverent. “You know that?”

You stirred slightly, nuzzling into his warmth, but didn’t wake. 

“Of course you don’t. You have no idea.” 

Another sleepy noise escaped past the pout of your lips, and he smiled, warm and soft. 

A little while ago, Luke and Keiran had knocked on the door, the soft sound enough to make a frown crease between your brows. They’d entered to find a glare fixed on them, red piercing eyes telling them that whatever they had to say could wait. 

They left quickly, smart enough to forget the sight before them. 

Sylus’ fingers traced idle patterns along your arm, his touch featherlight. 

You’d tell him off, if you were awake. Tell him to start his day. Order him to tend to Onychinus. You were so selfless, so giving. You’d put anything and anyone else before yourself.

Luckily, he had no such ideals.

Somewhere, far away, the world still existed. There were people waiting for him, needing him. Things that needed his attention, his approval. None of it mattered. 

There was no past. No future. Just this.

Just the steady rhythm of your breathing. Just this moment, stretching infinitely, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

He was selfish when it came to everything but you. And even then, he was still a little selfish. 

He would keep anyone waiting, if it meant he got to hold you, like this. He’d run his business into the ground for the taste of your lips. 

He had, and would again, raise entire continents to the ground to ensure your safety, uncaring of anyone that resided there. 

Yes, he was selfish.

And he didn’t care. 

A quiet sigh left him. He didn’t deserve any of this. Did he? He had ruined too much, burned too many things and left too many ghosts in his wake. Yet, here you were. Pressed against him, completely at ease. 

His throat constricted. How? How could something as good as you ever belong in the arms of someone like him? 

No he didn’t deserve it, but he would keep it anyway. A dragon’s nature was to hoard. 

His eyes roamed your face, memorising everything. Each freckle. Each eyelash. The soft curve of your lips, parted just slightly with sleep. He reasoned that you had to have been made by some higher force. That somewhere, there was a god that claimed you proudly as their creation. 

He was torn by that. By the idea that there was something or someone else out there that had a right to you. But you were a masterpiece and it was the only way you made sense. 

So if there was a god, let them bear witness. Let them take notes. That his devotion, his heart was offered in quiet surrender to that creation. To you. 

Slowl, with infinite care, he raised a hand to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb over your lips in a barely-there touch. Soft. Delicate. Sacred. He wanted to kiss you, but he wouldn’t. Not yet. He wouldn’t wake you. 

Instead, he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths’ mingling, breathing you in. You smelled warm, like sleep and something sweet, something inherently you. He shut his eyes, just for a moment, letting the sensation settle in his bones.

And when he pulled back he just stared.

Memorising you. Worshipping you.

It had been a long time since he said those words to you.

Reluctant to break the sanctity of the precarious relationship the two of you had, he’d kept them inside. But here, in the hush of the night, with you deep in sleep, he could be honest in ways he never could before. 

“You have no idea how much I…” He swallowed, tilting his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, willing away the fullness that threatened to spill from his eyes. “How much I love you.”

A single tear dripped down his cheek, tracing a glistening path, evidence of his quiet confession. 

His heartbeat increased, loud and strong in the quiet of the room. He willed it to still, wished he could make it stop beating lest it wake you from your slumber. 

And then-

A sleepy hum. 

A shift of your body. 

And a murmured, drowsy, “Luh you too.”

His breath stopped.

You were barely conscious, probably didn’t even know what you were saying, but his chest ached all the same. A deep overwhelming ache.

He looked down to see your bleary, unfocused eyes gazing back at his. Heavy with lingering sleepiness and slow blinks. 

Your hand cupped his face and swept away more tears that had fallen from his eyes. 

Hands wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tightly, like you were afraid he would let you go. 

Silly thing, he would never let you go. 

Your head nestled into his neck and you pressed a soft kiss to his racing pulse. 

“Love you, Sylus.” 

His arms tightened around you in response, pulling you closer, needing the physical closeness to ground himself, to remind himself that this was real. 

Your breathing deepened again, soft breaths tickling the skin of his neck in a way that promised he’d have a patch of condensation there in a little while. 

He didn’t care. 

“I love you too,” he whispered into the silence of the room. 

His arms flexed around you slightly. His heart, beating a pattern just for you. A silent vow.

This, the two of you, would never be a fleeting moment. It wasn’t something he would allow to slip through his fingers like smoke, something he would lose in the chaos of the life he led. 

No. 

This was eternal.

He would build up a world from dust to ensure your place by his side. To keep you safe, protected, his. 

No matter what happened, he would never let this go.

Never let you go. 

And just like that, he let the silence have him.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

Well, that was a diary entry disguised as a fanfiction. Enjoy 🥺

[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ EPILOGUE

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[g0dlyunsub]

not enough.

spencer couldn’t be there to help you during a case, and he thinks that he’s not deserving of your forgiveness.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of fire, burns and injuries, hospitalization, reader gets injured, angst, descriptions of blades, hurt/comfort, fluff, medical inaccuracies

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: i have not written in a while but here's something that's been sitting in my drafts :3

accompanying song :: breathe by lauv

"kid, you need to go."

"no, i'm not leaving you. i'm not-" spencer coughs as the dust mingles with the air in his lungs. "-i'm not leaving her."

"reid, go!" derek shouts over the roaring flames.

you can hear their desperate exchange, but you can’t say anything. 

everytime you swallow, it feels like a razor blade's sliding down your throat; it makes jagged cuts in your parched throat. 

all of your tears have evaporated from the surface of your eyes due to the scorching heat, and it hurts to blink. 

you don’t even realize that your trousers are literally on fire until spencer’s patting at the flames with his bare hand, all the while trying to get the restraints off of you.

“i can’t- i can’t get them off!” spencer heaves, and you can hear the panic in his voice turning into hot anger.

“reid, just take the other guy and go!” 

derek’s shouting, but he’s barely audible next to the unrelenting fire.

"please, let me-"

you feel spencer tug with all his might, pushing and pulling against the ropes, but they’re too tight. the ropes aren’t made of special material, but the heat’s completely melted and fused the knot, making it near-impossible to rip apart.

you can barely keep your eyes open, but you can still see spencer frantically whipping his head back and forth, glancing at you and the last hostage in the room.

derek gives spencer a knowing look, one that you know all too well. 

reluctantly, spencer looks down. 

he can see the flames reflected in your eyes. 

he can see the pain seared into your skin.

a lump starts to form in his throat.

you’re mouthing the word go.

greasy tears well up in his eyes, and spencer splutters a cry. 

“sorry.”

he adds another sorry. and he adds another, until all he’s murmuring is an incoherent stream of apologies. 

you watch as he slings his arm around the hostage’s waist and drags his feet to the exit, and you watch until all you can see is the wavy outline of his figure, distorted by the heatwaves.

your eyes flicker between open and closed.

“y/n, stay with me. no, no, no,” derek shakes you while he continues to saw through your strings with a dull object, “don’t you give up on me now.”

the smoke’s rolled up to cover the ceiling, and an amber glow coats the entire room.

with the cacophony of the roaring flames, expletives spluttering from derek’s mouth, and the back and forth of the rounded blade, the sounds of your restraints loosening barely make it to your ears.

“come on!”

derek hastily tears the fraying restraints and pulls you away from the blazing rod that you’ve been tied to.

you take a desperate gasp for air at the sudden relief, but only choke on dust and the fierce heat. 

it’s too much — too much grime, grease, toxins coating your airways. you stop trying to breathe.

you hear derek groan as he takes your limp body in his arms and lifts you up, and the sudden change in position has you seeing stars.

as derek hauls you out, you see a brief flash of the sky. you could’ve sworn it was a shade of blue clearer than the ocean before you entered, but now it’s a beat down shade of jaundiced yellow.

huh.

it’s burning so darkly.

—

when spencer sees you come out of the burning building, tucked in the arms of derek morgan, he thinks he’s looking at a fallen angel.

dark smoke and dust pepper you head to toe, and your parted lips are making such a desperate effort to stay open.

you’re not breathing.

he breaks into a sprint. the calls from hotch and rossi fly behind him, as do their attempts to grasp him back. he runs to you, and not a single person can stop him.

he drops to his knees next to your unconscious body on the ground with derek, and his heart instantly falls. 

his brain starts to perform an instant diagnosis of your condition – he sees the burn marks scattered over your arms and legs, and he can almost feel your pain, like your nerves are connected to his.

the medics surrounding the scene yell out orders to stay back so that they can start chest compressions, but spencer won’t move.

he’s with you when you jerk back out of unconsciousness, when you’re still too weak to process all of the visual and auditory cues around you.

he’s with you when you’re lifted onto the back of the ambulance.

you can hear him raising his voice at the medics.

“we need to administer aerosolized unfractionated heparin with albuterol and check for hypovolemia, she needs oral and mivf immediately upon admission-”

you phase out once again.

—

when you open your eyes, you realize that you’re not in an ordinary hospital room.

you’re inside the intensive care unit.

generally, only family members are admitted as visitors in the icu, but the man laying his head over the side rails of your bed isn’t your family member.

spencer had to break some protocol to get here.

as you shift your bandaged arms over the blanket, spencer starts to stir slightly, until he realizes that it’s you moving beside him.

his eyes widen as he raises his head.

“how do i look?” you weakly mutter and force your lips into a smile.

his lips quiver, and he’s about to reach for your hand before he realizes that you probably can’t even handle his touch.

“so-” his voice cracks, “so beautiful. so incredibly beautiful.”

your heart does a flip at his words.

“you don’t have to lie.”

he looks away for a brief second, before shaking his head. “i’m not. i swear. you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met — that i’ve ever seen.”

you let out a pained chuckle. “would you look at that, my skin’s blushing.” you turn your arm to the side slightly and loosen your bandages to reveal the pink cuts in your flesh. 

spencer’s brows knit together in a pained expression, and you cringe at your own joke.

you inhale slowly. “spill it, spence.”

“spill what?”

“you did that thing where you look away. it’s your giveaway.”

“no, i-”

you turn your head to look at him with a pleading face, and he succumbs instantly.

he pulls his hand. “i- uh…”

he looks at you once and you raise your brows, an encouraging sign to continue written all over your face.

“i don’t deserve you.”

you blink slowly.

“you deserve someone better,” he continues, looking down ashamedly.

you can't possibly be hearing him correctly. “someone better?”

“someone like morgan.”

“morgan?”

“yeah. derek morgan. he’s the one who stayed with you, who carried you out of that crumbling building. i couldn’t protect you. i failed the one thing i promised myself.” 

“spencer, i wasn’t the only one- you had to save the other guy stuck in there.”

“the worst part is-” spencer chokes, “even if i traded places with morgan, i don’t know if i would’ve gotten us out in time.”

your eyes start to water. “no, spence, don’t say that.”

“i’m not strong enough. i’m not strong like morgan, and i’m not strong enough to protect you. i let you down. i failed you.”

you shake your head. “no, spencer. no. you’ve never failed me, do you hear me? you never failed me and you never will fail me. because-”

you take a deep breath.

“you broke protocol for me, the entire time. i heard what you said to the medics in the ambulance. and you’re here. right now.”

this time, he shakes his head. “it’s the least i can do. it still doesn’t change the fact that i couldn’t take the bullet for you.”

“spencer-”

you lean forward, a strangled grunt leaving your lips, until you’re a mere inch away from spencer’s face.

“maybe,” you start, flickering your gaze left and right into his sunken eyes.

“maybe i want to take the bullet for you too. maybe i want to protect you too. maybe i want-” you smile, “-to fight to stay with you.”

he pulls back, and glassy traces of tears coats his entire face.

again, you smile. “because if you don’t deserve me, then i don’t deserve you either.”

and it’s your goddamn smile that absolves all of his worries in an instant, that makes spencer forget that you’re bundled up in layers of gauze and bandages, that makes him think you’re an angel with a golden halo that’s lighting up the entire room.

it’s only when you let out an disgruntled sigh that he realizes you’re not an angel in a dress but a patient in a hospital gown, and the guilt latches back onto him like an inseparable magnet.

spencer’s eyes soften with concern and gloss over your entire body. gently lifting the edges of the blanket, he brushes his fingers against yours.

“my arm – it’s itchy,” you explain, and close your eyes to restrain yourself from picking at your scabby skin.

“i’m sorry,” spencer returns, an empathetic expression sweeping his face. “the bandages have to stay on, unfortunately.”

“my face-” you start, and spencer’s now looking at you with an expression crossing between serious and disturbed.

“your face? does it itch? where?”

he leans over, and cups your chin in the palm of his hand. slowly, he moves your face to the left and right, until you meet his misty brown eyes in the middle.

“my mouth.”

“your mouth?”

“yeah,” you scrunch your lips in a pained expression, but smile. “i think a kiss would help.”

spencer raises his brows in surprise, and a coughy chuckle leaves the back of his throat.

he can’t fight the excitement bubbling in his heart when you say that, when you’re so adorably bold in front of him.

how could he ever deserve you?

“you asked for it,” he murmurs quietly, before leaning in and bringing his lips to yours. he caresses the side of your face as his soft lips give you a taste of his desperation, though it’s too short to quench your desire.

he pulls back and cocks his head to the side to stare at you with admiring eyes. “is that better?”

you return a contemplative look, pouting your lips slightly. “it’s still itchy.”

he shakes his head amusedly and places a hand on the cushioned mattress, before leaning in to make your heart flutter with another kiss. it’s deeper than before, but he still draws himself back to not deprive you of your air.

once again, he pulls back and graces your eyes with a shy smile. “how about now?”

you tut disapprovingly. “nope.”

a wide smile curves the corners of spencer’s mouth, and he reaches to hold your hand affectionately in his. 

your feverish cheeks light up with a hot glow when your lips intertwine with his in a slow rhythm, when spencer slowly moves his hand behind your head to tousle your strands of hair flowing through his fingers.

he doesn’t ask any more questions.

[newobsessionweekly]

Aftershock

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You’re a bold, confident civil engineering student, used to taking control on construction sites. But when an earthquake hits while you're in charge of your father’s site, you meet LAPD Sergeant Tim Bradford. You clash, you work together, and slowly, something deeper begins to spark.

A/N: I have the second part almost ready so it'll be here soon!! Also is you have some ideas for this mini series, feel free to drop it in my box! Feedback is always appreciated!! I hope you like it! Lots of love, bubs! Stay safe! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: Earthquake/emergency scenario, mild injury, panic attack (comfort follows), age gap, not proofread

Word Count: 4k+

It starts like a whisper—barely-there tremors under your steel-toes as you walk the perimeter of the new mixed-use high-rise downtown. You've spent the last half-hour barking into your phone, coordinating crane placement and checking load-bearing support numbers. You’re dusty, focused, and completely in your element.

Until the earth moves for real.

You don’t hear it before you feel it. The tremor roars upward through your boots like a live wire. The scaffolding groans. A metallic shriek pierces the air. Then it happens.

The world shudders. A cacophony of screams. Cement rains down. You drop to your knees and roll, instincts kicking in, sheltering beneath a shipping container propped on steel beams.

Earthquake.

It only lasts seconds—long ones—but the aftermath feels like a war zone. You crawl out coughing, your lungs filling with grit and fear, but your brain is firing on pure adrenaline. You're not just some student or supervisor. You’re the boss’s daughter. And he’s out of town, which makes this your site.

Your chest heaves, but your eyes are already scanning. Where's the crew? Who’s accounted for?

“Luis!” you shout, dodging fallen equipment. “Jen! Mateo!”

Two workers emerge from a cloud of dust, one limping, another coughing blood into his glove. You guide them to the open lot beyond the scaffolding, mentally mapping the layout. Six missing. Maybe more.

And then, over the scream of sirens, two figures cut through the dust—uniformed.

The man in front moves like he was born in boots. Tall, broad shoulders, determined jaw. There’s something sharp and no-nonsense about him, like he’s the human equivalent of a battering ram. Behind him, a quick-footed brunette surveys the site with wide, alert eyes.

“LAPD!” the man shouts. “Is anyone hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you yell back over the noise. “There are still people inside!”

He reaches you in seconds. “You need to move—this whole site could still collapse.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you snap. “This is my father’s project. He’s out of town. I’m responsible for everyone here.”

“Name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n. Civil engineering student. Site lead for the day.”

“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” he grunts, scanning you. “This is Officer Lucy Chen.”

Chen gives a small nod and immediately moves to triage the injured worker. Bradford, however, keeps his full attention on you.

You don’t miss the way his eyes rake over you—not in a creepy way. He’s taking stock. Assessing damage. Dirt on your face, small gash on your arm. His brows tighten.

“You were inside?”

“Under that scaffolding.”

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

You fold your arms. “Well, I am.”

“You need to let us handle this.”

“No. I know this site better than anyone. I helped design the layout. There’s a crawlspace beneath the west scaffolding that no one else knows about. If anyone’s still in there—”

“You’re not trained for rescue ops.”

“I’m trained to know what’s safe and what’s about to fall on your head.”

His jaw ticks. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“Then don’t. Keep up.”

You step past him, and for a beat, he just stares.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re like if a Barbie Doll had a death wish.”

You toss him a grin over your shoulder. “Grumpy and unoriginal. Cute.”

He follows, grumbling something under his breath about stubborn civilians and lawsuits.

The two of you reach the compromised scaffold, and you crouch beside the twisted beams. Bradford stops behind you, way closer than necessary.

“Let me go first,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning overhead.

“I’ll fit through easier. You’re built like a linebacker.”

You feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leans down.

“And you think I’m letting you crawl into a death trap alone?”

You glance at him, only inches away. “So you do care.”

He doesn’t move.

“Protocol,” he says stiffly. “And… you’re bleeding.”

You look down at the gash on your forearm—dirt-caked but shallow.

“Didn’t notice.”

“I did.”

He steps forward and gently takes your wrist. His touch is unexpectedly careful—rough hands, but soft grip. He pulls a cloth from his vest and dabs at the wound. You watch his face as he works. He’s so serious. So guarded.

“I’m going in first,” he says, not giving you a chance to argue.

You don’t push it this time. He’s trying. In his own way.

You both drop into the crawlspace, the air thick with dust and heat. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you squeeze through. Close. Too close.

You hear it before you see it—a cough. Faint, raspy.

“There,” you whisper. “Under that beam.”

Bradford nods. “Stay low.”

The man’s pinned, conscious but trapped under a slab of drywall and steel piping. You approach carefully, testing for weight, and give Tim a look.

“If we shift the load here, I can drag him out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

His hand grazes your back as he shifts to position. Again, he’s close. Protective. Your skin sparks where his fingers press.

He moves the slab, and you reach under, tugging the worker free with all your strength. It takes effort. You grunt, digging your heels into the ground. Bradford leans forward, adds his strength behind yours. The worker slides out.

You sit back, panting.

“You okay?” Tim asks, wiping sweat from his temple.

You nod, heart pounding—not just from the rescue. From him. From the way his hand didn’t quite leave your lower back.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks.”

He meets your eyes. For a second, everything around you disappears.

And then his radio crackles. “Bradford, update?”

“We got one out,” he replies. “Sending location for medical. Continuing sweep.”

As you crawl back out, he places a steadying hand at your waist, guiding you up the incline. You feel the heat of it even through your shirt. It lingers. He doesn’t rush the touch. Neither do you.

Once you’re out, the EMTs swarm. The worker is taken. Chen updates the map with accounted-for crew.

You press your hands to your thighs, catching your breath.

“How many are left?” Tim asks.

You scan your clipboard. “Two. Maybe three. Could be hiding in the south exit shaft.”

“Is it stable?”

You pause. “Barely. But I can get us in.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not invincible, Barbie.”

“And you’re not my boss, Grinch.”

He exhales hard. “Fine. But I go first this time. You stay on my six.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look. You wink.

You both make your way through the wreckage, ducking twisted rebar and beams. At one point, you trip on a loose plank. His arm shoots out, wraps around your waist.

You freeze.

So does he.

You’re chest to chest, his hand splayed across your back, your fingers gripping his vest.

“You okay?” he asks, voice a touch lower now.

Your throat’s dry. “Yeah. You?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches you for a moment, then slowly lets you go.

