#and that unsettles her more than anything

[johnwickb1tsch]

Donnie US Marshall revenge 🤭

Well gaddam, my babes! So many of you asked for it that I've decided to just give you what I've got. 😆 Thank you @discoscoob , @scarlettspectra , and the lovely Nonnie who asked!

warnings: mention past underage abuse, domestic abuse, mention police violence (this is a donnie fic, i assume you're not faint of heart here) Not a pro-Donnie fic.

You have to go back to your small town for the first time since you graduated high school, to bury your mother. 

The first time Donnie Barksdale grabbed your ass, you were just 15. It was the first time he hit you too, because you were so startled you dumped hot fried chicken in his lap. He was your mom’s boyfriend, and he seemed to think that meant you came in the deal too.

There were times back then when you hated Donnie, and other times not so much. Like when he was kinda sweet, and would bring you a candy bar from the gas station, and you wished he wasn't so good looking because you knew what he was really like when he started drinking. 

It was hard to understand why your mama put up with him, the way he whooped on her. He didn’t have a job and didn’t do anything around the house. You supposed Donnie’s knowledge of the location of the clitoris put him in high demand in your small town. It also didn't hurt that he was good looking as the devil himself, with a silver tongue to match.

After the funeral, you find that night being alone in the house where you grew up unsettles you. You decide to put on jeans and an oversize flannel– to hide the Glock at the small of your back. You put your badge in your pocket, not on your belt, and head to the local watering hole. 

You sit by yourself for half an hour, nursing a vodka cranberry and watching the room out the corner of your eye, when he walks in. Tall and handsome as ever, shaggy in that mountain man way that still does not fail to make your treacherous pussy flutter, even while your head absolutely screams ‘danger!’ 

The sight of him just does something to you. Something unholy.

You’re not fifteen anymore, you have to remind yourself. He can’t bully you anymore, the way he’s bullied every woman in this town. 

He glances your way, that sly sideways look that always reminded you of a lion on the plain. You know he recognizes you, from the way he pauses, but he goes to join his friends by the pool table who are already 3 sheets to the wind.

It takes about half an hour for him to strut over to you, taking the bar stool on your left like you’re old friends, and you don't remember what it was like to take his fist to the side of your face when you were still practically a child. “Well, well. As I live and breathe. Y/n’s finally come home.” 

“Just here to bury Mama.” 

“Heard about that. Sorry.” 

You look him over. Your mother wasn’t much older than him, but drugs and alcohol had practically withered her to a husk until the last fix took her. Somehow, he looks fine as ever. Maybe he made a deal with the devil. 

Maybe he is the devil.

“Thanks.” 

You know he doesn’t mean it a lick. He was always more interested in her government draw check than your mother herself. Having a teenage girl at home didn’t hurt either. 

You’d just turned sixteen, when he took your virginity in his truck at the county fair. He’d been on the edge of thirty. 

You can hardly believe the balls on this man, when he pulls you in close with those long legs tangled in your barstool. 

“How long you gonna be in town?” 

“Just till tomorrow.” 

“Aww, that ain’t no time at all. You should stick around, sugar. Remember the fun we used to have?” 

It’s almost amusing to banter with him here, where you’re safe in a crowded room–and you’re armed. 

“I was a child then, Donnie. I’m a woman now.” 

He looks you up and down with those dark eyes that always could light a fire in your loins. 

“Honey, I noticed. So what you been doin’ with yourself out in the big world? Heard you run off to join the army or some shit.” 

He takes a sip of beer, and you clench your jaw. 

“Marines, actually.” 

He whistles at that. “Damn girl. You always were a tough cookie.” He leans in a little closer. “You ever think about me on a lonely night?” 

“I dream about you all the time,” you admit, and your heart has started pounding in your chest. You do not mention that he is the star of your nightmares. 

He gets that sly look that makes him look like a handsome snake. “Baby girl, do tell.” 

“I dream about giving you a set of bracelets.”

He looks puzzled at that, and you suppress the urge to laugh. “Huh?”

“Steel ones.” 

The look on his face is worth his weight in gold, when you take your badge from your pocket and set it on the bar between you. The silver star gleams in the low light, the embossed text proclaiming in a circle, UNITED STATES MARSHAL. 

You’ve never seen Donnie Barksdale look scared before. You never knew it could feel this good. 

“Are you threatening me?” 

“Not yet. But what’s the sentence for statutory rape in Georgia? 20 years? You should probably leave me the fuck alone now.” 

It’s possible this is the first time in his life that he’s been dismissed by a woman, and you can see in his eyes that he does not like it. 

“Go on,” you egg him further, wiggling your fingers. “Shoo.” 

He’s had enough to drink that he thinks it’s a good idea to grab you. But you’ve paid attention this whole time to the way he’s sitting on the edge of his stool, and it takes one good kick to send it out from under him, and Donnie sprawling on his back on the floor. Before he’s even pushed up on his elbows with murder in his eyes you are on your feet, and the Glock has materialized in your hand. 

“You crazy bitch!”