You keep moving, but now every time your fingers graze or your arms brush, it feels intentional. Loaded.

You find the last two workers behind a jammed gate. Tim breaks the lock with a metal pipe, and you help the shaken men out. One thanks you. The other looks at you like you’re a superhero.

But the adrenaline has started to fade.

The full weight of it all—the noise, the near-deaths, the responsibility—presses down.

When you step away from the others, your legs buckle just a little. Bradford is there instantly.

“Sit,” he says, catching you by the arm.

You nod slowly, dropping onto a low wall.

He crouches beside you, reading your face. “It’s catching up to you.”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“You held it together. You did everything right.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t… I didn’t think. I just moved. But what if I missed someone? What if—”

“Stop.”

His voice is gentle but firm. He places his hand on your knee. You flinch—but not from fear. From how it grounds you.

“Look at me.”

You do.

“You saved people. You helped us. You didn’t hide. You ran toward the danger.”

Your lip quivers.

His hand slides to your shoulder. His thumb strokes your collarbone, just once.

“You’re allowed to feel it now.”

And that’s all it takes. The panic hits like a wave—hard and fast. Your chest clenches, eyes burning.

Tim doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, fists curling in his vest.

“It’s over,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

His hand slides into your hair, combing gently through it. The motion is soothing. Familiar. Like he’s done it before. Or maybe just dreamed of it.

“You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You tremble in his hold. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve got you,” he adds. “Okay?”

You nod against him. When you finally look up, his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Didn’t think you’d be the nurturing type." you say, voice hoarse.

He chuckles, voice rumbling in his chest. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my brand.”

You lean back just enough to see his face.

And something shifts between you.

A quiet moment in the eye of the storm.

“I still think ‘Grinch’ suits you,” you whisper.

“And I still think you’re high-maintenance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Only a Barbie Doll would coordinate a rescue effort and sass a cop in the same breath.”

You smirk. “Maybe I’m both.”

The moment stretches. You’re both still, holding onto something neither of you fully understands yet.

Then a shout breaks the spell.

“Y/n!”

You turn. “Dad!”

Your father is running across the rubble-strewn pavement, suit jacket flapping, eyes wild.

You stand, and he pulls you into a crushing hug.

“I’m fine,” you gasp. “We’re all fine.”

He cups your face. “I got the alert mid-meeting and left immediately.”

You hug him tighter. “I had to take charge.”

“And you did,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you.”

You feel a shift behind you. Turning, you find Tim standing quietly, watching the scene with a measured expression. Your dad notices him too.

“You,” he says, crossing over. “You pulled her out.”

“Sergeant Bradford,” Tim replies, shaking his hand firmly. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Bradford looks at you. And he gets it.

You’re not just another young woman on-site. You’re his daughter. His pride. His heart. And you’re damn good at what you do.

Daddy’s princess—with steel in your spine.

He watches you hug your dad again, whisper something that makes the older man smile. And Tim’s jaw tightens, just slightly.

Lucy appears beside him, sipping water.

“She’s a powerhouse,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tim replies, watching you like he can’t look away. “She is.”

“You gonna ask for her number?”

He snorts. “She’d probably write it on an OSHA citation and tell me to lighten up.”

“You could use someone who challenges you.” his rookie shrugs.

Tim glances back at you—still in that vest, still a little scraped up, but glowing with that post-adrenaline shine.

Maybe he could.

[societyfolklore]

Hellcat

Title: Hellcat

Pairing: Loki x Barbarian!Female Reader

Summary:  Captured as a spoil of war, you are dragged before the Asgardian victors-fierce, untamed, unwilling to bow. Meant as a gift for Thor, your defiance amuses him, but he has no desire to take a wild thing like you. Instead, he offers you to Loki as a reward. Shackled and bound in his chambers, the Trickster God promises not to break you-but to tame you.

Word Count:  9k (Yes it is this long, No I’m not sorry)

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI Dub-Con/Non-Con, Power Imbalance, Forced Submission & Domination Themes, Restraints & Bondage, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Possessive!Loki, Dom!Loki, NO BETA A/N:  I FREAKING LOVE THIS ONE!

The scent of war still clung to the air, thick with the metallic tang of blood, the acrid burn of fire, and the musk of sweat. Vanaheim was silent now, its fields ravaged by years of barbarian invasions from the mountains, its people caught between the brutality of their attackers and the intervention of Asgard. The cries of the fallen had long since faded into an eerie stillness, leaving only the flickering of flames and the distant clang of metal as the victors restored order to the realm.

Among those caught in the aftermath was you.

You had fought. Gods, you had fought with everything you had, teeth bared, nails clawing, muscles straining against the bonds they’d wrapped around your wrists. You were more beast than woman in that moment-feral, untamed, driven by rage and survival.

The grand drinking hall was alive with celebration, filled with Asgardian warriors feasting and boasting of their victory. The cacophony of noise filled your ears as you were pulled along, Volstagg and Hogun keeping their grips firm but without malice. The great wooden doors slammed open with a resounding boom, silencing the revelry for but a moment as all eyes turned to the spectacle.

“Thor! She’s been offered as a gift,” Volstagg declared, his voice booming over the gathered crowd. “A token of goodwill from the surviving Warlord himself. A gesture to ensure peace.” They announced as you were pushed in front of the head table.

There was nothing peaceful about you. You twisted in their hold, kicking, snarling, your teeth bared in open defiance. When a warrior reached out to touch you, you snapped your teeth at his fingers, nearly drawing blood. The gathered men laughed, a mixture of amusement and admiration for your spirit.

“She bites,” one of them chuckled.

“She would take your throat if you let her,” Hogun muttered, adjusting his grip as you tried to break free once more.

The torches lining the hall cast flickering shadows over your sweat-slick skin, your hair wild and tangled. You were a spectacle, a display of raw, untamed defiance, and despite the bonds on your wrists and the chain wrapped around your ankle, you held your head high. You would not bow. You would not kneel.

Thor rose from his seat at the head of the table, gaze sweeping over you with the same measured calm he had shown on the battlefield. His voice, steady as ever, carried across the room. “Vanaheim has suffered greatly at the hands of your people,” he stated, his tone neither cruel nor amused. “They burned, pillaged, and destroyed without reason.” He gestured toward you, “Without honour."

He stepped down from the dais, moving closer, though he kept his distance. “And yet,” he continued, meeting your wild gaze, “you fight as though your defiance alone will undo what has been done.”

Thor regarded you with something almost akin to pity before shaking his head. He took another step forward, watching you with that same unreadable calm, and that was when you lunged.

A snarl tore from your throat as you surged toward him, teeth bared, your entire body straining against the grip of your captors. The hall gasped-some in shock, others in delight at the sheer audacity of your attack. The chain at your ankle snapped taut, yanking you backward.

You stumbled, your body wrenched back with a violent jolt. Still, you did not stop. You spat at his feet, chest heaving, eyes burning with hatred.

Thor merely exhaled, glancing down at the spittle that now marred the polished stone floor between you. A slow shake of his head, a sigh that was more tired than angry. “She is wild, brother,” he said at last, turning away, clearly uninterested in engaging further. “Perhaps she suits you more.”

Loki, still seated, watched with a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. The shadows danced in his sharp, calculating gaze as he leaned forward, propping his chin upon his hand, while his other strummed the table with long elegant fingers. His amusement was clear, his interest undeniable.

“What a gift indeed,” he murmured, standing as the crowd quieted. He stepped closer, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with amusement, the cold depths of them sharp and assessing. He eyed you as one might a wild creature caught in a snare, intrigued yet entirely in control. “Tell me, little hellcat-are you meant to be a prize or a test?”

You hissed at him, your body straining against the hold of your captors, and he only chuckled. “How delightful.”

The hall erupted into raucous laughter and cheers as Thor waved a hand, dismissing any notion of keeping you for himself. “She is yours, brother.”

And so, you had been dragged from the hall, still growling, still spitting, your fate sealed.

You thrashed as they dragged you through the halls, your screams echoing against the remnants of what had once been your home. The metallic bite of your shackles cut into your wrists as you twisted against them, your breath ragged with exertion, your heart pounding with fury. They merely held you firm, letting you exhaust yourself. Let her fight. Let her waste her strength. It will not change her fate.

Each step you took toward it was another step away from everything you had ever known, from the land your people had struggled to protect. Yet you did not falter. You refused to let them see fear. Refused to let them witness anything but the fire still burning in your soul.

You were hauled past towering figures dressed in regal armor, past the golden walls that whispered of power and privilege. Every breath you took filled your lungs with the scent of Asgard’s influence, the lingering essence of gods who ruled with a steady hand, whose intervention had saved this realm from a worse fate. But you did not see it as salvation. To you, it was simply another form of conquest.

Then, you were thrown into darkness. Loki’s chambers. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving you in unsettling silence. You barely had time to gather yourself before rough hands shoved you down onto the thick furs covering the bed. The air was thick with incense, its cloying scent curling around you like a phantom touch. The chain at your ankle was yanked taut, the cold iron cuff pressing against your skin as it was secured to one of the ornately carved bedposts.

You thrashed, kicking out, but the restraint held firm. A sharp tug wrenched you back toward the bed, a cruel reminder of your powerlessness. The guards chuckled at your defiance, one giving a final jerk on the chain before stepping back.

“Feisty one,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smirk before turning to leave. The others followed, the door groaning as it shut behind them.

You barely waited a heartbeat before scrambling off the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor as you tried to bolt. The chain rattled violently, jerking you to a sudden stop just before you could reach the far side of the room. You stumbled, falling hard to your knees, your breath leaving you in a sharp gasp.

A slow clap of footsteps echoed through the chamber.

"Leave us..." Loki’s voice cut through the space like silk and steel, his tone effortless yet commanding. He strode inside, the door locking behind him with a finality that sent a shudder through you. A bottle of something dark and strong dangled from his fingers, his other hand lazily tracing along the edge of a candleholder as he passed, the flames flickering to life in his wake.

He made his way toward the bed, his sharp gaze drinking in the sight of you-wild, breathless, your body taut with resistance. He perched himself at the edge of the bed, setting the bottle aside with a quiet thud.

“There, there,” he murmured, amusement curling at the edges of his voice. His fingers trailed lazily along the length of the chain before giving it an experimental tug, watching as it forced you back ever so slightly. “Wouldn’t want my little hellcat thinking she could just... run off. Not before we've had our fun, would we?”

His words made the hair on the back of your neck stand up as you crouched the glow of golden lanterns casting flickering shadows across the polished floors. You were breathing hard, chest rising and falling, hair a tangled mess around your face, sweat and dirt smeared across your skin. Finally your let out a rumbling growl from somewhere deep in your chest. 

Loki watching you with keen interest. There was no pity in his gaze, no soft words to soothe your fury. He enjoyed this, relished in the fire still burning in your eyes despite your captivity.

“You hiss, you snarl,” Loki mused, tilting his head, amusement lacing every syllable. He let out a slow chuckle, the sound rich and indulgent. He took his time, letting his gaze linger, his blue eyes gleaming with something dark and unreadable. Slowly, he leaned forward, his expression one of idle curiosity. “Such a little hellcat.”

You bared your teeth at him, muscles coiled tight as if you would spring for his throat. 

“I do love a challenge.” He chuckled again.

With a deliberate slowness, Loki reached for the buckles of his leather tunic, undoing them one by one. The supple material shifted under his touch as he shrugged it off, the weight of it hitting the floor with a soft thud. Beneath it, his undershirt clung to the lean muscle of his torso, the flickering lanterns casting deep shadows along the sharp planes of his chest.

He exhaled, stretching his arms briefly before grasping the hem of his underlayer. He peeled the fabric away, revealing the sculpted ridges of his abdomen, the pale skin marred only by faint scars-remnants of past battles. His movements were unhurried, measured, as though daring you to look, to acknowledge the power he held not just in his presence but in the body before you.

His blue eyes caught yours again, filled with something both wicked and knowing. He tilted his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Come now, little hellcat. Have you never seen a god undress before?"

He stepped to the far side of the bed, his long fingers curling around the neck of the bottle as he lifted it effortlessly. Tilting his head back, he took a slow, measured swig, throat bobbing with the motion. The scent of strong liquor filled the space between you, and your dry tongue darted out instinctively to dampen cracked lips.

How long had it been since you had something to drink? Your throat ached at the thought, your parched lips tingling as your body reminded you of just how much it craved even a drop of moisture.

Loki’s gaze flicked downward, catching the fleeting motion of your tongue. He let out a quiet hum of amusement, rolling the bottle between his fingers before taking another sip, slower this time, watching you the entire time. "Thirsty, are we?"

He tilted the bottle slightly, letting the liquor swirl before pouring a generous amount into a goblet. Without a word, he bent down, placing it on the floor between you, the dark liquid sloshing slightly as he set it down. His smirk lingered as he straightened, drawing himself back up to his full height, stepping away with lazy confidence as if to give you space.

You shifted, eyeing the goblet warily, moving slightly to keep your distance from him. The scent of the drink was rich, spiced, and it called to you like a siren’s song. Your throat burned with dryness, and despite yourself, you could not tear your gaze from it.

Loki turned his back to you, taking his time as he walked toward the far side of the bed, exuding nonchalance. That was your moment.

You lunged forward, snatching the goblet up in both hands, guzzling it down so fast that some of it spilled over the edges, sliding down your chin, trailing over your throat and chest. The warmth of the liquor hit you instantly, spreading fire through your parched body, but you didn’t care. You drank greedily, too desperate to savour it, too frantic to stop.

Loki’s chuckle came slow and knowing. "There’s a good girl." Your hands trembled slightly, but as he took a step closer, you hesitated, eyes flickering between him and the cup in your hands. The moment he moved, you set it down hastily, retreating a few paces, your body tensed as if expecting a trap.

Loki hummed, tilting his head as if considering something, before reaching down and refilling the goblet. He set it back onto the floor, stepping back again, though this time, not quite as far. His movements were slow, calculated, a silent test.

You hovered, shifting on your haunches, your instincts warring against your need. The scent of the liquor was thick, tantalizing, and your throat still burned. Another moment passed, and then you lunged, snatching the goblet once more, bringing it to your lips and drinking deep. The fiery liquid coated your throat, spreading warmth through your limbs, but this time, it was slower, the edges of your mind turning hazy from the alcohol’s effect.

Loki let out a satisfied chuckle, rolling the bottle between his palms. "You learn quickly," he mused.

Loki took his time closing the distance between you, his boots barely making a sound on the polished floor. He crouched before you, watching with unhidden amusement as you gasped for breath, the warmth of the drink settling into your stomach. His long fingers reached out, trailing up the column of your throat, catching a stray droplet of liquor that had slipped down your skin. He brought it to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste it, a slow hum of satisfaction escaping him.

“Messy little thing,” he mused, his tone rich with indulgence. “Was it that unbearable, I wonder? That thirst clawing at you, making you forget everything but the need to drink?”

His eyes flickered with dark amusement as he lifted the goblet from your grasp, turning it over to show its emptiness. “How quickly you took what I offered.” He let the cup fall from his fingers, the soft clatter against the stone floor barely registering over the sound of your uneven breathing.  Loki’s gaze burned into you as he leaned in, his lips barely a whisper away from your ear. “Tell me, little hellcat… what else might you take from me so eagerly?”

You hissed at him, baring your teeth once more, but Loki only tutted, shaking his head as if you were an unruly pet testing its boundaries. You instinctively moved back, trying to put distance between you, but the sharp rattle of the chain gave you away before you could make it far.

Loki’s hand snapped out, gripping the chain just above where it was secured to your ankle. With a single pull, the metal links tightened, dragging you forward before you could dig your heels in. You gasped, arms scrambling against the floor to brace yourself, but he yanked again, forcing you closer, the cold iron biting against your skin. The sudden loss of control sent a fresh wave of fury surging through you, but he only smirked as if the struggle pleased him.

He let the chain go slack, but not enough for you to retreat. No, Loki did not need brute force to corner you.

Prowling forward, he closed the last of the space between you, lowering himself to your level, making sure you felt the way his presence consumed the air. His fingers ghosted over your skin, feather-light, maddeningly delicate. A whisper of fingertips along your bare arm, a teasing stroke down the ridge of your spine. Your body tensed, caught in the dissonance of instincts-one screaming to fight, the other to yield to the sensations he so effortlessly evoked.

He was studying you, an insidious look on his face. The growl coming up from you again. 

“You can snarl all you want, little hellcat,” he murmured, his voice like velvet and steel. His breath ghosted over your skin, lips brushing close but never quite touching. “But we both know what happens when something wild is handled with the right kind of touch.”

He was close enough to strike, to kick, but your limbs felt heavy, your head clouded, the warmth of the liquor seeping into your veins. A slow, creeping lethargy dulled your movements, your body betraying you with sluggish resistance. Yet, even as your instincts screamed at you to fight, another feeling curled at the edges of your awareness-something unfamiliar, something dangerous.

Your breath hitched as Loki loomed over you, his face sharp as a blade in the dim light. He was beautiful in a way that should not have struck you now, not here, not like this. The flickering lanterns carved shadows along the angular planes of his face-the high cheekbones, the wicked tilt of his mouth, the piercing blue eyes that seemed to drink in your every reaction. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that sent a shiver down your spine-not entirely out of fear.

His smirk deepened, as though he sensed the shift in you, the momentary lapse in your defiance. His grip on the chain tightened, the metal links rattling sharply as he gave a sudden pull. The force sent you tumbling forward, your hands barely catching against the floor to stop your fall. Before you could regain your balance, his arm wrapped around your middle, lifting you effortlessly.

The torn rags you wore shredded further under his grip, the fabric giving way in places as your body was pulled flush against his.  The solid press of his bare chest against your back. His grip was unyielding, every movement forcing you against the hard lines of his body.

A sharp intake of breath escaped you as you became aware of the aching hardness between his legs, pressing insistently against your lower back. Loki let out a quiet, pleased hum, his fingers digging into your waist as he relished the way you tensed at the realization.

Then, with little effort, he tossed you onto the bed, his grip never loosening as he followed, pinning your wrists above your head. The soft furs did little to cushion the weight of him as he hovered over you, his blue eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

You bucked beneath him, twisting in his hold, snarling through clenched teeth. The fight had not left you, not yet. Your legs kicked against the furs, your body writhing as you tried to dislodge him, but Loki merely chuckled, his grip unyielding.

“Even in defeat, you people don’t give up, do you?” he mused, easily evading a knee aimed at his side. “Never know when you’re beaten. Your people certainly didn’t. They fought and bled until the last, screaming curses at the sky even as they fell beneath Asgard’s might. And for what?”

His words burned, but they did nothing to quell the fire within you. What else was there but defiance? To yield was to accept that your people had died for nothing. That all the battles, all the blood spilled into the dirt, had been futile. You could not-would not-let go of that rage, even as your strength waned, even as you remained bound beneath him. Loki’s amusement only grew, his fingers trailing down, catching on the torn fabric of your clothes. Another snarl tore from you as you tried to pull your arms down to cover your bare chest. But his hold stayed firm.

"In the end you all kneel.." 

He hummed in mock contemplation, tilting his head as he studied you, his touch deceptively light over the exposed skin.

His hand drifted away for a moment, and you had just begun to brace yourself when a dagger appeared in his palm as if conjured from thin air. The sight of it made your body go rigid, breath catching in your throat. This was what you knew, what you expected-pain, brutality, the sharp bite of a blade to punish defiance. You stiffened, your muscles locking up as you prepared for the inevitable sting of steel against flesh.

Loki, perceptive as ever, watched the tension ripple through you. His smirk deepened, but instead of pain, the cold kiss of metal whispered along your ribs, tracing over your side. Then, with a deliberate flicks, he sliced cleanly through the remaining shreds of your clothing. The tattered fabric fell away, leaving your chest bare before him.

His gaze roved over your body, taking in the hardened lines of a warrior’s form-tanned flesh marked by scars, some fresh, others long healed. A map of survival, of battles fought and endured. He ran the blunt edge of the dagger along one particularly jagged scar over your hip, his eye focused as if reading a story carved into your skin. “Oh, you are something savage, aren’t you?” he mused, almost appreciative, almost reverent. There was no mockery in his tone now-just a quiet understanding, as if he recognized the kind of life you had lived, the brutality that camp from the raiding war camps.  

"Your own people handed you over to us as a prize," Loki murmured, the blade continuing its slow, measured path over your body. "A peace offering, they called you a token of goodwill." He scoffed, the amusement never leaving his tone. "And yet here you are, snarling and spitting like a beast in a trap. Tell me, little hellcat, what good has all this defiance done for you?"

Your breath came shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. He was toying with you, chipping away at the last remnants of your certainty. What else did you have but resistance? To yield was unthinkable. To surrender meant losing the last piece of yourself that still felt real.

But then his dagger moved lower, the edge gliding over the torn remnants of your skirt. With a flick of his wrist, the fabric gave way, slipping from your body in tattered ruins. The knife disappeared as quickly as it had come, vanishing into nothing, and his hands replaced it, broad palms smoothing over the newly bared skin as his hands pushed the fabric away. 

The touch was different from the cold bite of the blade. Warmer. More consuming.

You stiffened, writhing beneath his touch, your body instinctively twisting away, but the chain at your ankle rattled, holding you fast. Loki only chuckled, low and pleased his grip on your wrists tightening. "Now, now." His fingers of his free hand traced over the same paths the dagger had travelled, slow, deliberate.

"You probably don’t even understand what it is I’m offering you," he mused, his voice lilting, coaxing. "Fighting is all you’ve ever known, isn’t it? Pain, brutality… those are the only languages your kind understand. But conquest doesn't have to be something to fight against."

His fingers continued their slow exploration, gliding over your skin with practiced ease, trailing over battle-worn flesh as if memorizing each mark. "Your kind only know war. You think surrender means death, that yielding means ruin. But power does not always come from battle. It can come from knowing when to stop fighting."

His voice was softer now, deceptively gentle, a lure wrapped in silk. "How much blood have you seen spilled, little hellcat? How much have you lost? And for what? Your people are gone, their screams swallowed by the battlefield. Their legacy burned to ash. Yet still, you fight. Still, you bare your teeth like a wounded animal."

His touch grew firmer, fingers trailing lower, pressing just enough to make you aware of them. "Tell me, what did all that defiance earn you? Did it save your home? Your kin? Or did it leave you here, chained at my feet, your body trembling beneath my hands?"

Loki shifted closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I could teach you something else. Something far sweeter than war. If only you’d stop fighting long enough to feel it."

His words slithered around you like a net tightening, and before you could muster another snarl, his grip changed. His hand slid upward, fingers skimming over the curve of your ribs before trailing higher, brushing against the soft flesh of your breast. You jerked at the contact, instinctively bucking but his grip on your wrists kept you pinned beneath him, leaving you helpless against the slow, measured exploration of his touch.

A pleased hum rumbled from his throat as he traced over your skin, his fingers circling, teasing, playing. "So fierce" he murmured, almost thoughtful, his thumb grazing over a sensitive peak. "You don't even know how to yield, do you?"

A sharp gasp escaped you, hips shifting involuntarily as your muscles coiled with tension. Loki only chuckled, his touch growing firmer, more deliberate. He watched the way you writhed beneath him, the way your body reacted despite the hatred burning in your eyes. It was fascinating-watching something so wild resist what it was built to crave.

"Just like your people" he murmured, dipping his head lower, lips hovering just above your skin. "Your body will betray you.." His breath was warm, sending a shiver across your flesh before he finally closed his mouth over you, sucking lightly at first, teasing. His tongue flicked against the sensitive pebble, and despite everything, your breath hitched, the sensation sending a traitorous wave of heat through you.

Loki smirked against your skin, lips curving in wicked satisfaction as he lavished the tender flesh, his hand keeping you still as he took his time with you. His tongue flicked over your harden nipple before he drew it between his lips, sucking with slow, measured precision, his breath warm against your fevered skin.

You twisted beneath him, your body arching despite yourself, despite the warning cries in your mind. Your thighs clenched as heat coiled deep in your belly, an unfamiliar pulse growing with every touch, every teasing stroke of his tongue. You growled, low and defiant, but the sound was breathy, lacking its usual bite.

Loki chuckled, lips dragging over your skin as he pressed a kiss over your ribs, his voice purring with amusement. “Still so eager to fight? I wonder… do you even speak?”

His hands trailed lower, fingers mapping the soft dips and curves of your body. The pressure was maddening, never quite enough, teasing but never giving you the friction you needed. You shuddered, frustration coiling in your muscles as you twisted against him, your breaths uneven.

Loki let out a pleased hum before shifting, reclining onto the bed as though this were all a game to him. His grip on your wrists loosened just enough to move, but before you could attempt to escape, his free hand pressed firmly against your thigh, forcing them open.

A growl tore from your throat as you bucked, but his strength was undeniable. He wrapped one of his long legs over yours, pinning it in place with ease. The shackle at your ankle rattled as he gave a slight tug on the chain, making sure you understood-there was no closing your legs, no escape from him.

His fingers resumed their lazy exploration, trailing higher, his touch feather-light but purposeful. The sheer vulnerability of the position sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you, your body reacting despite the war waging in your mind.

“Will you call for your heathen god while I fill you over and over again?” His voice was smooth, taunting, vibrating against your sensitive skin. One of his hands slid between your thighs, ghosting over you but never settling, never giving you the satisfaction of contact.

Just like he'd said you could feel your body betrayed you, shivering under his touch, the anticipation unbearable. His fingers barely grazed over you, and yet it sent a sharp, hot pulse through your veins, your breath stuttering in response. Loki hummed in satisfaction, his smirk widening against your skin.

“I do not intend to break you, hellcat,” he murmured, his lips dragging slowly over your throat, the warmth of his breath a cruel contrast to the chill of the room. "Only to tame you."

You growled once more, the last embers of resistance burning in your chest, shifting your hips in a desperate attempt to protect your more sacred parts. But Loki’s grip remained unyielding, his body a wall of restraint as his fingers trailed lower, slipping along the seam of your core.

A sharp inhale left your lips, your body stiffening at the intimate touch, but all it did was amuse him further. A knowing hum rumbled from his throat as he dipped his head lower, his mouth pressing against the curve of your neck, the heat of his lips sending another traitorous shiver through you. Then, without warning, his fingers pushed between your folds, parting them with devastating slowness.

The noise you made was somewhere between a gasp and a growl, caught between rebellion and undeniable pleasure. Loki smirked against your throat, revelling in the way your body tensed beneath him, your breath hitching as he explored the traitorous wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Oh, my little hellcat,” he purred, his fingers stroking with languid precision, teasing, never rushing. Occasionally, he let his fingers trail higher, brushing against your clit in the lightest of touches, just enough to send a sharp pulse through your body. Your breath stuttered, a fresh growl tearing from your throat, but the sound faltered, for your defiance there was something dangerously close to need in that noise.

He chuckled, dragging his fingers down again, gathering the wetness that betrayed you, before resuming his torturous rhythm. The sensation built slowly, unbearably, your body growing restless beneath him, heat coiling tight in your belly. You bucked again, trying to twist away from his touch, but he merely tightened his grip, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Ah, still fighting," Loki mused, his voice dripping amusement. "But look at you. So wet. So desperate. And yet you still snarl at me like a beast." 

Your hips moved despite yourself, your breath catching, fingers curling into fists. You growled once more, low and warning, bucking your hips in a last-ditch effort to be rid of him-only to feel his fingers slide lower. 

"Shall I make you purr instead?"

Your chained foot kicked out as the sensation built, as if you could somehow escape the unbearable pleasure creeping into your limbs. But Loki was already prepared, already shifting, his weight pressing down as he tightened his hold.

His lips found your throat, teeth scraping against sensitive skin before he latched onto the spot just beneath your ear. he murmured against your pulse, his voice filled with amusement, his fingers finally dipping lower, teasing your entrance before pushing inside, slow and deliberate.

Your back arched, the stretch sudden, unexpected, your walls yielding around the slow, deliberate intrusion. It was too much, too intimate-the way your body opened for him, taking him in deeper than you wanted to accept. A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your breath coming in shallow, uneven pants as you tried to adjust to the fullness of his fingers pressing deep inside you.

Your muscles clenched around him in instinctive resistance, but he only hummed approvingly, revelling in the way your body fought against the pleasure unravelling through you. His grip on your wrists never faltered, keeping you pinned beneath him, helpless against the slow, torturous invasion of his fingers. You were utterly exposed, spread wide, unable to twist away from the deliberate rhythm he set.

“That’s it,” Loki purred, his voice dripping with indulgence. “Open up for me, little hellcat. Let me feel all of you.”

His fingers spread inside you, scissoring deliberately, stretching you open as he took his time working you apart. The sensation was unbearable, burning and invasive, every movement pushing against resistance, coaxing your body to yield. Your breath hitched, your back bowing as your hips tried to sink back into the furs, away from the overwhelming fullness.

But there was no escaping him.

Loki smirked, watching the way your body instinctively tensed, your walls fluttering as if unsure whether to reject or welcome the intrusion. His fingers curled, pressing against that devastating spot inside you, sending a sharp, liquid heat rippling through your core. A ragged sound escaped you, caught between a growl and a plea, your body trembling beneath his touch.

“Look at how you take me,” he murmured, almost fascinated, his pace slow but unyielding. “So tight, little hellcat… but you’ll soften for me. You’ll take more. You were made for this.”

Your wrists strained against his hold, your hips fighting to move-whether to flee or to chase the friction, you weren’t sure. Loki simply chuckled, his thumb flicking over your swollen clit, sending another helpless shudder through you.

“Such a lovely contradiction,” he purred. “Your body is so honest, even when you lie to yourself.”

His fingers curled slightly, pressing against that spot inside you, dragging another ragged sound from your throat-a sound you could barely recognize as your own. Your back arched, the stretch deep and invasive, a sensation that made your breath stutter, your mind war between the urge to fight and the unbearable fullness of his touch.

He worked you with a wicked patience, every motion deliberate, teasing, pushing you further into the trap your own body had laid for you. Your walls clenched instinctively, as if to force him out, but he merely smirked, his pace unhurried, savouring how you trembled beneath his hold. The slick evidence of your betrayal coated his fingers, making every slow thrust effortless, every withdrawal torturous.

“You tried so hard,” he murmured, his thumb ghosting over your swollen clit, sending another traitorous jolt of pleasure through you. “Yet here you are-writhing, shaking, taking everything I give you.”

Your hips jerked, desperate to escape the overwhelming sensations but finding no reprieve. Loki chuckled, his grip tightening, his body keeping you caged beneath him. His legs moved to pull your further aside, his hips pressing down, forcing you to stay open for him.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rich with satisfaction. His thumb brushed lightly against your swollen clit, drawing another unwilling shudder from you. "Listen to yourself," he murmured, his fingers slipping through the slick evidence of your body’s betrayal before pressing deep again, curling just right. "So soaked, dripping onto my hand, and yet you still bare your teeth."

The sound of his fingers pushing into your wet core was obscene, each slow stroke echoing in the chamber. The slick noise sent heat flooding through you, humiliation and something darker twisting together in your belly. Your walls clenched around him, trying to resist, but he only chuckled, unfazed.

“That knot inside you… I can feel it building,” he mused, almost thoughtful. "Tight, pulsing, desperate to snap. You don’t want it to, do you?" His nose tracing along your jaw, his fingers spreading again making you feel every deep, deliberate movement.

You choked on a breath, your body seizing, another growl rumbling from your throat. Loki grinned. "Trying to fight it? But you will surrender, little hellcat. You were made to come undone for me."

Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms hard enough to make the skin bleed, every muscle in your body coiling against the inevitable. You fought it, bucking against him, growling through clenched teeth, but it only heightened the sensations. The more you struggled, the more the pleasure built, sharp and consuming, your own defiance turning against you. Every roll of your hips, every attempt to twist away only sent another wave of heat spiralling through your limbs, your body working against your mind.

The tension in your core coiled unbearably tight, searing through you, refusing to be ignored. The pressure was relentless, twisting pleasure with humiliation, with fury, with something darker that clawed at the edges of your resolve. You couldn't stop it. You couldn't stop him. He was going to take everything from you now.

And the worst part? You were going to let him.

You were going to come apart at the hands of the one who destroyed your people. And gods help you-

You were going to like it.

Your body seized, every muscle tightening as the pleasure coiled unbearably tight, a taut, trembling wire on the verge of snapping. Loki's fingers never ceased, working you open, stretching you, his movements as measured as they were merciless. The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you, the obscene slickness that marked your betrayal, filled the chamber alongside his quiet laughter.

"Ah, there it is," he murmured, feeling the way your walls fluttered, grasping desperately at his fingers, your body surrendering to the inevitable. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel you clenching down on me, trying so hard to deny it."

You shook your head, a growl rising in your throat, but it was ruined, trembling, edged with something fragile. You didn't want this, didn't want to fall apart like this. Not for him.

But Loki had already won.

He curled his fingers again, his thumb flicking over your throbbing clit with precision that shattered whatever fragile hold you had left. The tension broke, pleasure tearing through you in a violent wave, your back arching, a cry ripped from your throat before you could stop it. It crashed over you, wave after wave, your vision blurring as the force of it stole every last breath from your lungs.

Loki didn't stop. He worked you through it, his fingers unrelenting as you writhed beneath him, moaning, gasping, your body boneless in surrender. His laughter curled around you, wicked and indulgent, as if savouring the sight of you completely undone.

"There we go," he purred, his fingers still moving inside you, dragging out every last aftershock, his thumb teasing over your clit again just to watch you spasm beneath him. Your body twitched uncontrollably, muscles trembling from the intensity of it, your breath coming in broken gasps.

Loki chuckled, thoroughly pleased with himself, his fingers still buried inside you, pressing deep as addicted to the way your walls pulsed around him. "Such a sight," he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. "You tried so hard, and yet here you are-ruined and trembling, undone by my hand alone."

He finally withdrew his fingers, slow and deliberate, revelling in the way your body clenched instinctively, as if reluctant to let him go. He brought them up between you, slick with your release, watching with dark amusement as he spread them apart, the evidence of your surrender glistening in the dim light.

"To think," he mused, his tone teasing as he brought his fingers to his lips, tasting you with an permissive hum, "you fought so hard to resist this. But as I said, your body always knew the truth, didn't it, hellcat?"

You lay next him, panting, dazed, limbs weak from pleasure and the lingering warmth of the drink. Your muscles refused to obey, spent from the relentless waves that had wracked your body, leaving you a trembling, boneless heap against the furs.

The fight had left you. You knew it. Yet you refused to acknowledge it.

A flicker of green blurred at the edges of your vision, and Loki shifted, his smirk widening as his pants vanished with an effortless pulse of magic. He loomed above you, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with conquest as he took in your wrecked state-wild and undone, your body betraying you even as your mind screamed defiance.

His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I felt you shatter for me, my little hellcat…"

You clenched your jaw, refusing to speak, to give him the satisfaction of a response. But Loki was nothing if not patient.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he let go of your chin and dragged you onto your hands and knees, the chain at your ankle rattling as he positioned you exactly where he wanted. You didn't even attempt to strike or claw as he let go of your wrists, rolling you over. There was no real fight now.

Loki ran a possessive hand down your spine, his fingers splaying over the curve of your hips before gripping them firmly. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, "Since you behave like such a beast, I shall take you like one."

Loki moved behind you, his heat pressing against your back, his hands roaming over your waist, your hips, possessive in their claim. One large hand slid lower, guiding himself against your soaked core, running his hardened length through your slickness, teasing, coaxing, revelling in how wet you were for him.

A small, broken whimper slipped from your throat before you could bite it back.

Loki smirked. "No more hissing, hmm?" His voice was rich with amusement, the arrogance of victory settling into every syllable. He gave a slow, deliberate thrust between your folds, letting the head of his cock graze against your swollen clit, pulling another unbidden tremor from your body. "Good girl."

Your head fell forward, the weight of exhaustion, of pleasure, of surrender too much to bear. And then, before you could stop yourself, before you could think-

"Please…"

The word barely carried past your lips, quiet, breathless. You weren’t sure if you were begging for mercy or for more, if you were pleading for release or for an end to the torment of knowing how deeply your body had betrayed you.

Loki stilled, then let out a delighted chuckle. "Oh? You do speak?" He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice dark with satisfaction. "Let’s have you scream my name then."

Without further warning, he pressed forward, the thick head of his cock stretching you open, slow and deliberate. The intrusion was overwhelming, your body hypersensitive from his earlier torment, the burn of his size making your breath stutter into a ragged moan. Your limbs trembled, fingers clawing at the furs beneath you as he filled you inch by inch, ensuring you felt every hard, unrelenting inch of him.

Loki groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he sank into you fully, his body shuddering in satisfaction. "So warm… so tight," he murmured, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you in place. "You were made for this, little hellcat, made to be tamed, made to be mine."

Your body clenched around him involuntarily, the sensation too much, too consuming, leaving you keening softly, your breath shattering in the stillness of the room. You were no longer thrashing, no longer resisting-only whimpering,

Loki rejoiced in your submission, relishing the way your body moulded around him. He withdrew slowly, only to press back in with the same torturous precision, making sure you felt every inch of your surrender. His hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he set a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending fresh waves of sensation rippling through you.

"There now," he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. "No more hissing, no more claws. Just this."

He moved-slow at first, each thrust deliberate, forcing you to feel every thick inch stretching you open, every drag against your sensitive walls. The overstimulation made your breath stutter, made your limbs tremble. The pleasure was relentless, raw, tearing through you with every slow roll of his hips.

Loki groaned, "You take me so well hellcat." his voice thick with satisfaction. "Oh gods…" you gasped, your fingers clenching the furs beneath you, your body rocking with the force of his movements.

He chuckled darkly, his hands gripping your waist to hold you in place. "I doubt your gods can hear you now," he murmured, his thrusts beginning to quicken, deepening with each snap of his hips. "But this one can."

His rhythm grew more forceful, his pace unforgiving as he chased his pleasure, as he drove you further into submission. The stretch of him, the way he filled you completely, made your body tremble with the unbearable mix of pleasure and something teetering on the edge of pain. Every thrust forced you open wider, made you feel just how much of him you had to take.

You tried to adjust, to find some control, but he gave you none. Your fingers clawed at the furs beneath you, your breath coming in ragged pants, but all it did was amuse him. "Poor thing," Loki purred, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Are you struggling? Is it too much?" His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you back against him with each deep stroke. "But your body doesn’t seem to mind."

You whimpered, heat coiling unbearably tight in your core, each brutal thrust sending another wave of sensation crashing through you. "Uhrgh! …" you gasped moans slipping past your lips before you could stop them.

Your body clenched around him involuntarily, the overwhelming sensation tipping closer and closer to the edge. You wanted to resist, wanted to deny him the satisfaction, but it was futile. The pleasure was unbearable, tightening, building, burning through you until there was nothing left but the devastating need to surrender completely.

Loki leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, his voice a dark whisper. "Say my name," he murmured, his thrusts growing deeper, more punishing. "Tell me who you belong to."

You bit down on your lip, refusing, even as your body trembled, even as your walls fluttered around him, dangerously close to another devastating release. But Loki was patient. His hand slid down, fingers pressing against your aching clit, circling it in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your vision blur.

"Say it," he urged, grinding deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made your breath hitch, made your limbs quake.

The pressure inside you coiled unbearably tight, the need to break overwhelming. You fought it, fought him, but the pleasure was too much. Your body gave in before your pride did, the words falling from your lips in a gasping whisper.

"Y-you…"

Your body shattered around him, pleasure ripping through you in devastating waves, your climax seizing every nerve, every muscle, forcing you into complete submission. A strangled cry tore from your throat, your back arching as the overwhelming sensation crashed over you, leaving you trembling, writhing, unable to control the helpless spasms that wracked your body. The intensity was unbearable, your breath coming in ragged, broken sobs as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, refusing to let him go. But Loki did not stop.

He groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his thrusts growing rougher, more insistent as he fucked you through it, forcing you feel ever clench ever flutter your walls made around his cock. Each snap of his hips sent another jolt through your overstimulated body.

"Not done yet, hellcat," Loki growled, his voice thick with possession. He gave a brutal thrust, driving himself to the hilt, his tip pressing deep into you. "You will give me another."

Your body was still trembling from the force of your last orgasm, oversensitive, raw, but Loki did not stop. He kept moving, his thrusts relentless, dragging another cry from your lips as your limbs quaked beneath him. The pleasure was unbearable, bordering on torment, the overstimulation making your breath hitch, your muscles weaken. You collapsed onto your forearms, panting into the furs, your body no longer able to hold itself upright against the force of his claiming.

Loki only smirked, his grip unyielding as he held you in place, making sure you felt every deep stroke, every possessive roll of his hips. "That's it," he purred, voice rich with satisfaction. "No more fight left in you, is there? Just this-just me."

Your walls clenched involuntarily around him, the relentless friction taking you apart, your will, your soul fracturing, every thrust sending a fresh pulse of heat spiralling through you. Your body was betraying you again, the pressure already building, the cruel edge of another climax creeping closer.

Loki chuckled darkly, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "Oh, you will give me another, little hellcat. I will take you apart again and again until there is no thought of defiance, no memory of resistance-only me."

His thrusts never slowed, never wavered, driving deeper, harder, until all you could do was gasp, your fist twisting up in the furs beneath you. Your body no longer fought him-it sought him. Each desperate clench of your walls, each helpless moan torn from your throat only spurred him on, his pace punishing, possessive.

Your limbs shook while you mewled, your mind hazy, drowning in the pleasure he forced upon you. Where had pleasure like this been? Nothing had felt like this-not the rush of battle, not the joy of victory. Nothing compared to this. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember why you had ever tried to resist him. There was nothing but him-his touch, his voice, his relentless claim over your body and soul.

The pressure built again, cruel and unrelenting, another climax cresting far too soon, but there was no stopping it. Your body craved him now, needed him like air, like sustenance, and the realization shattered the last vestiges of your will.

A strangled cry ripped from your lips, your back arching as another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body convulsing around him, tightening, drawing him deeper, surrendering completely. Your voice was raw, broken.

"LOKI," you gasped, his name spilling from your lips in a breathless, desperate prayer. The pleasure tore through you in a relentless surge, dragging you under, leaving you helpless beneath its weight. Your walls fluttered around him, pulsing, milking every inch of him as your muscles locked and your breath hitched, caught between a sob and a moan. The sensation was too much, too consuming, sending sharp jolts of overstimulation rippling through your body.

Your body shaking, but there was nothing-only him. His scent, his body, his merciless rhythm. You shattered in his grasp, boneless and wrecked, pleasure surging through every nerve as your climax sent fresh spasms through you, your legs shaking as if they threaten to give out.

Loki's breath hitched, a sharp exhale breaking through his usual control. "That’s it," he groaned, voice thick with possession, "Take it. Take all of me."

He thrust deeper, his movements becoming erratic, rougher as he chased his own release, every stroke driving the sensation higher, pushing you past any hope of resistance. "You feel that?" he growled, fingers tightening around your hips. "You want this, you need me now." His voice was strained, fraying at the edges, his own pleasure consuming him as your body clenched around him, dragging him to the brink. His grip on your hips unrelenting. "Mine," he rasped, his voice dark and hoarse, his rhythm faltering as he finally lost himself in you. His thrusts grew erratic, his breath turning ragged as your body clenched around him, dragging him closer to his own end. His fingers dug into your flesh, his control fraying as he drove into you harder, deeper, chasing his own pleasure with the same ruthless intensity that had shattered you.

Loki's breath catching as his closing down like a vice, his body tensing, and then with a deep, guttural groan, he spilled into you, his seed flooding deep inside, hot and unrelenting, marking you as his own. He buried himself to the hilt, holding you firm, refusing to let you escape the finality of his claim. "You belong to me now," he murmured against your skin, his breath ragged, his pleasure still echoing through his limbs. But still, he did not let go. Even as his body shuddered, even as he pressed in deep one final time, he kept you close, his hands possessive, his breath hot against your damp skin.

"So docile now.." he rasped, his voice rough with exertion, his lips ghosting over your shoulder as he held you through the aftershocks, whimpering keens coming from you.

When he finally withdrew, you collapsed, your body trembling, boneless. His seed and your nectar spilled out of you, running over your skin to make a sticky mess on the furs beneath you. The evidence of what he had done to you, of how completely he had claimed you, was undeniable.

Loki leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "Such a good little thing," he murmured, his voice filled with the purrs bought from his own sated need. With a flick of his fingers, the shackle around your ankle unlocked, the metal slipping away with a quiet clink. Not because you were free-but because you would not run now. There was no need for such a restraint. 

His hand moved to your hair, stroking through the sweat damp strands as he indulged in the warmth of your ruined form against him. He curled himself around you, his touch possessive, his presence inescapable.

"Rest, little hellcat," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "You belong to me now."

[i2sunric]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 (p.js)

PAIRING: hades!jay x persephone!reader

SUMMARY: labelled as unable of being loved, jay decides to steal a mortal to rule his realm with. what he hasn’t expected, though, is that it wasn’t you who he kidnapped, you had stolen his heart.

WARNINGS: kidnapping, enemies to lovers (but only reader hates jay), greek mythology, mentions of other idols as Gods, kisses. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 22nd December 2024

WC: 3.5k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @who-tf-soddhi (oneshot) @monstaxdirtywonk @love4choso @heechwe

a/n: guess who’s back, back again. lol, i’m so happy with how this turned out! and i sincerely hope y’all like it too 🩷 have some nice holidays!

The gods of Olympus were never silent. Their laughter and taunts echoed across the heavens, filling their golden halls with noise and light.

Among them, Hades — so few knew him as Jay — was the quiet shadow in their midst.

Rarely did he grace their celebrations, his duties below pulling him away from the vanity of their world.

But he wasn't deaf to their jests.

“He'll never know love," Hermes — whose former name was Jungwon — had said to one banquet, leaning onto his caduceus with a smirk.

"Who would want to walk in those dark halls with him?" Aphrodite chimed in, her melodic laughter cutting through the room.

Jay had sat silent, his face impassive, but their words lodged deep within him.

He had never been a creature of longing— his domain demanded stern control, not vulnerability. And yet, as centuries passed, a hollow ache had begun to grow.

Perhaps the others were right. Perhaps he would remain alone. But then, there was the smallest flicker of rebellion within him.

“Let them doubt me," he whispered, his voice cold as the mist of the Styx. "I will find someone who can see me for what I really am."

♡.

Jay seldom visited the mortal world. It was too loud, too bright, too alive.

But something had pulled him there that day, a whisper in the back of his mind, a tenuous tug he could not ignore. And so, he walked among the mortals, his dark robes altered to blend in with their simple garb.

The sun beat above, merciless. Apollo — also known as Heeseung — really enjoyed making mundanes suffer. Mortals bustled around him, their voices a cacophony of trivial concerns.

He had nearly given up, retreating toward the shaded edge of a golden orchard, when his eyes fell on you.

You stood beneath an ancient apple tree, reaching up toward the highest branches.

Your hands grasped the fruit carefully, inspecting each apple before placing it in your basket.

The sun played in your hair, catching the edges of your figure like a halo. But it wasn't your beauty that arrested him; it was the way you moved— with confidence, with purpose.

Suddenly, a strange thought assailed him: You belonged in no one's shadow. It seemed as if not even the apple’s shadow could make you lose your spark.

A step closer he came, and almost faltered. You laughed softly as you took a bite of the sweet fruit, a slice of sound that cut through the din around him. Something in his chest stirred. An unfamiliar pull, sharp and insistent.

Before he knew better, he acted.

The earth had shaken beneath your feet, and you had stood stock-still, startled.

A chill had saturated the air, unnatural and heavy. You turned, your gaze darting around for the source, but the orchard had fallen silent.

Then the earth rent asunder. Shadows poured from it, twisting and coiling like living things. Swimming around you like water would from a waterfall.

Up from the chasm rose a chariot of black iron, its wheels spinning silently above the broken earth. The horses were ghostly, their eyes glowing like dying embers.

Your breath caught in your throat as a figure stepped from the chariot, the bitten apple falling on the ground, rolling. He was cloaked in darkness, his hood obscuring his face, but his presence was overwhelming.

Power radiated from him, pressing down on your chest like a physical weight.

"Who—" Your voice broke, trembling with fear and defiance. "Who are you?"

He didn't answer, only lifted a hand. The shadows surged forward, binding your legs like chains. You cried out, struggling against them, but they held fast.

"Let me go!" you shouted, anger flashing through your terror.

Jay raised a brow; he moved closer, and for the first time, you caught a glimpse of his face beneath the hood.

His features were sharp, almost otherworldly, and his eyes were a cold, unyielding gray.

"I cannot," he whispered, and then before you could reply, he took you into his embrace.

You struggled against him, your fists pounding against his chest, but it was like hitting stone. He stepped back onto the chariot, holding you fast as the horses reared and plunged into the chasm.

The world above disappeared in a swirl of darkness as you lost your senses.

♡.

When you awoke, you were no longer in the orchard.

The air was cool and heavy, carrying a faint metallic tang that sent shivers down your spine.

You sat up slowly, your heart pounding as you took in your surroundings. The chamber was huge, its walls carved from gleaming black stone that seemed to drink in the dim red light emanating from the ceiling.

And there, sat on an obsidian throne on the other end of the room, was him.

He watched you intently— his hood discarded, with pale skin and a face chiseled, striking yet severe. His dark eyes felt to see right through you, and you hated the way your breath caught under his gaze.

Hades. Ruler of the Underworld.

"Why?" you demanded, your voice hoarse. You stood shakily, glaring at him. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I needed a queen," he said simply, as if that explanation was enough.

You laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the walls. "A queen? You think I'd ever agree to rule this… this pit with you?"

His expression didn't change, though you could have sworn you saw a flicker of something in his eyes-annoyance, perhaps, or amusement.

"You misunderstand," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You don't have a choice."

That struck a nerve. Your hands curled into fists, and despite the fear twisting in your gut, you stepped closer. "No one owns me," you hissed. "Not you, not anyone.”

For the first time, his calm cracked.

He rose with a slow, deliberate movement, and all the weight of his presence came down on you.

"I am Hades," he said, his voice thundering with power. "God of the Underworld, you are here because I chose you, and you will learn to accept that."

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you refused to back down. "And if I don't?"

The silence hung heavy between you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, he looked away. "Then you'll remain here as my prisoner. Either way, you belong to me now."

You swallowed hard, anger and fear warring within you. But one thought rose above the rest: You will not let him break you.

With the snap of his fingers, two servants in the form of a skeleton appeared in front of you. They looked at you with their void eyes and then turned around, walking.

You glanced up at Jay, who only beckoned you to follow them.

A scoff escaped your lips as you did just that, anything would be better than staying in the same room as him.

The skeleton's bones made a funny noise as they walked you down the neve -ending hallways. The castle was huge, crimson coated the walls as well as dark black.

“So,” you cleared your throat “Is your boss always like that? Or does he change expressions sometimes?” you tried to joke, but the skeletons didn’t reply.

Of course, they didn’t even have lips, “You can’t tell me anything, uh? Not even where the exit is?”

They just stopped in front of a door, opening it for you. Taking the hint, you slowly stepped inside, cautious.

The chamber was so spacious for only one person, a bed stood in the middle of the room, its sheets a dark shade of red.

The walls were coated with drawings of black dahlias, the ceiling so high it made you think the room never actually ended.

The skeletons closed the door behind your back, leaving you there, alone.

You walked to the bed, sitting on its edge. At least, the mattress was soft, the sheets silk and warm.

You finally allowed a sob to escape your lips, another followed and then another again.

Gods always did what they wanted, never truly considering someone’s feelings. You hated them, but more than anything, you hated Hades.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, if he wanted a wife, you’d show him just what you were made of.

♡.

The tension hung between you like a storm cloud.

Jay had come to visit you when you woke up, followed by a skeleton that placed a trail of pomegranate on your bed.

You didn’t know how much you slept, neither of it was morning or night. The Underworld had no light.

“I hope the chamber is of your likings.” He spoke after an awkward silence. You dared glance at him, but daren’t reply.

Jay let out a soft sigh, “It is the only fruit that grows in my realm, if you want anything in particular, I’ll have one of my servants fetch you something from the orchard in the Olympus.”

Finally, you reached down, picking up the pomegranate. Its scent was sweet, and the faint shimmer of the seeds made them look like tiny jewels.

Usually, you’d go crazy for the bittersweet fruit, but the Underworld made even that look dead, poisonous.

You turned it in your hands as if inspecting it. "And what if I refuse to eat?" you asked, tone sharp.

Jay's lips quirked in what might have been amusement, though it was fleeting. "You won't," he said simply, his voice soft but sure.

Your glare deepened. "How do you know?"

"Because you don't hate life," he said. "Even here, in this place you claim to despise, you'll find a reason to keep going.”

The words struck deeper than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but no words came.

You picked up one of the seeds between your fingers, observing the way the surface shimmered before finally placing it into your mouth.

The flavor burst on your tongue, sweet and tart, and for a moment, you were reminded of the orchards above— the sun on your skin, the breeze in your hair, the simple joy of being free.

Jay watched you in silence, his expression unreadable. When you finally set the pomegranate down, he inclined his head slightly. "I'll leave you to your evening," he said, turning to go.

So, it was evening.

But before he could go, your voice stopped him. "Wait."

He turned back; his eyes were steady but questioning.

"Why do you keep trying?" you asked, quieter now. "Why not just leave me to my misery? Use me just for your plans?” after all, it would be typical of the Gods.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, stepping closer, he spoke in a voice so soft it barely carried across the room, “Because I've spent eternity surrounded by shadows, and for the first time, there's a light here."

His words had left you speechless for a moment. He bowed his head slightly and then left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

♡.

The Underworld had a strange beauty to it, though you’d fought to see it.

The palace gardens, in particular, drew your attention on restless nights— or days. They were like nothing you’d ever encountered in the mortal world.

The flowers glowed faintly, their petals a soft silver-blue, and streams of water that sparkled like liquid starlight wove between them.

It was here, one evening, that you sat on a stone bench, your eyes fixed on the ghostly blooms. You didn't hear Jay approach until he spoke.

"You come here often," he said, his voice quiet.

You startled slightly but didn't turn. "I don't have many options," you replied, your tone still edged with defiance.

You had tried to wander around the castle, and Jay let you, but whenever you came too close to the exit, a puddle of shadows rose from the ground and brought you back to your chamber.

Jay sat beside you, leaving enough space to show he wasn't trying to intrude. He looked out at the garden, his gray eyes contemplative. "These flowers," he said after a moment, "Only grow here, nowhere else in existence."

You glanced at him, surprised by the hint of pride in his voice. "You care about them?"

"They're life in a place where life shouldn't exist," he said simply.

The words hung in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of understanding: the Underworld wasn't just a prison to him— it was a responsibility, a realm he nurtured despite its darkness.

It was the realm given to him by his father, and it was his job to keep it going, no matter how much he despised it.

After a moment, you exhaled, leaning back slightly. "Why do you do that?"

He looked at you, brow furrowed. "Do what?

“Say things that make it hard to hate you,” you said, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, perhaps weeks or months. Time seemed to flow slower there.

But you thought it would be easier to hate him, had he been scarier and less gentle. His sharp edges always seemed to soften whenever you walked into the room, and his clothes clung to his form, revealing a body any girl from your village would go crazy about.

Not that you stared at it too much, of course.

To your surprise, Jay’s lips curved into a faint smile of his own. “I thought you’d hate me forever.”

“I’m still considering it,” you shot back, though the teasing note in your voice was unmistakable.

Jay chuckled softly, the sound low and unfamiliar. For the first time, the weight between you seemed to lift, if only slightly.

“Will you ever let me see the light again? The orchard?” or your family. Would your parents be worried, or had Jay already cast a spell on them?

“Depends,” he spoke, “Will you run away if I do.” fair point. The moment the sun kissed your skin again, you were sure you wouldn’t step inside this gloomy castle anymore.

Seeing your lack of reply, Jay just got up and turned around, murmuring “That’s what I thought.”

And for a seconds, you thought you saw something like hurt flicker in his eyes.

♡.

More time passed, and though you had resisted at first, you found yourself softening toward Jay. He had a quiet strength about him, a steady patience that wore down your walls like water against stone.

You spent most of your days in the library. Though your eyes weren’t used to the light anymore, your imagination worked just as fine.

You daydreamed of the life outside the suffocating walls of the Underworld’s castle, you dreamed of someone rescuing you.

And sometimes — but just sometimes — you fantasised about Jay, and his heart made of iron.

One night, as you sat by the fire in the great hall, he joined you, a small bundle wrapped in dark cloth clutched in his hand. "I have something for you," he said; his voice held a rare note of uncertainty. You lifted an eyebrow, curiosity pricked despite yourself. "Another 'gesture'?"

"Of a sort," he said. He unwrapped the bundle, revealing a delicate necklace of silver and black opals.

The stones shimmered like starlight, their glow faint but mesmerizing.

You stared at it, then at him. "Why?"

"It reminded me of you," he said simply. "Strong.. luminous, unyielding."

Your heart skipped a beat, though you fought to keep your expression neutral. "You think flattery will make me forgive you?"

"No," he said, holding the necklace out to you. "But it's the truth."

You hesitated, then reached out to take it. The metal was cool against your skin and for a moment, an odd sense of belonging overtook you, like this place, this moment wasn't entirely foreign.

"Thank you," you said softly and surprised yourself.

Jay's eyes relaxed, and for the first time, you saw not the god who had stolen you but the man beneath— the one who had spent centuries in solitude, yearning for connection.

for someone understanding, someone to love. Perhaps, you could learn to be just that.

You handed the necklace back to him, he looked at it, hurt. He thought you had rejected his gift, but as you turned around and held your hair up, his breath hitched.

“Would you help me put it on?” you questioned, your voice soft, unlike the usual bite it held.

“Of course.” Jay murmured quietly, his touch gentle as he put the jewel around your neck.

It fit perfectly, the dark necklace adorning your once tanned skin.

You smiled. holding it between your fingers, “It’s beautiful.”

He smiled.

Your eyes widened when he took in the sight, he smiled so warmly, and for a moment he even looked human.

“You’re beautiful.” Jay spoke, his voice so soft.

“Hades—“ You said, but he shook his head “Call me Jay.”

You gulped, the room suddenly feeling too hot, “Jay.” you repeated, the name rolling sweetly down your tone.

He let out a soft groan, like it both pained and healed him.

“I know you keep thinking ‘Why me?’” He murmured, caressing your cheek. The first time his skin met yours voluntarily “But for me, it has always been you— from the moment I saw you picking those apples, my heart belonged to you.”

You didn’t even have time to think about it, but your feet went on their tip-toes as you pressed your soft lips on his.

To say he was taken aback was an understatement. His eyes wide as body rigid, and for a moment you thought if maybe, he didn’t love you as much as he claimed.

But then, his hand held your face, the other tangled in your hair as his own lips moved on yours passionately.

Your fingers curled around his shirt, grounding you as uou got lost in the taste of him.

You took the hand that was on your cheek and guided it to rest on your racing heart, “Maybe you have the same effect on me.” You murmured on his lips.

His eyes darkened and he pulled away, “Will you marry me?”

You blinked faintly, your breath hitching at his straight-forwardness.

“Do I have a choice?” He stepped away, his breath still heavy from the kiss, “Yes— yes, I’m giving it to you right now.”

Your brows furrowed, so he added “If you think your future still belongs in the Olympus, then go. The door is actually just around the throne room.”

Jay gulped, hope flickering in his usually gloomy eyes “But if you have some sense of future here, with me, then stay. Stay and let me be your husband.”

You clenched your jaw and looked at the door of the throne room. If you exited it and followed the long hallway, you would be out.

You would see the light, feel the sun tickle your skin, see your family, your friends.

But you weren’t sure that was what you wanted anymore.

Your eyes set again on Jay. His expression had lost hope, like he had already lost.

But you smirked, crossing your arms over your chest “So,” you cleared your throat “When’s the wedding?”

A smile, brother than Apollo’s sun lit up his face as he closed the distance he had put and claimed your lips once more.

“Whenever you want, Y/N.”

♡.

In time, the Underworld became your home. Though the darkness remained, it no longer felt oppressive. The palace, once cold and foreign, now echoed with your laughter. And Jay, once a figure of hate, had become something else entirely.

One day, as you stood by the garden's edge, watching the silver streams flow, he approached you. His steps were quiet, but you felt his presence before you turned.

"You've changed this place," he said, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

You looked at him, a faint smile playing on your lips. "And you've changed me.

He reached out and took your hand in his, holding it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss on the ring. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with meaning.

Then he bowed his head slightly, his voice a low murmur "Will you teach me how to love you right?”

You looked at him, at the man who had once been your captor but was now so much more.

Slowly, you nodded. "I will."

[hans-wh0re]

A.N: this is a drabble that m thinking of expanding as a fic

"Fuck, that's it baby..." Hyunjin rasped out in a low, filthy growl that made you shudder. His scorching gaze raked over your lewd display through the phone's lens - spine in a debauched arch, mouth fallen slack with blissed-out moans as you eagerly speared yourself on his thick length again and again.

The harsh smacking of skin on skin reverberated through the room in tandem with your desperate, cloying whimpers. Each time you ground your asscheeks flush against his pelvis, Hyunjin's cock would split you apart with that soul-shattering *stretch* that had stars bursting behind your screwed-shut eyelids.

"Nnghh...that slutty little cunt just can't get enough, huh?" he rasped out, voice gone rough with lust. "Taking my cock like you were made for it."

Hyunjin shifted positions then, grabbing a fistful of your sweat-damp locks to wrench your head back at a punishing angle. You gurgled out a pitchy whine past your spit-slick lips as he brought the phone up unbearably close, the lens zeroing in on your ruined, slack-jawed expression with sadistic focus.

"Look at you..." he sneered in dark gratification, studying your glazed, vacant features. "Such a desperate cum-hungry slut. Is this what you wanted? To be my personal fuck-puppet while i records just how much of a messy little whore you are?"

Despite his cruel vitriol, you could only keen out a shuddering, mewling whimper of bliss. Lost in a hedonistic vortex of sensation, you mindlessly shoved your hips back to impale yourself in one long, shuddering grind on the punishing density of his cock.

Hyunjin hissed out a harsh breath through gritted teeth at the feeling of your abused, sloppy hole fluttering and clenching around him in spasming milks. That iron-hard length somehow managed to split you open even wider as he surged in with a vicious snap of his hips. Thick ropes of your essence immediately started to dribble free in vulgar gouts, trickling down over your puffy folds to soak the bedsheets beneath you both.

"That's right you little whore..." he growled, nostrils flaring. Using his grip in your hair, Hyunjin pulled your face up and forced you to meet the camera's gaze while he treated you like a twisted little pocket pussy.

"Give the people what they want. Drool all over yourself while i utterly ruins this messy fuckhole..."

He punctuated the threat with a series of harsh, pounding jackhammer thrusts that instantly punched a shrill, gurgling wail past your swollen lips. Drool collected obscenely at the corners of your mouth as your eyes rolled back in delirious rapture - you were completely gone, nerves thrumming from the onslaught of sensation.

Everything became a spiraling vortex of feral rutting, filthy squalor, and erotic bliss. Hyunjin's physique glistened with a sweat-sheened sheen as he plowed into your squelching, convulsing cunt with relentless, animalistic fervor. The room filled with a cacophony of your pitchy howls, his rough grunts, and the lewd wet sounds of your essence being messily reamed.

The camera (and subsequently Hyunjin's burning stare) didn't miss a single degrading second - greedily capturing every graphic detail of your debauched defilement. And still you craved more, grinding back to meet his brutal thrusts with wanton keening whines.

Stars exploded across your vision as Hyunjin buried himself in one last cruel, obliterating grind that had you choking out a ragged, open-mouthed sob. He held you there impaled on the swollen, pulsating crest of his cock as rich, viscous ropes of seed immediately began pumping into your abused, fluttering hole.

"That's it, sweetheart...fucking milk me..." he snarled against the sweaty nape of your neck, voice utterly guttural with possession. "Take every fucking drop like the filthy cumdump you are..."

[sometimescharlolette]

JOEL MILLER X F!READER (SARAH’S FRIEND)

PART TWO

Synopsis: You go out drinking with your friends and end up hooking up with a dilf, without knowing that he's your best friend's father.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: +18, sexual content, age gap (reader is in her twenties, Joel in his late forties), dirty words, cursing, sex (p in v), outside sex.

A/N: hello beautiful people, with the second season of The Last of Us coming this year, I couldn't help but be taken by how good Pedro Pascal looks as Joel, too cute, and that accent.... 🫦 🫦 anyway, I hope you like it, comments are very welcome, I'd love to know what you think, kisses 💜💜

Finally vacation, you couldn't believe that those last two weeks full of papers, presentations and tests had finally come to an end. You and friends were at the college pub as usual, eager to get your fill and party like it was the last day. This last semester had been more tense and stressful, so you deserved this moment of being young and stupid, along with the fruit cocktails with tiny colored umbrellas that were your post-test companions. 

The pub was small, there was a bigger one on the other side of the campus, but it was also packed with prickly kids from the most competitive classes who enjoyed making scholarship students' life miserable, and anyway, it was a kind of tradition to go to this cozy little bar, you even knew the bartenders by name, and you had freelanced there to pay for the alarming amount of printing that the college demanded.

On the plus side, the loud music was able to fill the entire room, blending in with the sounds of the bartender mixing drinks, the glasses being filled with beer, the lively conversations, laughter, or even the tears and complaints of the students who had fallen behind. This happy, pulsating cacophony was able to leave your worries outside the door, freezing with the snow that seemed to be growing every minute.

You felt so free without the worries of tight deadlines or sleepless nights to catch up on the content, being a functional adult with a part-time job in the college cafeteria was hard, although, modesty aside, you had learned to make spectacular coffee, and you had the flex of having a mug of fresh coffee every morning, afternoon, evening or night you spent studying.

One of your friends, Gina, the blonde with that enthusiastic smile that seemed to live on her face, pulled you by the hand onto the dance floor, you laughed letting her pull you into the sea of bodies that was shaking in the middle of the bar, hands and arms thrown up in the air moving to the rhythm of the music, it was an eclectic mix, from electronica, country, rock, bossa nova to pop, in this last semester, the singles by Chappel Roan and Sabrina Carpenter competed for which would have more weekly repetitions.

You lost yourself in the moment, head moving and hands in the air as you swayed your hips to the chords of 'Good graces' by your favorite blonde pop singer, when the chorus came, you and Gina exchanged excited and festive glances, leaving the random guys you were dancing with to meet in the middle of the dance floor, you wrapped your arms around her neck, to which she repeated the movement laughing hysterically. 

“boy, it's not that complicated” you sang cheerfully, gesturing with the hand you were holding the glass of beer in. “You should stay in my good graces”

Gina laughed at your semi-drunk and giggly singing. “Or I'll switch it up like that, so fast”

You met her in the next stanza. “Cause no one's more amazing at turning lovin' into hatred” Together, you sung the joyful line while giggling at your awful singing and dancing.

"Don't look now, but there's a guy looking at you." you whispered to Gina.

"Is he cute?" she said inquisitively.

You shook your head gently. “For you, I guess so,” you murmured and Gina laughed, tossing her golden curls back in a hair flip. 

She bit her bottom lip and looked between you and the black-haired guy who had been staring at her since you two arrived. “But this was supposed to be girls' night, no boys involved” 

You rolled your eyes. "Gina, I know you're dying to jump in his bones, so please." 

Your friend giggled, but didn't deny it.  “Well, you could give it a try too,” she said slyly. "Who knows, maybe it will help with your shitty mood”

"Having sex releases endorphins, which has been scientifically proven," Gina said ominously. "Girl, throw yourself on a cock."

“As if one of those boys knew how to make a woman come” You mumbled more frustratedly than you intended. You were not against a quickie at the club, but the experiences you had were annoying because either the guy came too quickly or he kept poking his fingers in without knowing what he was doing or looking for.

Having grown accustomed to your sarcasm, Gina rolled her eyes. "All right, try speaking with Simas then. He's probably around fifty. The closer they are to joining the SSA, the better."

You sipped your beer. Simas had owned the bar for, well, forever. He was essentially a relic, having been there since the college first opened. You pushed Gina by the shoulders and said, "Go get your man." Gina blew a kiss in the air over her shoulder and went to meet up with the dark-haired boy.

You shrugged and returned your focus to the music. You made your way back to the bar with your beer gone, avoiding drunks humiliating themselves, couples making out, or just students who were too pleased to realize they would have a bad hangover the following morning. 

“Hey, can I have another one of those?” you asked the bartender, having to bend your arm on the counter and shout for him to understand your request amidst the loud music blasting from the speakers scattered around the walls.

With your glass of beer in your hand, you turned to go back to the dance floor, you thought you saw a familiar face in the corner by the window,  you carefully dodged the hordes of students only to collide with the back of a tall man who was taking steps backwards for no apparent reason. Your glass wobbled in your hand, turning the golden liquid on your blouse and dropping to the floor with a loud clatter, glass shards scattered at your feet.

“Fuck, you don't watch where you're going?” you cursed angrily, trying to avoid stepping on the broken glass, the liquid splashing against the soles of your high heels.

The man in the worn jeans jacket turned around, he was older than you expected, like much older, like 40, 45, he was wearing a dark flannel shirt, the first few buttons open giving a glimpse of his broad chest, a silver army chain dangling against his skin, there was a slight blush, probably from the drink.

You looked up, finding the face of the stranger who had tipped over your beer. He had striking features, expressive brown eyes and a short beard flecked with silver. His hair was more gray than brown, the color you would have thought it was when he was younger.

He pondered, "Well, well, and I thought college girls were more polite." His voice was low and had a southern accent cadence—possibly Texan, but you couldn't pinpoint it—but it was undoubtedly attractive, you couldn't help but think about it before moving on.

 "You were the one walking backwards, I have a right to be frustrated.” You responded, your cheeks heating up angrily, he lifted his hands in surrender.

“All right, sweetie, I apologize for...” He began calmly, his gaze falling to stare at your now wet white T-shirt, clinging to the black bra you wore underneath. The tops of your breasts caught his attention, so you crossed your arms and he turned away. “Beer, let me buy you one to make up for it”

You stared at him in confusion for a moment, his serious, irritated expression seemed to have softened into a calm, tight-lipped one as he waited for your answer, you nodded in agreement, seeing nothing wrong with him paying for the damage he himself had caused.

When he reached for a glass of beer, you asked curiously, "Will I get to know your name?" His big fingers briefly touched yours, but it was enough to give you a thrill.

“Joel,” he offered dryly, taking a sip of beer, you watched as he drank, turning the glass as if he were drinking water, not an alcoholic beverage. 

As he swallowed, you saw his Adam's apple move, and a few drops of the golden liquid escaped his lips, following a path down his neck to the confines hidden by his flannel.

“Do you like what you see, little girl?” His voice rips through the silence, you blink when you're caught staring, and your cheeks flush with shame. You weren't one to fall for cheesy flirtation, but now you're on tenterhooks for this guy.

“Just curious, I've never seen you around campus,” you retorted, biting your lower lip. “Are you a new professor by any chance?” 

Joel laughs, it's a rich, deep sound that resonates in your ears, disconcerting you. “No,” he denies, as if it were a hilarious idea for him. “Do teachers drink with the students here? I thought there was some kind of ethics thing that forbade that, but maybe I'm just old,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow and leaning towards you.

“It's a college bar, anyone can come here,” you said calmly, trying to appear to have more control over your voice than you were feeling.

Joel stepped closer to the bar, an arm stretched over your side, your breath froze in your throat, your heart hammering like a tambourine, ready to jump out of your chest. “Why are you nervous, little girl?” His delight and mischievousness rolled from his tongue at the provocation, and he whispered against your ear.

You defended yourself, "I'm not," but Joel simply chuckled while his beard brushed your cheek and ran down to your delicate neck, your breaths mangled into a low, pitiful whimper.

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie,” He flirtatiously whispered before leaving his glass of beer on the counter. You instantly missed the warmth of his body slipping away from yours.

"Want to leave this place?" As soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted your youthful confidence and recklessness in throwing yourself at a strange man, old enough to be your father, who to make matters worse, you didn't even know his surname.

“What do you have in mind, little girl?” Joel smiled suggestively, letting you take his hand, and guiding you through the sea of people out of the bar, you could practically feel your heart pounding in your ears, the blood pumping with a mixture of excitement and fear as you sneaked with the older man into an alley next to the bar. 

Your doubts, fears and sane part of your mind seemed to shut down when Joel's big hands found their way to your body,  one arm wrapped around your back and pulled you against him, while the other cupped your cheek and brought your mouth to his. He wasn't gentle; he didn't use that chaste pressing of lips; instead, he raided your mouth, his tongue searching your warm cavern like a pirate after treasure. He knew exactly how to make you moan pitifully against his mouth, he swallowed your moans, kissing you harder, you lost yourself in the feeling.

Your arms found his neck, pulling and wrapping around his gray hair, fingers desperate to touch any piece of him they could reach. Joel didn't lag behind; instead, he let his hand drop from your waist to find its place on your ass and gave it a squeeze that made you gasp. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your buttock, pressing you against him until you felt his erection against your belly and, fuck, you felt your panties practically dripping for him. 

“Condom?” he asked against your neck,  you blinked in surprise and briefly broke out of the lust fog to process what he was saying. For a moment, you had forgotten that you were on the street, and that every second was crucial, there was no time for foreplay, and yet you were wetter than ever.

“Uhuh” you stammered, pulling a condom packet out of your bra, after all, you never know what can occur on a night out at the pub. Joel gave you a grateful glance as you tore open the packet with your teeth, pushing his hips forward to increase the pressure of his hard erection against you.

Without wasting any time, he pulled his cock out, his jeans falling to his ankles carelessly, you made quick work of jerking off his cock, not that he needed to, it was already hard as a rock against your warm palm, you used the drops of pre-cum leaking from the head of his cock to lubricate the length, the condom slipping off easily.

“Fuck, little girl, I need to be inside you now” Joel growled with hunger, his brown eyes clouded by a mist of lust and excitement as he met yours. He held his cock lined up with your dripping entrance, you slipped your panties aside, giving him access.

“Fuck” you gasped softly, eyes closed and cheeks flushed as Joel's cock slid into your folds like a searing hot tease, he rubbed the head up and down your slit, coating himself with your slippery arousal. "Just, please... ah." You didn't have to ask twice, with a quick and powerful thrust, Joel pushed forward, burying himself inside your pussy, he groaned at the exquisite sensation, his cock pulsing and twitching as your walls wrapped him in a warm embrace.

Beads of sweat began to form on Joel's forehead as he tried his hardest to stay still so you could feel comfortable enough to go on, even though all he really wanted was to bury himself all the way in. 

“Joel, move,” you asked breathlessly, your forehead falling against his chest as he finally began to move, the way he stretched you, the places he hit in your most intimate place made you dizzy with pleasure, a spiral of sensations that your vocabulary couldn't describe.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well, little girl." Joel groaned against your neck, sucking dark, red marks into your skin. His tongue quickly traced them to lessen the bite's pain, though he doubted you would have noticed so immersed in the sensation of his cock rearranging your organs. You dug your nails into his back, the denim jacket acting as a barrier to hide the red marks you wanted to etch there.

Joel's movements sped up, he fucked you with wild abandon, bringing his cock to the entrance of your pussy only to slam it in again, and again, you wrapped a leg around his hip, the new position allowing him to reach a new place that made you both gasp.

His big fingers reached out to find your clit, nibbling at it in the same rhythm as his brutal thrusts, the sensation was almost too much, your legs began to weaken, your eyes spinning, and that familiar sensation of heat building up in the belly area, it was almost like a fire burning all the skin his touches encountered.

“Fuck, little girl, I'm, I'm going to come... are you close?” Joel asked breathlessly, muffling his moans against the scarred skin of your neck, you shook your head quickly, not trusting yourself to form coherent words as you felt your body turning into a hot mess under his hands. 

Your delicate skin scraped the brickwork as Joel pressed you against the wall outside the pub, but nothing—no sensation—could take your mind off the orgasm that ripped you to pieces. As your moan pierced the night's calm and your sweet fluids trickled down his cock, you felt your body quake against his larger one, you clutched against his chest like a lifeline, your fingers curling into his flannel shirt, knuckles almost white of holding.

Jesus Christ! Joel had never been religious, but he swore that if heaven existed, it would resemble the feeling that gripped him right now—the way your pussy's silky walls vibrated around his cock, seemingly trying to squeeze everything out of him. It was a heavenly sensation that made him cum instantly,  Thick ropes of sperm filled the condom, and he continued to move until you were both too exhausted, the pleasure knocked him so hard that he had to hold himself against the wall, holding your body against him, while he regained his breath and his balance.

When Joel pulled his cock out of your pussy, you both gasped at the loss of warmth, feeling so empty without him that you braced yourself against the wall, leaning back and breathing shallowly. Joel removed his condom and threw it in a nearby trash can, putting his jeans and underwear in one motion.

“Where do you live, little girl?” he asked, gently brushing a lock of hair off your sweaty face.

A very distant part of you seemed to be trying to tell you that it wasn't a good idea to give your address to strangers, but that so-called stranger had fucked your brains out, and it was so amazing. Besides, you were exhausted from the orgasm, your legs were like jelly, so the idea didn't seem so bad. You quickly gave Joel the directions, and he took you in his arms bridal style. With a languid smile, you rested your head on his chest and lost yourself in the depths of drowsiness until you closed your eyes, your lids too heavy to remain open, and fell into Morpheus' arms.

***

The next morning, when your best friend, Sarah, began to open the curtains in your shared room, you mumbled quietly, covering your face with the blanket, you just needed a few more minutes of sleep and you'd be ready for another one. Unfortunately for you, Sarah didn't appear to give up and ended your hiding methods by removing the bed's covers.

"Sarah," you tossed a pillow at her while yawning languidly.

She just rolled her eyes, picking up the pillow that you tried to throw at her. “Stop being lazy, you promised you'd have lunch with me and my dad” she reminded you, you let out a loud sigh as you remembered the night you were feeling productive and agreed to everything that was suggested. Your current self detested it when you gave one of those. 

“Do I really have to go?” You grumbled wearily as Sarah simply stood firmly over you. You sighed and got out of bed to dress, saying that you hate the way she was able to persuade everyone, it’s like a superpower—something about being the only kid or whatever.

"Does your father have to eat so early, Sarah? It's ten in the morning." You grumbled in a low voice as you stuffed your face with caffeine to try to remain awake at lunch.

Your friend, who was well aware of your morning sour attitude, rolled her eyes. "He came early; do you recall that I mentioned that we're from Texas?"

With a feeble nod, you allowed Sarah to lead you across the college campus to the small Mexican diner where you two used to have lunch at the end of each semester. You barely noticed when she let go of your arm to run and hug her father, it wasn't until you nearly tripped a chair that you realize she was gone.

"So, you must be Mr. Miller," you remarked politely, your voice a little slurred from the combination of alcohol and lack of sleep. You shifted your sunglasses to look him in the eyes.

“Fuck” The curse escaped your mouth, when you recognized him, he wasn’t some random dilf you fucked last night, but your best friend's fucking father, the same who made you see the stars outside the pub. Damn it, you were fucked, and this time not in a good way.

[intro-to-calamity]

I ALMOST KNOCKED OVER MY MACHINE

{ OH MY ! DON'T DO THAT ? ? }

[no-144444]

chapter three: blast from the past (l.n4)

summary: lando norris was a preppy asshole in secondary school, and you were the girl he despised. years later, you're a hot-shot sports lawyer rewriting the rules of the sport he calls home, and your paths cross, whether you want them to or not.

pairing: lando norris x fem! lawyer! reader

a/n: anything in orange and bold is the past/ in school

“Homework, Mr. Norris?” Mr. Catton was not one to be fucked with, and Lando had fallen asleep at 3am doing his biology homework. 

“See, the thing is sir-”

“Not good enough, Lando. I know you’re busy, but school is important too,” he shook his head. “Detention, my office. Lunchtime.” 

He let his head drop against his desk as he saw his teacher walk past. “Sir, I already have detention with Mrs. Daly at lunch,” he admitted, feeling all the eyes in the room on him. 

He sighed and placed a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “After school then. Just an hour-”

“Sir, I got a two hour detention last week-!” one of the other students, was his name Mark? Maybe Wayne. Lando didn’t know. But he did know that this would warrant a grudge, and Lando really didn’t want another 6’ rugby player to have a grudge against him.

“Sit down Mr. O’Brien!” Mr. Catton commanded. A chair scratched against the floor. “Mr. Norris is under exceptional circumstances.”

O’Brien scoffed. “More like exceptional advances-”

A cacophony of laughter erupted from his friend group, but it was silenced quickly by Mr. Catton quickly swerving his head. “What was that O’Brien?”  

“Nothing sir,” he cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“After school detention for a month,” Mr. Catton’s voice cut through the classroom. “I don’t care about your rugby team. You’re going to be scrubbing desks for me.” 

Lando looked up and saw O’Brien staring him down like he was a bull ready to fight. Fuck. Another X on his back. 

Lunchtime was quiet. Lonely. Mr. Catton had gotten him out of his lunchtime detention with Mrs. Daly, only if he’d come to his office at lunch. Lunchtime was always quiet. Whether he was at a track or in school, or even at home. He was always lonely. Always alone. People on track thought he was too nice, too soft, too slow. People at school thought he was too flashy, too egotistical, too much. He just… wanted a friend. He wanted someone to talk to about everything. He had his friends, but they were busy doing lunchtime rugby drills. All the girls he knew were busy doing their art practicals. He was just… waiting for Mr. Catton. 

“Now, Lando,” he smiled, sitting at his desk. “Take a seat, please.”

Mr. Catton was nice. He cared about Lando and his education, not just his racing results like some of the other teachers. He wanted to finish school because it mattered to his mom. He didn’t want to disappoint her, also, he may need a job at some point, if F1 doesn’t work out. Mr. Catton’s office looked like it was straight out of Harry Potter. Old books on even older shelves, plaques for things long forgotten at the school, different pictures in black and white, a big oak desk with stacks and stacks of papers and copies. He was sure he’d seen a monocle at one point. The computer screen on his desk didn’t exactly fit in with the aesthetics of the room, but Lando was sure it was old, so that kind of made up for it.

“How are you doing?” Mr. Catton asked, closing over the book in front of him. 

“I’m… fine,” Lando nodded, playing with his hands. “Nothing much to report.” 

“You’re failing three classes, Lando,” Mr. Catton had a habit of not sugarcoating things. “And we need to fix that, lest you want to repeat this year.”

“I know, it’s just with racing, I have so much to do at the tracks, and then here and-”

“I know it’s a lot. And it’s very overwhelming. And you’re doing better than I or anyone else could’ve imagined. But we need to solve this. I have a solution for Biology and English, but you need to find one for Physics, alright?” 

Lando’s eyebrow raised. “What solution do you have?”

“A tutor,” he smiled. A knock at the door took the attention of both of them. “She’s here just in time. Come on in Y/n!” he called. 

Lando’s face went grey, he was sure of it. 

So, maybe he might’ve made a mistake by calling you socially awkward and boring, because that spread like wildfire, and no one would talk to you. It’s not like he meant to, he just wanted his mates to stop teasing him about you. He wasn’t interested in you, in any capacity. He just… should’ve chosen his words better. 

“Lando,” you nodded politely at him as you sat beside him. “Mr. Catton.”

“I’m under the impression you two know each other?” he prompted. 

“Our parents know each other,” you explained before Lando could say yes. He turned to you, a confused look on his face. You knew each other. “Yes.”

“Very good,” Mr. Catton smiled. “So, every week, you’ll get a tutoring lesson from Y/n, here. She’ll meet you on a Tuesday after school when you’re here, or else it’ll be up to you to sort out a time to call,” he explained, his eyes on Lando. “I need you to understand how important passing these classes are, alright? I don’t want to have to make you repeat a year.” 

Lando nodded, knowing the expectations he had. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone. He didn’t want to make this a problem. He didn’t want to have to repeat a year. He also didn't want to have to see you every week when he knew what he’d said. 

“I understand.” 

“What I don’t get is how you calculate that,” he admitted, pointing to his copy. “It’s fucking impossible.” 

“It’s not, you just take the numbers from here,” you explained calmly. “See?”

Oh. That was simple. “Oh-uh- t-thanks.” 

“No problem,” you nodded curtly. “Just do some of those questions and tap me if you need some help,” you instructed before going back to whatever you were doing. Matter of fact, what were you doing? “Do your problems, Lando.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, turning his eyes back to his copy and starting some of the questions. 

“I’m making you information sheets,” you explained. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Basically mind maps of all the information of the topics we’re studying and going to study this year, so you can keep up. I’ve noticed you’re a visual learner, thought it might help,” you shrugged. “Go back to your work now.” 

He nodded, and tried to ignore the way he felt himself… soften towards you when you mentioned noticing that he was a visual learner. What you were doing was kind anyway, but that was a lot of work, yet you were doing it without being asked. 

“Will do,” he nodded and went back to his questions. He couldn’t help but feel bad for his comments, but this made him feel worse. 

After a few minutes, his questions were done, and he had questions for you. The suffocating silence was becoming too much for his overactive brain, and he was desperate to know more about you as a person. “Want to play twenty questions?” he asked. 

“I have more questions for you, if you’ve done those,” you offered. 

He rolled his eyes. “Can we play twenty questions as I do the questions?” 

“If it helps you work better,” you shrugged, handing him a new worksheet on photosynthesis.

“What’s your favourite colour?” he asked, his pen scratching against the page. 

“Red, maybe,” you shrugged. “What’s your favourite subject?”

“PE,” he chuckled. “How do you like the school?” 

“I don’t,” you admitted, a rare moment of truth between the two of you. “What’s your favourite circuit?”

“I like Spa,” he shrugged. “What’s your favourite part of your job?” 

“Getting to be other people,” you rattled off. “What’s the worst part of racing?”

He gulped for a moment. “The media. Like… the backlash and all. What’s the worst part of theatre?”

“The same,” you agreed, looking over his answers. “That’s wrong,” you pointed out, fixing his calculations. He looked up, seeing how close you were to him, and he jerked back. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to touch you or anything, it was just… a reaction. Your face blanked, and he was sure his went bright red. You were both quiet for a minute, and you turned back to your work. “You can just finish up that worksheet and give it back to me. Then we’re done for today.” 

He nodded, noticing the way your posture was much stiffer than before. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew you knew he’d started the rumor, and as selfish as it sounded, he hoped you’d never bring it up. 

Lando looked down at his phone to see a message from you. 

Hello Mr. Norris, 

I won’t be able to attend our debrief this weekend, so please seek counsel from Mr. Davidson, and he will relay all information to me to continue building your profile. Sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your understanding. 

Y/n Y/l/n. 

“Fuck you princess,” he cursed under his breath, pushing his phone back into his pocket. I should’ve just turned this whole idea down. I should’ve just ran the other way. I should’ve never taken up this position. I should’ve-

“I’m exhausted,” Oscar yawned as they sat around the motorhome after the win. “Can’t believe this is only the start of the triple header.” 

Sierra appeared beside him, Liam beside her. Lando’s head throbbed with a headache that had been building since the start of the weekend. 

“Ready?” Sierra asked Oscar.

“Yeah,” he stood from his chair and led her to his Driver’s Room. 

Lando sighed as Liam stood over him. 

“Y/n’s not here-”

“I noticed,” Lando gritted out, crossing his arms. “Well, come on, out with it.”

“Do you want to go-”

“If I wanted to go somewhere, I’d have gone. Wouldn’t I, Liam?” His voice was sharp. Too sharp. Too obvious. Liam flinched at his tone. 

“Have I done something to offend you?”

“Not you directly. Your girlfriend is pretty fucking annoying though,” he grunted out, a subtle dig. 

Liam raised an eyebrow. “I thought you knew Y/n?”

“So she is your girlfriend?” he scoffed. Of course. Of course he was. Of course you’d never be upfront and honest about the fact that despite everything you’d been through with Lando, he’d never be enough. He shook his head. 

Liam cleared his throat. “Well… no. But I knew who you’re talking about with your insinuation,” Liam caught his own slip-up as Lando chuckled at his back-tracking.

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” Lando held his hands up in mock surrender, just anyone with eyes could hear the patronisation in his tone. Liam frowned. “Good for you. I’m sure she’s a head wreck to date. Good fuck though.” 

Liam’s face dropped. Lando didn’t even know what was coming out of his mouth, he was just… upset. You always brought him to the edge, and yeah, maybe he went too far this time. How was he supposed to not? He shook his head, trying to shake off his own words. He had to stop giving you this much control over him. He just had to… forget. To relax. To get the fuck away from you.

“A-hem,” you cleared your throat from behind him and he felt his blood run cold. Fuck. “I’m sure you’ll be fine to take this on your own, Liam?” you turned to your colleague. Liam just nodded, offering you a pitying smile. “Mr. Norris, that was highly inappropriate, and I will bring this issue up with our HR department. Spreading lies about anyone is awful, but to have them contain such crude accusations is just wrong. I’ll see you next weekend.”

Fuck. He was fucked.

𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

twists and turns masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[fairytalelover33]

Are Those Tears?

Thorin x Female Reader

Prompt: When Thorin stares death in the face, you both realize your feelings for each other may be a little stronger than friendship.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Some slight blood/gore, mentions of death, Thorin being a softie for once.

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

Nothing could have prepared you for this journey. No amount of training would have sufficed. The whole company making it this far virtually intact was a miracle within itself. You had all survived attempt after attempt on your lives. It seemed that the odds of completing this journey were in your favor, having escaped each encounter with mere scrapes and bruises.

But this time you might not be so lucky.

The muscles in your arms and core ache, as you cling desperately to the branch of a fallen tree on the edge of a cliff, your legs dangling hundreds of feet above the ground. You can hear the grunts and bellows of your incapacitated comrades, confirming that they are in the same predicament as you. The snarls and howls of the Wargs add to the cacophony, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You realize that the only thing keeping the large predators and their riders from swooping in and slaughtering you all is the blazing fire surrounding the tree you all cling to. Azog the defiler sits astride a white Warg, pacing back and forth in front of the wall of flames separating them from you. You see Azog and his mutt pause in their pacing, the pale orc's scarred face hardening.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

"Thorin, no!" Balin exclaims quietly. You lift your head as a large boot plants onto the tree trunk next to you. The figure makes his way past, through the flames, towards the pale orc. The long dark hair, peppered with streaks of grey, the broad shoulders, the determined stride. It was unmistakably Thorin.

No.

A sudden wave of desperation crashes over you, making your stomach turn. You just want to reach out and grab him, yank him back. You want to scream, to beg, to yell at him to just turn around. Your breathing becomes ragged, and one quiet word manages to claw its way out of your throat, repeating over and over under your breath, like a prayer waiting to be answered.

"No. No. No. No." Thorin's steps do not falter, his sword glinting in the light of the blazing inferno that lines his path. It feels as though the world is moving in slow motion as Thorin charges the pale orc, armed with his sword and his shield. His Oaken Shield. How life has a funny way of coming full circle. Azog the defiler guides his pale furred Warg in a mighty leap from the boulder he had been perched upon.

The blow dealt to Thorin as the white Warg collides with him in mid-air snaps you back to reality with a rush of dread. The force of the beasts bodyweight stops Thorin in his tracks, sending him crashing to earth. Reality sets in as you hear the rest of the company fighting the pull of gravity, straining to hold on to the strand of life that is this fallen tree.

Azog wheels his pale beast around, charging at Thorin once more, and sending a bone rattling blow of his mace to the dwarf's chest, knocking him back to the ground. A pang hits you directly in your heart, and flows through your bloodstream, some desperate feeling you can't quite place seeping into your very bones. You don't understand the feeling well enough to give it a name. All you know is that it gives you enough strength to muscle yourself up with a strangled cry, huffing and gritting your teeth as you clamber up to the trunk of the tree. You can barely feel the heat that burns the palms of your hands, red and raw from clinging to the rough bark of the tree branch.

The Hobbit, Bilbo, seems to have the same rush of bravery that you do, and you see his small form scramble up to the trunk of the tree, pausing to take one deep breath to right his turbulent mind before charging into the fray, armed with his little elvish knife.

The wretched hound of hell clamps its jaws around Thorin. The sickening sound of Thorin's ribs cracking reaches your ears, making your head swim. You can feel yourself call out his name in agony, but it sounds like someone else's voice is coming from your mouth as you stumble a few steps along the fallen tree. You right yourself in time to see the mutt toss Thorin like a farm dog tosses a snake, his form crashing onto a patch of hard rock on the hillside.

"(Y/N)!" Balin shouts as you start hauling it to where Thorin lays, hot on Bilbo's heels. "No, Lass! It's too dangerous!" No response comes from your lips, your mouth set in a grimace as you have a clear view out to where one of the Defilers minions is preparing to behead Thorin. He lies pinned upon the rocky ground, his breathing ragged, teeth clenched in defiance as he grasps around desperately for his sword.

You quickly overtake Bilbo, and with a muffled grunt you stiffen your shoulders, tackling the Orc with the force of your body weight, bowling it over. You can hear Azog's roar of dissent as you stop the orcs deadly blow mid swing. A sharp pain explodes like a lightning strike in your right shoulder, making you cry out. As you and the orc tumble away from Thorin, the filthy monster rolls atop you with a snarl, pinning you down. You struggle futilely beneath it, flailing like a madman, grasping for something, anything to protect yourself, and finding nothing. The orc raises its armored fist, pulling back to deliver a skull crushing blow.

Suddenly, the orc shrieks, blood spewing from its mouth, spraying you in the face. It falls to the side, revealing a fiery eyed Bilbo, delivering continuous blows with his small, but mighty blade. You gasp for air, viciously wiping your face with the sleeve of your tunic and scrambling away.

You crawl to the barely conscious form of Thorin, not caring about the rocks and twigs scraping your skin through the thin fabric of your clothing. Ignoring the shooting pain in your shoulder, you pull yourself up to your knees, cradling his head in your lap. His half-lidded gaze holds yours for a moment, as if trying to see into your very soul. A thin sheen of sweat coats his face as he murmurs a single word, before slipping into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

"(Y/N)..." Thorin breathes out softly. If you had not been watching his lips move you would have assumed you imagined it. His eyes flicker shut, his ragged gasps slowing to shallow breaths. Tears well up in your eyes as you brush some of his sweat drenched hair from his regal face.

"Just hold on. Please." You whimper helplessly, gazing down at him. You look up to see the heart wrenching sight of Bilbo all alone, standing his ground as the monsters descend upon you, his hands shaking as he holds his sword at the ready. The hobbit plants his feet, swinging his sword wildly around in an attempt to intimidate the foes before him. Sparks fly from the burning portion of forest that surrounds you, and you feel a deep sadness, wondering if this is truly the end of your adventure.

You take another moment to gaze down at Thorin. You trace his face with your eyes, trying to memorize every feature and contour. Running your thumb over his cheekbone in a way you would have never been brave enough to do before, a sigh escapes your lips. With a shaky breath, you lean down, hesitating for a moment before pressing a feather soft kiss to his forehead, holding back the tears that threaten to spill. Wishing more than anything that you had been brave enough to tell him how you feel, you now vow to not go down a weeping, helpless mess. You hold back your tears, forcing yourself to stare defiantly back at the group of vicious carnivores that approach the three of you.

One of the Wargs snaps its head to the side, sniffing the air. A sudden battle cry makes you start, and you whip your gaze in the direction of the commotion. Your spirit lifts as the unmistakable figures of Fili and Kili come charging in from a gap in the flames, tailed closely by Dwalin. They attack the Wargs and their riders swiftly, slicing and hacking with their weapons. You try to get up to help, but your energy is sapped from wrestling the Orc. You opt to be a close-range protector to Thorin, crouching in front of him, your fingers wrapping around the hilt of his sword that you spotted lying a few feet away.

A vicious noise that you didn't know you were capable of making tears its way through your throat as a Warg stalks toward Thorin with a snarl. You grip the hilt of the sword tighter, your knuckles white as you prepare to fight tooth and nail to protect Thorin. You shift on your feet as you crouch low, poised to spring up and drive the blade straight through the roof of the beasts' mouth and into its brain.

Before you get the chance, a giant flurry of wind and feathers scoops up the Warg, the beast yelping as it is hurled unceremoniously from the cliffside. You scramble back slightly, your mouth falling open as you look to the sky in disbelief and slight fear.

Eagles bigger than you have ever seen circle the cliffs edge, swooping in to snatch and dispose of the Wargs and their riders. Some of the mighty birds use the wind from their wings to fan the flames that burn the forest, singeing a group of mutts. You feel a moment of peace, but it doesn't last long. Your eyes widen slightly, terror etching your face as one of the birds makes a beeline for you.

"Wait. Wait! WAIT!" You shriek, as the giant bird envelops you in its claws. The fur of Thorin's jacket, which you had been holding on to, slips from your grasp as the creature tosses you off the edge of the cliff. You tumble through the air, screaming bloody murder, before landing with a thud on the back of another eagle, knocking the wind out of you slightly. You curse under your breath as you gasp for air, trying to regain your bearings. Your eyes scan around, realizing that every member of the company was either caged safely in the claws of one of the Avians, or sat comfortably atop one.

You hear a rage filled roar in the distance as the eagles whisk you all away. You feel a pit in your stomach, realizing that Azog is still alive, and you know that he will never stop hunting down the line of Durin. Your stomach drops as your worried mind flickers back to Thorin. You try to spot him, your eyes scanning each of the birds. The morning sun makes it nearly impossible, partially blinding you. You tuck your face into the soft feathers you sit upon, tears pricking your eyes as you pray the eagles will land soon.

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

Groggily lifting your bruised and battered head, you scan around, realizing the eagles are making their descent. They all circle slowly down, landing atop a rocky spire, where you can see for miles around. Your eagle lands last, and your heart drops as you see Thorin lying still upon the flat ground, the company standing around him. You slide down from the back of the eagle, crumpling slightly as your legs hit the ground. Fili and Kili appear at your side almost instantly, supporting you under your arms as you try to regain your balance. You wince as Kili bumps your shoulder, hissing through your teeth.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" Kili asks in concern, releasing your arm slightly.

"Yes, I just... never mind me." You tear your eyes away from Thorin, finding Bilbo a few feet away. You pull away from the brothers, limping over to hug Bilbo. "Thank you." You whisper, pulling back and meeting Bilbo's gaze. He nods, and nothing else needs to be said. Bilbo is smart enough to be able to read the emotion behind your eyes. Your hand rests on his shoulder, and you both smile softly before you turn your gaze back to Thorin.

Gandalf kneels beside Thorin, his hand hovering over his face as he murmurs some spell over his unconscious form. You can feel the tears of desperation welling up in your eyes as you look on helplessly, silently begging whatever God is listening to please, let him live. You can feel yourself shaking as the company waits with bated breath. Then, his eyes finally flutter open, the dwarf drawing a deep breath.

Hot tears fall from your eyes, and you don't bother to stop them. You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. He lives. He clambers to his feet, aided by Dwalin and Kili. He shakes them off, the angry look on his face surprising you all. He locks eyes with you, before flickering his gaze to Bilbo.

"You two." Thorin says in an accusing tone, glaring at the both of you. A confused look crosses your face, the rest of the company looking on.

"What were you doing?" Thorin snaps. "You nearly got yourselves killed!" Your eyes lock onto his, and you don't bother wiping the tears from your face as you stand bewildered.

"Did I not say that you would be a burden?" Thorin hisses, stalking towards you. "That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" You hold his gaze, teary eyed as he looks between yourself and Bilbo, seemingly berating you. He pauses for a moment, the rest of the company sharing glances in disbelief.

Emotion suddenly takes over Thorin's face. "I have never been so wrong, in all my life." He steps forward, embracing Bilbo, patting him on the back. You could almost laugh at the look of shock on Bilbo's face as he tentatively returns his hug. Thorin pulls back, meeting Bilbos eyes with an apologetic look. "I am sorry I doubted you."

Thorin's eyes turn to you, his face softening as he looks at your tear-stained face. He takes the few steps to close the distance between you. The company becomes rather quiet as he silently approaches, his eyes never leaving your face. He stops in front of you, pausing, and you sniffle slightly, looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Your heart stops as his rough hand rises to your face, gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wipes away a fresh tear.

"Are those tears, Amrâlimê?" Thorin murmurs, making your heart skip a beat. He brings his other hand to your face, wiping away the rest of your tears, even as your eyes well up more. "No more of those." He says quietly, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose against yours gently, before pulling back to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He murmurs, his eyes scanning your form. His hand still cupping your jaw gently. You shake your head, your eyes locked on his. Kili speaks up at your lie, knowing you are indeed hurt.

"She hurt her right shoulder." Kili says, before falling silent with an apologetic look. You glare at him, sighing in defeat as Thorin calls over Oin to take a look at your shoulder.

"What about you? You definitely need to be checked out, Thorin." You say sternly as thorin guides you to sit on a rock a few feet away. A small smile graces his face.

"I appreciate your concern. But you come first." He says softly, making you blush profusely. He gives a nod to Oin before stepping away to speak with Gandalf. Fili and Kili make their way over to you, giving each other a knowing look. You narrow your eyes at them before tugging on Kili's sleeve, making him kneel down to your level on the hard ground as Oin examines your shoulder.

"Kili, what does... Amrâlimê mean?" You ask inquisitively, as you know minimal Khuzdul. The brothers share another look, smiling at each other.

"You will find out in time." Kili says cryptically, standing up with a grin after giving you a pat on the back. You give him an exasperated look, cursing as Oin adjusts your shoulder. The brothers turn away with smirks plastering their faces, leaving you to ponder what Thorin could possibly have said.

[salemrph]

"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 1: A not so well planned night

Navigator: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | AO3

Summary: A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money. What should’ve been a simple rescue mission unearths secrets far more sinister than anyone ever imagined.

Character: Sylus x MC; Luke and Kieran, Caleb, Zayne

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, grief, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Word count: 8,135 | Reading Time: 32 min | AO3

taglist: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme

Chapter 1: A not so well planned night

The burning building groans under the weight of its own collapse, crumbling piece by piece. The flames rage uncontrollably, swallowing the entire complex, leaving nothing but charred ruins. In the heart of the main part of the wearhouse, the scene is a nightmare. The floor is slick with blood, bodies scattered in unnatural poses, bullet casings gleaming like twisted confetti in the dim light. The air reeks of gunpowder and death. This was no battlefield—this was a massacre.

Under the eerie glow of the red moon, such a sight might seem familiar. But tonight, something is wrong. This wasn't supposed to be the end. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not after everything. 

Gunfire echoes, sharp and relentless. The screams of the fallen mingle with the guttural roars of the Wanderers, their twisted forms wreaking havoc as they tear through what remains. It’s a cacophony of violence, a hellish symphony that cuts through the night. And through the madness, there he is—the man in the suit. The one who has conquered with nothing more than his calm demeanor and his cold, calculating presence. The one they all feared. But now, as he stands in the wreckage, there is no cool detachment. There is no indifferent strategist. His expression is tight, his jaw set with a fury that has never before surfaced. His usual composure has shattered like glass, replaced with darker, dangerous rage. His right eye, glowing like a dying star, reflects the turmoil inside him. It burns with the kind of intensity that could scorch the very earth beneath him.

In his arms, the body of a woman, limp and lifeless, hangs like dead weight. Her blood stains his clothes, seeping into the fabric, marking him with a reminder of the choices he’s made, the consequences of those choices. The plan was never supposed to unfold this way. This was not the outcome he had imagined. The walls of the building continue to groan, buckling under the weight of the flames, the weight of everything collapsing. It had been a trap. Of course, it had been. But he had no choice. The risk was necessary.

And now he has paid the price.

Few days before

Gradually, routine returns to your life. The festivities are over, the beginning of the year has been wonderful. Going to the New Year's market with Sylus has been a good way to see how your relationship has changed. The feelings you have for him have been consolidated. You accept them and welcome them, letting the beautiful and sparks fill your chest with warmth, tenderness and love. 

As you made the lanterns together you remembered every adventure you've shared with him. The search for the lost gem, being sucked into a protocore to a far away place. The trip to the mountains or to the lost oasis. You smile in a daze. You've spent so much time with Sylus, that returning home alone is strange. Lying on the bed, you remember how he struggled to shower at your place. Making a mess in the bathroom. That was just the first step to letting him into your territory, not only speaking about your apartament. Your holy sanctuary. That night of secrecies. You couldn't let him go, that night your whole body and mind wanted to make him stay. You sigh as you remember his lips, the heat between you two, the melting feeling to become one. You hug the big crow plush laying next to you on the bed, it smells like him. So comforting. Now, without him around, you’re deeply sure that being with him makes your life funnier, kind of dangerous but strangely full of new emotion. 

However, not everything is honey-coated and perfect. Your face changes, your stomach hurts, and you lay on your side as you remember your mission in Skyhaven. Caleb. You want to throw up. He lied to you, in the cruelest way possible.

Although you wish with all your heart that Caleb had his good reasons, something doesn't add up. The explosion definitely happened. The Fleet and everything around it is a black box. A void, like Caleb. He came back so different… You haven't talked about it at all. He must have a reason to hide things from you, locking you up in his apartment. That wasn’t nearly how you had him in memory. Worst of all, you can't just go to Zayne and tell him: “Oh by the way Caleb isn't dead”. You can already picture his face, not sure if he should prescribe you pills or send you to psychiatry. Making maybe at the beginning a dry joke or something. Zayne would pinch his nose before removing his glasses. Trying to figure out if you’re really serious about it or you haven't fully accepted Caleb's death. Either way, if Zayne believed you, his reaction would be just as stoic as ever. What you can't know is that beneath that icy, overly professional manner of dealing with you, he feels a deep affection for you. Ever since you met. That affection would make him get into a big fight with Caleb. 

Oh, and how about explaining this to Sylus? He would believe you right away but at the same time, he would be probably looking for a way to make Caleb pay for his action. If those two ever met, it could be the end of the world. Seeing how Caleb is now and how overprotective he is with you. He would probably not like it one bit that you're dating the most wanted man in the galaxy. And thinking about how much Sylus doesn't like people messing with you…and how he usually treats his enemies. Very bad idea, very, very bad idea. Honestly speaking that would be a fight to see who has the biggest cock. The Farspace Fleet's Colonel vs Onychinus's Leader. Place your bets on who will be the last one standing. 

You are tense, tired and helpless. The whole thing just gives you a headache. Caleb has texted you a few times after New Year. He showed up a few times but it was still weird. That's it. You sit up on the bed, you look out of the window, it’s raining. Somehow he always brings a storm into your life. It doesn't matter if he comes back or if he is leaving. You truly wish you could trust him, like you used to. A tear rolls down your cheek. You breathe in deeply, trying to hold back all the emotions. 

A notification pops up on your phone. You wipe the tears from your face. 

“How are you doing? We haven't seen each for a while” You smile at Tara’s message, quickly typing a reply.

“Good, just trying to survive this weather. Feels like it’s been forever since we last spoke. You back from your family’s place yet?”

She responds almost immediately.

“Yeah! Just got back yesterday. It was nice, but chaotic as always. What about you?”

You hesitate for a moment before replying.

“Nothing too special these days”

Tara, of course, sees right through you.

“Nothing? Girl, that answer is screaming ‘I’m hiding something.’ Spill."

You roll your eyes, but your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could tell her about Sylus—about how you ended up together, the teasing, the tension, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. But you feel like it isn't the moment. 

"There’s nothing to spill 🥱"

“Mhm. Sure. You definitely didn’t spend time with someone who makes you all flustered and stupidly heart-eyed♥."

You: "I don’t get flustered😖"

Tara: So you were with him!!! 

You groan, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your pillow before typing back.

You: "That’s not what I said."

Tara: "You didn’t deny it either."

She’s relentless. You can practically hear the smugness through the screen.

Tara: "Oh, pleaaase. You are so gone for him. It’s painful to watch. Let's have fun this Friday, and share the tea with me. Girls Night!😘 

A distraction. That’s what you needed. Something to pull you out of your own head, away from the tangled thoughts of Caleb and the mess that had been occupying too much space lately. Maybe just enjoying the fact that Tara is back, you have Sylus and work isn’t too stressful since your mission in Skyhaven. 

You exhale tiredly, relaxing your body a little and you type back a quick "Fine, fine. Girls’ night it is." 

You toss your phone aside. If you keep this up, your thoughts will consume you. You need to rest, relax and disconnect, even if it's just for one night. You know full well that if it becomes too much, you can always return to the base. Lose yourself in assembling and disassembling illegal weapons, listen to the stories behind each stolen gem, or simply sink into the sound of a classic vinyl record.

But that would mean pretending, and you don’t have the energy for that either. So you stay. You stay in the solitude of your apartment, listening to the spring storm getting closer, raindrops tapping against your window.

The nightmares keep coming—fragments of memories slipping through your mind, haunting you in the quiet hours of the night. You toss and turn, drenched in cold sweat, your chest tightening with an unease you can’t shake.

That day, you walked behind Caleb. Why does he always look at you like that? Like you’re some helpless animal. 

“We’ve been outside for too long. Gran’s going to be worried” he says. You sigh, arguing with him a little longer. He worries too much. You’re an adult now, you can handle yourself. You’re one of the best in your squad—you don’t need protection.

Caleb shakes his head. “Since you’re grown up now, I won’t cover for you this time” he closed the door and with that a huge explosion knocked you off. 

You wake up gasping. Your hands tremble as you press them to your face, trying to ground yourself in reality. But the memory is so vivid now, more than it ever was before. Because he’s alive. But he shouldn’t be. You went to his funeral. You grieved. You cried for weeks, drowning yourself in work, chasing leads that led to dead ends. Searching, desperate, for any explanation that made sense. You were lucky to just have a few bruises and scratches, but you still don't know how you survived that. 

Is still raining outside.

Friday arrives, and with that, the bass thrums through the air, a hypnotic pulse that sinks into your bones. The music is loud, almost overwhelming, but it pulls you in, makes you move without thinking. The crowd around you sways in sync, bodies pressed close, some dancing, some lost in their own world. Flashes of blue and red lights sweep over the dance floor, catching glimpses of flushed faces, sweaty skin, and wide, dilated pupils. Laughter and shouts mix with the heavy bass, but it’s all just background noise. You let the rhythm take over, moving to the music, feeling lighter with every beat. The shots you took earlier are kicking in, smoothing out the tension in your mind, making everything feel a little more distant, a little easier. 

You're not here to drink yourself into oblivion, this isn’t about forgetting. But Tara knows you too well. She’s been sliding shot after shot of tequila your way, a knowing glint in her eyes. She’s not being subtle. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Tequila loosens your tongue.

And Tara? She’s waiting. Watching for that moment when your guard slips, when the alcohol smooths out the edges of your thoughts just enough for you to say what you wouldn’t sober.

You slightly stumble into the bathroom, Tara right behind you. The pounding bass from the dance floor fades into a dull thrum. You grip the edge of the sink, taking a deep breath, using the cold water to clean the sweat of your neck. 

"So," she starts, dragging out the word. "Are you going to tell me?"

You blink at her. "Tell you what?"

Tara tilts her head, exhaling like she’s dealing with a particularly slow student. "Skye. That ridiculously handsome fruit entrepreneur you’re definitely fucking aaand… you’re in love with?" She smirks. "That. Talk to me."

You hang your head in shame. Tara can read you like an open book. She’s not stupid. Sweet? Sure. Cheerful? Most of the time. But when she wants the truth, she has a way of digging it out of you, whether you like it or not.

"Fine, fine…" you mumble, rubbing your temples as if that’ll somehow erase the tequila-induced haze clouding your brain. "I have…" You trail off, searching for the right word like it might magically appear on the bathroom wall. Tara arches a brow, waiting. "...Something with him" you finally admit, the words tasting both bitter and sweet.

"I knew it" Tara says triumphantly, a smirk spreading across her face. But then, her expression softens. "But… there’s something more, right? Is he treating you well?"

Your instinct is to brush it off, to tell her everything is fine. Perfect, even. But you hesitate, and that tiny moment of silence is enough for Tara to catch on. Her smirk fades as she studies your face.

"Hey," she says gently. "What’s wrong?"

You shake your head quickly, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to cry. Not here. Not now.

"I’m fine with Skye, really. I’m fine." you insist, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "Emm…  It’s not about him… I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it."

Tara doesn’t look convinced.

"You can always talk to me, you know that?" Tara says softly, her voice free of judgment, just warmth.

Before you can respond, she pulls you into a long hug, wrapping her arms around you tightly. The kind of hug that makes your chest ache, like it’s holding together all the cracks you’ve been ignoring. For a second, you let yourself sink into it. Eyes closed, fists gripping the back of her jacket. You don’t say anything because if you do, you might break. You just want to forget for a moment, so you put on your best smile. 

You step out of the club with Tara, your laughter spilling into the crisp night air as you imitate the ridiculous guy who’d tried—laughably—to hit on both of you at the same time. The absurdity of it still had your sides aching. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed this, the chaos, the rhythm, the freedom of letting go. Your feet ache from hours of dancing, but it's the kind of satisfying pain, the kind that comes from having fun. You glance down at your feet, sighing a little, but when you look back up, Tara's already pulling out her phone, tapping away at a text with that familiar, sly smile.

"Good night! Come home safe, you hear? she says, giving you a playful wink before stepping back with a wave.

You smile back, tilting your head to the side. "Night, Tara. We need to do this more often."

Her laugh rings out, light and warm, as she taps out one final text before slipping her phone back into her bag. She spins on her heel, her stride confident as she calls over her shoulder, "Oh, trust me, we will."

You decide to walk a few streets down, hoping the cool night air will help ease the alcohol still remaining in your system. The city around you buzz with the low sounds of late-night life—cars passing, distant conversations, and the occasional siren. You pull your jacket tighter around you, enjoying the peace after the chaos of the club.

As you walk, you briefly think about calling Sylus. It’s late, though, but you figure he’s probably busy with his usual late-night reading or, more likely, handling some shady business—being the leader he is. A smirk tugs at your lips.

You glance down at the bracelet with the cursed gem, remembering the hunt in the N109 Zone. The gem had caused so much trouble, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of Sylus swearing he had "lost" it. He really has no luck when it comes to keeping things, does he?

The thought of him—his unwavering confidence, the rare softness he reserves only for you—warms you from the inside out, like the memory of his hand brushing against your hand, your cheek and finally all over your body.

You shake your head with a quiet chuckle, a mixture of fondness and comfort washing over you. Sylus has a way of consuming your mind without even trying. It’s maddening, really. But in moments like this, you don’t fight it. You let yourself savor the pull he has on you, that magnetic connection you both share.

Maybe you’re finally ready to tell him how you feel. You haven’t said those tree teeny-tiny words that are always on your lips. Is undeniably to say that what you two have is certainly a relationship. The thought sends a flicker of nervous energy through you, but it’s one you can’t push away any longer. After all, you’ve declared it already—in your own, complicated way. The matching bracelets might as well be a couple's tokens, a declaration sealed by the ominous phrase you both had exchanged: “Live together and die together.”

Your fingers graze the gem on the bracelet, its surface cool against your skin. The memory of the moment flashes brightly in your mind. Sylus’s eyes, deep and endless like the gem itself, holding this mix of tenderness and affection. He had looked at you in a way that made your breath catch, and though he hadn’t said much, the subtle shift in his expression told you everything you needed to know. He was happy. Happy to share the „curse“ and whatever else might come with it, as long as it was with you. At that moment, you wanted to kiss him so bad.

You laugh softly to yourself, shaking your head again. Nothing about Sylus is ever quite normal—not the way he plans, not the way he cares, not even the way he agrees to wear such trinkets like it’s a love note. But that’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s him.

So much has changed since that snowy night. Despite the low temperature outside and the way the snow piled heavily on the ground, you felt warm—warmer than ever on a winter night. Your territories merged into one, his skin became yours, and yours became his. The cold was forgotten as his touch anchored you, the world outside fading until only he remained.

During the festivities, creating lanterns for the New Year, in your new complicity. You have almost forgotten the mission you both went after that snowy night.

„I don't need to mention that you always surprise me, sweetie.“ Sylus smiles at you from the passenger seat.

You smile back, the satisfaction of your plans falling into place shining in your eyes. "It’s what I do best" you reply confidently, earning a soft suppressed laugh from him.

Sylus shakes his head lightly, his sharp red eyes glinting with intrigue. "Go on, tell me what you’ve figured out, my bold hunter" he prompts, leaning back in his seat, clearly enjoying your moment of triumph as much as you are. Your fingers tighten slightly around the steering wheel as you prepare to unveil your findings.

It’s only when the faint scuff of a step echoes behind you, too close to be ignored, that the spell of your thoughts breaks. The warmth in your chest cools instantly, replaced by the sharp edge of awareness. You glance over your shoulder, the street seems empty. Either way, you pick up the pace, your footsteps quickening on the sidewalk. That nagging feeling won’t go away. Someone’s definitely following you.

You keep your pace steady, trying to stay calm, but your hand instinctively moves towards where your weapon would be. It’s not there. Dammit. You left it at home. Of course, the security guy at the club wouldn’t have let you in with it. You click your tongue in frustration. You wanted a simple, easy night. Instead, you're walking through dark streets, being stalked like some damn prey. Surely that moron from the club is stalking you now, for letting him down. This drunk dipshit has no scruples whatsoever. The last thing you need is a confrontation. You can’t help but feel the adrenaline start to pump, trying to spot whosoever tailing you. 

You whip around into a side street, your heart pounding. You peek over your shoulder again, the unease turning to full-blown anxiety. But as you turn to face forward, a hard, sudden impact knocks you off your feet. Pain erupts across your face, and you stagger back, knees buckling as the world tilts dangerously. Blood trickles down your cheek, hot and sticky.

A low laugh follows you, cruel and mocking. "We got you, honey... Be good, and don’t make any sound."

Before you can even react, something heavy slams against the back of your head, your vision spins out of control. The darkness takes over, pulling you under like a wave. Sylus... Hardly able to hold onto the thought as everything goes black for a moment.

"Hey! Are you stupid or something!? The boss said she should arrive in one piece" The big guy that punched you, swings out to hit the other guy in the face. "You!" He turned to the third man in a raincoat "Throw her in the truck, we're leaving".

The big guy spits on the ground, wiping his knuckles with the back of his hand, his face twisted in irritation. He shoots a glare at the third man, who's standing off to the side, clearly unsure of what to do.

"Get moving, asshole" the big guy growls. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Raincoat guy, a little skittish but obedient, steps forward and grabs your arm, yanking you to your feet with surprising strength. You barely register the movement, your head spinning, everything still hazy from the second blow you took. The world around you seems to blur and twist as they drag you along the alley, the sounds of their voices muffled as if coming from underwater.

"It wasn’t easy to get you" the big guy mutters, his tone low as they push you toward a black truck parked at the end of the street. "But.. It seems that today is our lucky day." The cold metal of the truck presses against your face as you slip completely into unconsciousness. You feel your hands being tied roughly. It hurts. You don't even have the strength to scream. The world fades away, leaving only the faintest whisper of the crow's caw ecos in your mind before everything goes dark.

Under the red moon in the N109 Zone, in one of the many locales under Onychinus's control, stood an opulent lounge hidden within the skeleton of an old industrial building. Polished black marble floors gleamed under the warm glow of crystal chandeliers, their light dancing across walls adorned with intricate carvings and rich velvet accents.

A long bar of dark wood stretched across one side of the room, lined with bottles of the finest spirits from across the world. Plush leather seating circled low tables, each arranged for privacy and comfort. The faint hum of classical music played in the background, a stark yet intentional contrast to the lawless chaos that marked the rest of the zone.

Sylus glanced at the cards in his hand, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he discarded one and leaned back in his armchair. On the table in front of him, cards, chips, and a half-full glass of whiskey were laid out in a casual arrangement that belied the tension in the air. The dim lights of the room flickered over his sharp features, creating shadows that only accentuated his calm, confident demeanor. His eyes flicked briefly to the clock on the wall. It was late, but that didn't matter. The game had its own rhythm, its own flow. Time was just another tool in Sylus’s arsenal.

The men —business associates, lackeys, and rivals alike— around the table exchanged words about profits and threats, the usual back-and-forth of business. Sylus sat at the head, his posture relaxed yet commanding, fingers loosely gripping the edge of his glass. To anyone watching, he looked completely in control, nodding at the right moments, his sharp eyes betraying nothing. But the truth is, he wasn’t really listening. His mind was elsewhere.

He’d just finished dealing with a potential problem in one of the sectors—nothing that couldn’t be handled by the twins, but still, it had required his attention. Normally, his focus would remain on the next move, but tonight, his thoughts wandered. 

He knew you’d be out tonight, enjoying yourself. Mephisto is taking an eye on you, even if he shouldn't be monitoring every time. But it is the best for both. And besides, you don't need to know everything he does to keep you safe. His jaw tightened slightly, and he forced himself to relax. The thought of you laughing, genuine and carefree, eased the tension in his chest. He wanted you here, with him. The room’s dim light, the murmur of voices, the ever-present hum of danger, it all felt less significant compared to the idea of you.

He imagines you sitting on his lap, dancing in the shower, looking at him with that sweet smile laying next to him…makes Sylus want to leave immediately, setting everything on fire. Burning the whole fucking planet down if that’s keeping him from going back to you. Especially after that sublime night when you finally fell into his arms, when you finally said yes to him. The memory of your sweet whimpers replayed in his mind, again and again. The way you called his name in soft whispers is a melody he couldn’t forget. 

The lascivious sound that emanates through the silence of the room, the rustle of the sheet under your skin, the slight creaking of the bed as Sylus thrust his cock inside you, a symphony that he wishes would not stop. 

“Sy..Sylus” you moan. “More...”

“As you wish." 

Each movement, each shift of his body against yours, sends a wave of heat through him, making it harder to stay composed. His muscles tighten with every gasp and every whimper that comes from you. Your fingers pulling at his silver hair, it's like adding fuel to the fire. 

Sylus took a discreet, deep breath, forcing himself to keep his composure. His dick is already reacting to the thought of your naked body. That night and all the others he has spent with you, have been the ones in which he has slept most peacefully. In his built fortress where he can have you all to himself, away from the dangerous world, where every second person wants to kill him. And in those moments, the chains of anxiety, loneliness and fear vanish with every smile you give him. He still doesn’t understand how, despite everything he did to you in the beginning—kidnapping you, forcing you to resonate with him—you still choose him. 

He would never have imagined that in this opportunity that the universe has given him, he would actually have you for himself. He doesn’t want to be selfish or let greed consume him, but it’s not enough. He waited so long, so painfully long. Every second he doesn't spend with you is another second wasted in his semi-mortal life that he has. The desire to feel your love forever, your hand gently caressing his hair, drowns him.

He needs to call you after this—no, perhaps he would come to you instead. Maybe pick you up wherever you were or better yet, slip into your apartment and fall asleep beside you, where he belonged.

His phone vibrated, a notification lighting up the screen. His gaze flinched to it briefly, a part of him wondering if it was you. Perhaps you wanted to share some late-night thought or even indulge in one of those rare moments of vulnerability you let slip with him. The idea of hearing your voice, even through the static of a call, pulled all his attention.

As soon as he unlocked the screen, his smirk faltered just for a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed as the footage played. The image on the screen was unmistakable: you, stumbling, disoriented, your silhouette outlined in the harsh glow of streetlights. A group of bastards surrounded you, their movements quick and methodical as they shoved you half unconscious toward the back of a truck. His fingers tightened around the phone, the faintest crack of pressure whispering through the room as his grip betrayed his calm exterior. For a moment his Evol expands around him, the crimson mist charged with energy could have killed everyone in the room in an eyeblink.

Sylus’s expression turned dark, cold and lethal. A surge of bloodlust coursed through him—the calculated rage that always ignited when someone dared to lay a hand on his treasures. And in this moment the greatest treasure is you. The men at the table, sensing the shift in the room, grew tense. The air felt heavier, thick with the wordless fear of being in Sylus’s presence when his mood changed. The conversations died down, and even the bravest of them hesitated to make eye contact with him. Everyone in this room knew Sylus’s reputation. They’d seen or heard stories of what happened to those who crossed him. And they knew very well that, while his vengeance is swift, it is the aftermath that was truly terrifying. Feeling the weight of his anger was to face something worse than death itself.

Sylus tapped his fingers against the table like a countdown to doomsday. His mind raced through possibilities, contingencies, and plans he’d already set in motion to ensure your safety. He’d anticipated countless threats, prepared for a hundred scenarios. But this? This wasn’t business. This was personal.

Taking you couldn’t be just an arbitrary coincidence. You weren’t an easy target, not with the layers of protection he has placed around you. No, this was intentional. Someone had been watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Finally, he broke the sepulchral silence making the men feel the air grow colder around them. “Excuse me, gentlemen. It appears I have… more urgent matters to attend to.”

He stood slowly, his eyes scanning the room one last time. None dared meet his gaze, their fear as tangible as the tension in the air. They knew Sylus wouldn’t merely retaliate—he’d destroy whoever had dared to piss him off. Making them pay the price in the most painful, unforgettable way possible. They had unknowingly signed their own death warrants.

As Sylus reached for his coat, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen—coordinates update of Mephisto position. He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway where Luke and Kieran waited. Both men straightened immediately, their usual confidence replaced with a cautious tension. They could sense it.

Luke spoke up, cautious, "Boss..."

Sylus didn’t even spare him a glance. He didn’t need to. Sylus shoved his phone into Luke's hand, the grainy clip of you being hauled into a truck playing in grim silence. His voice was low and cutting as he stepped forward.

"It’s hunting season," Sylus said coolly. Both stiffened. "I want a name. I don’t care who you have to hurt to get it." His eyes flicked between them, daring either of them to question him. They knew exactly what it meant: no one was safe. Every shred of mercy Sylus might have offered was off the table.

Kieran gave a sharp nod, already in motion. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, boss.”

Sylus’s lips curved into a smug smile. “Make sure you do. If anyone’s stupid enough to get in the way…” He let the threat hang in the air.

------------------

Your mind slowly clears, but the pain in your head and the taste of blood in your mouth make it hard to focus. You try to move, but something isn’t right. A sudden panic flares inside you as you realize your hands are bound. You attempt to shift your position, trying to find a way to free your hands, but there’s no give. The bindings are too tight biting into your skin, and your fingers are numb from the position they’re forced into. A curse escapes your lips.

A dim light flickers beneath the door, throwing unsettling shadows across the cold, concrete floor. The emergency light above you hums softly, its steady drone amplifying the oppressive silence that surrounds you. You swallow hard, the metallic taste of blood lingering in the back of your throat. It’s hard to think clearly with your head pounding like this, but one thing is certain: you need to get out of here.

Frustration rises inside you, the feeling of being trapped and powerless threatening to drown you. Your body hurts, each movement is an aching twinge through your limbs, but you refuse to stay down. You try to sit up, darkness creeping at the edges of your vision while your head is spinning. For a moment, the world tilts dangerously, and you think you might pass out again. You take a shaky breath, forcing your body to obey. Slowly you manage to sit up against the wall. 

With all the training you have had, even the session with Sylus or Xavier, nothing has prepared you for this. Being in pain and injured makes every mission hundred percent more dangerous, that's for sure. Now your body feels heavy and weak. You don’t know how long you’ve been out, but every minute you stay here, the situation gets worse.

“Where the hell am I?” you mutter to yourself, voice hoarse. No windows, no clues. No phone, no gun. The possibility of being found... It will be hours before anyone notices you've disappeared. Your breath catches as the realization hits: whoever brought you here isn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon. The thought makes your stomach churn. You shake it off. You can't afford to panic. The nice clothes you had put on for this trouble-free night are dirty, your socks torn. They've even left you barefoot. You try to hold back your tears. It seems that life loves to see you in these situations. Like seriously, how many times have you been so kidnapped already? This is the third time, if you count Caleb looking at you in his apartment and Sylus three days in his basement. Even if you believe you should have been stronger, this isn’t on you. 

What is this shit about!? 

After a while, the door swings open and a big guy comes in. The light from the hallway is bothering your eyes, making it hard to see the man clearly. He's not very tall, rather broad, wearing a shirt that's too tight for his body. He looks like some rich idiot's lackey. God, how you hate this. The smell of tobacco is definitely coming from him, but the smell of disinfectant comes from somewhere else. You try to pick behind the silhouette who is approaching you. 

"Wow, wow, look at that. Did you sleep well, princess?" he says with a mocking tone making your skin crawl. You press yourself harder against the cold wall, instinctively trying to make yourself smaller.

You glare up at him, forcing your voice to stay steady despite the surge of anger and fear in your chest. "Who are you?" you ask, but your words are tinged with more insecurity then you want to admit. “What do you want?”

He grins, kneeling in front of you like a predator sizing up its prey. The mockery in his smile is unbearable, and his words only make the situation worse.

"Oh, nothing" he says, the smell of your mouth makes you nauseous. "We just needed a bait." You manage to spit the rest of the blood on the floor, your eyes locking onto him with defiance. "Even with your damaged face you look beautiful. I understand why he has you around.” Your stomach turns, but you fight the urge to recoil as he reaches toward your face.  “I'm sure you suck him well off with that little mouth." You twist your head away, shaking his hand off with a quick, forceful movement. You breathe heavily and the pain in your head hits you again.

His malicious laughter has a sickening sound. "No need to be shy, princess. We know all about you."

You laugh trying to hide every piece of fear in you. “Oh... Entlight me”

“The untouchable Leader of Onychinus has a weak spot, his Achilles heel…” The man sneers. “A sexy hunter. ”His eyes glint with amusement as he leans in. “In other words... You” The words hit you hard, like a punch to the stomach.

“Achilles heel?” you ask with sarcasm. “I wish. So, you just know that I'm a Hunter trying to imprison him? Wow, great job, big boy. You really cracked the code, didn’t you?” You let out a soft, mocking laugh, leaning back against the cold wall as if his words mean nothing to you. Your heart is hammering in your chest, your ears are ringing because of the anxiety you’re feeling. Let him think you’re a regular Hunter. Nothing more. Let him underestimate you. The more he thinks you’re helpless, the better your chances of escaping this twisted game they’ve dragged you into.

He doesn’t seem amused. "Oh, I see," he sneers, his eyes narrowing as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your face. If he gets any closer, you might just throw up on him. "Playing dumb little girl, huh? Cute." He pauses for a moment. Checking your expression. "You think we don’t know who you really are? You’re not fooling anyone."

“Do you always talk this much, or are you just enjoying the sound of your own voice?” you counter, your words sharper now. It’s a gamble, but anything to keep your composure.

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn't seem fazed. If anything, his smirk widens at your resistance. "You’re a tough one. I like that. You are one of those that are more fun to break" he says, his tone makes you shiver. He stood up and grabbed you by your hair, throwing you into the middle of the room. You scream. He approaches you while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "Oh, yeah, I will have fun with you before the others can." He kicks you in the stomach, and you scream in pain. "Don't worry I won't kill you."

You just feel bumps all around your body, you don't know how much time passed but it felt like an eternity. The pain is everywhere, you try to protect yourself somehow but there is no way. You are completely at its mercy. The taste of blood fills your mouth and finally when he stops you throw up: the tequila shots, the drinks and your dinner. The deep laughter tells you it's over. The door swings shut behind him, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the room and with that the silence follows.

Sylus...

You fall unconscious again, everything hurts.

------------------

"Speak" Sylus commands, his voice low and clipped, as he stands in the armory, carefully selecting the weapon he'll need. Luke and Kieran finally return after two hours.

"There’s a man, goes by Rudy," Luke begins, breaking the silence. "Seems he’s been conspiring against you for a while."

Sylus exhales sharply, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "Not that jerk," he mutters under his breath. Rudy was one of those insufferable enemies you can have. At best, you could ignore him and hope he didn’t get too out of hand, but it was always a risk. He was a horrible man—too much alcohol, drugs, and cigarettes, with more money than sense. A nobody with delusions of grandeur. His greatest desire was to dethrone Sylus and take control of the N109 Zone. The last bastard who tried that, is dead.

However, the last time Sylus had to deal with that human waste, things went a bit awry. Rudy tried to interfere in a protocore transaction a few months ago, where Sylus gave him a first and last warning, not to interfere in his business. Rudy didn’t take it well, of course. That mission was when you managed to get the plane tickets to go with him. Despite all his efforts to keep you safe, you always found a way to stand by his side. During the mission, Rudy must have memorized your face. Sylus never brought anyone but the twins into his business. He tries to keep out of the mess but… You taught him a good lesson, kicking Rudy’s ass when he tried to attack you, you managed to dodge and knock him to the ground with ease. His beloved is such a fierce hunter. 

"And...?" he placed some weapons on the table and the ammunition boxes.

"He’s the one who kidnapped Miss Hunter," Kieran adds, his tone tense. "It’s definitely a trap. He must know that you... have feelings for her."

Sylus’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening at the mention of that fact. He knew exactly what Rudy was capable of, but to dare mess with him directly—kidnapping you... He should have killed him right then and there. But now, hearing the confirmation of what Rudy had done, Sylus’s grip tightens around the weapon in his hand. The anger surging through him is sharper, more dangerous than it had been before, and no amount of control can suppress it.

The hours of waiting was almost a waste of time. Sylus knows that the twins surely tried his best to bring the information to him, as soon as possible. You could be dead by now. He tried to erase the idea from his head. Mephisto lost track of your kidnappers in a remote area, it seems there is an electromagnetic field. However rushing in blindly, without the proper intel, would be reckless. Sylus was never reckless. He won’t let this go. This time, he’ll make sure Rudy learns the true cost of crossing him.

“There’s something…” Luke started. Sylus’s phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. He picks it up without hesitation, his voice cold and dismissive as he answers.

"Mister Sylus! My old friend!" The voice on the other end is smug, dripping with false camaraderie.

"Cut the crap, Rudy" Sylus snaps, his patience already wearing thin. He leans against the armory wall, his hand gripping the phone with the same tension he holds his weapon.

"Oh, come on now" Rudy laughs, his voice thick with arrogance. "That’s how you greet an old friend? Don’t be so harsh..."

"I don’t have time for this shit" Sylus growls, his eyes narrowing as he listens to Rudy’s infuriating tone.

"Ah, ah, ah… Be nice." Rudy continues, almost gleefully "I have something of yours. I wouldn’t mind giving it back, but... I want something in return."

He straightens, his posture sharp as steel. "Where is she?"

Rudy chuckles, clearly enjoying the tension. "Impatient as always. She’s... fine." There is a pause. "Say something sweetheart." Sylus freezes as he hears your voice, faint but unmistakable in the background. 

His mind flickers with a clear dark scenery: Rudy’s lifeless body, each limb meticulously severed, his blood-streaked remains scattered in the ocean to be forgotten by the world. He doesn't usually take the time to torture any of his enemies, but he would take all the time in the world for Rudy. Disintegrating his body with his Evol wouldn't give him the satisfaction he needs. He can already picture the slow, torturous death he’ll deliver, every cut precise, every moment a lesson in regret.

"Don't touch me you asshole—!"

There’s a scream, followed by a sharp scuffle, and then the sound of you biting him. Rudy curses under his breath, but Sylus can’t help but smile—if only for a split second. At least you still have some fight left in you. It’s a small victory in the middle of a much larger storm.

“Rudy” he says, his voice dropping to an almost deadly whisper. “You really don’t understand what you’ve done.”

On the other end of the line, Rudy laughs again, the sound grating against Sylus’s nerves. “Oh, but I think I do. You see, Mister Sylus, I’ve been watching you for a while now. You’ve got a weakness, and she’s absolutely delightful. I’m just making the most of it.”

Sylus doesn’t respond immediately. “I’ll give you one chance. Tell me where she is, and maybe I’ll make your death quick.”

“Always so violent,” Rudy replies mockingly. “You think I’m stupid enough to tell you that? No, no, no. This isn’t a negotiation. You give me what I want, and I’ll consider giving her back. Whole, even.”

The sound of your muffled voice cuts through the conversation again, and for a brief second, Sylus’s mask of control slips. His teeth clench, his jaw tight, as he stares at the weapons lining the armory wall.

“You’re running out of time,” Sylus growls, the dark promise in his tone chilling. “Do you know what happens to people who touch what’s mine?”

Rudy laughs, though it’s tinged with a nervous edge. “Oh, I know exactly what happens. But... You’re not in control this time.”

Sylus just smirks, his free hand brushing over the handle of a blade.

"What do you want?" 

Rudy’s tone shifts, the mockery giving way to cold calculation, his words laced with greed. “You know what I want. The Aether Core. I want it delivered to me, and if I don’t get it... well, let’s just say things will get very uncomfortable for your precious little bird.”

Sylus’s jaw clenches at the mention of the Aether Core. That cursed artifact—the very thing he’d gone to great lengths to bury, to keep out of the hands of people like Rudy. It wasn’t just dangerous; it was catastrophic in the wrong hands. And he? He was the embodiment of “wrong hands.”

For months, Rudy had been sniffing around for it, pushing boundaries, threatening allies, but Sylus had always stayed one step ahead. Now, it seems he has finally found the leverage he needed to force him into a corner. He knew the Aether Core couldn’t fall into Rudy’s grasp. The devastation it could unleash wasn’t just Sylus’s problem—it was a threat to everyone. The thought of you... Sylus mind paused for a moment. Is true that he has it, you both rescued that thing in the last mission. If Rudy is just asking about that one, it means he doesn't know about your Aether Core in your body. Sylus click is tough, that would give him more time but you're still in danger.

“Tick tock, Mister S.” Rudy teased, breaking the silence. “I give you, let me think, ten no... eight, let's do four hours to decide. Bring me what I want, or I’ll start sending you little pieces of her. Maybe I’ll start with a finger... or should I play a bit with that mouth she has? I haven’t decided yet.”

Sylus’s vision blurred for a second, red with rage. He took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to stay composed.

“You're dead by tomorrow.”

“Oh, I'm shaking.” Rudy replied smugly. “Don’t make me wait.”

The line went dead, but Sylus didn’t lower the phone right away. His hand trembled, not with fear but with the force of his restrained ire. He turned toward Luke and Kieran, who had been standing silently, their expressions grim.

“We need the location” Sylus barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “Now.”

Kieran nodded, already pulling out his device to track Mephisto. Luke looked at Sylus, his face tense. “Boss, what's the plan?”

Sylus’s eyes darkened, a murderous glint in them. “Tonight, we’ll put on quite the show. Bring everything—I’m going to destroy that worthless bastard and the filth he calls his empire.”

He picks up his leader jacket from the back of the chair and slips it on, his mind already running through the details. There’s no room for mistakes. Not this time.

"We’re going to meet him." Sylus says finally, his voice is colder than ever. "Get ready.” 

“Yes, boss!” They say in unison. 

Luke paused for a moment before speaking. “But there is something else you need to know…”

Navigator: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | AO3

A/N: To be honest, I was nervous about releasing this. I hope I could live up to expectations and give you a good show. I had a lot of fun writing this. It's complex, as I've already mentioned, and I'm not used to long stories—let alone ones in this category. Next chapter in 2 weeks.

If you have the time, leave me a comment. I would love to hear your feedback.