“Motherfucker, did you think we were going to arm wrestle?” He juts those bottom teeth, grinding them back and forth the way he does when he’s really seeing red. You remember that look, and you realize a part of you hopes he’ll do something stupid. 

“Second in my class at Glencoe, Donnie. You wanna try it?” 

Though you know it kills him to do so, he lays back down, his head thunking on the wooden floor. “No ma’am,” he growls.

“Good.” 

The whole room has gone quiet, staring at the two of you. The only sound is Waylon over the sound system, belting out about how there ain’t no good in an evil hearted woman. 

You have a theory now that most every bad woman has had a worse man that drove them to it.    

You lower your voice, even though you’re sure most everyone is straining to hear. “You wanna know what I learned out in the big world, Donnie?” You pause, but he gives no answer. “I learned there’s a whole ocean out there, and you are just one fucked up little fish in a tiny fucked up pond. Go to hell.” 

You throw some cash on the bar, and you leave, knowing you’ll be seeing him sooner than later. The whole town will have heard about this by noon tomorrow, and a man with an ego like Donnie Barksdale’s can’t let it slide. 

You’ll be ready. No man was ever more worth the paperwork for a justified homicide, than Donnie Barksdale.

[gldrushsblog]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

🧁✧ ˚. TITLE: Sugar and Sin

🧁✧ ˚. PAIRING: Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

🧁✧ ˚. WARNINGS: Mentions of threatening behavior and emotional distress.

🧁✧ ˚. BLURB: The suited stranger keeps his promises, and Aurora isn't sure if that is supposed to be a good thing.

🧁✧ ˚. GENRE: Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

🧁✧ ˚. TAGS: jk being a jerk part 21726, oc going through it part 56372

🧁✧ ˚. A/N: hey!! Hello! Hope you didn't forget me or this story cause I just posted part 10 on wattpad after years of being unproductive!! Who cheered 🤭🤭

🧁✧ ˚. TAG LIST: @scuzmunkie

CHAPTER 6: AURORA

Aurora wasn’t a prophet, but for the past few days, she had this unsettling hunch that the organ pumping in her chest would be the thing to take her down—maybe not by a heart attack, but something close enough.

Grim fact: Her family had no history of heart issues.

Normally, she didn't let anything or anyone burrow deep enough into her thoughts to keep her awake at 2 a.m., contemplating her life choices. Especially not with a knife stashed under her pillow, just in case those choices went south. Well, except maybe that one time when she decided to move away from home and open her own bakery. Her friends loved to call her reckless—more than she'd like to admit. It was probably the same reason her dad hovered over her, always a little too protective.

She'd be lying if she said her reckless streak hadn't played a starring role in the chaos of her life.

Now, even as the day in the bakery stretched onto a busy one- the kind she thrived on- she couldn't help thinking about the sudden absence of a certain man who carried bad mojo with him like a handbag and the letter she received days ago and safe to say, there wasn't much doubt about the sender. She should be glad, of course, that he isn't here to remind her how grateful she should be that there's not a bullet in her brain, but she was rather anxious after the envelope she received which was honestly a childish trick to pull on her neurons in her opinion.

And then there was her demand that was a further invitation for him to dwell more in her life, and she hadn't been able to think of that in the moment. So that only left her waiting and.. questioning.

Would he really help her out with the Mr Choi situation? Or was she the most naive person to think he was being genuine in his amusement and not sarcastic?

She sighed heavily like a old aged woman who had been through both wars before trying to ground herself back in the normalcy of the action of rearranging the trays of pastries that didn't sell and was gonna go up for donation in the display case, while lia checked the stock back in the kitchen.

It was a simple monotonous moment until it was not. The bell above the door chimed, causing Aurora to wonder since not many people visited in the closing hours. Yet the words came out almost automatically. "Welcome to Sunrise sweets!" Her figure still crouched down as she worked on the display.

The usual sounds of greetings and orders didn’t follow. Instead, there was a heavy, palpable silence with an energy that felt weirdly familiar. The kind that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

As she slowly straightened up to attend the odd customer, the sight in front of her had her wanting to hide back again because there stood her newest nightmare manifested in a tailored pinstripe suit that accumulated his broad and tall figure in a way that left her wondering how dild he even got through the door.

The words in that letter flashed the next thing in her mind. She should have known for him not to be the one who spewed empty threats...or promises.

For a moment, she forgot the basics to breathe as his gaze collided with hers.

He had been here before, yet that time had been a chilling dark night but now as the different colors of orange blending with blue from the sun going down the horizon illuminated the space and him, she realized how out of place he looked. She had that realization when he was sprawled across her couch, too. Just now, she had another one that it didn't matter what kind of room he was standing in. His presence will get anyone and everyone present in it to cower.

As if sensing the tension filling the air, lia peeked from the back, catching his attention for a millisecond, but that was enough to take her aback as well.

Aurora could feel her friend's confused eyes on her once she gauged how shrunken the brunette looked.

"Can we help you with something?" She asked as she appeared beside her friend, her voice steady and cautious. Clearly, she was surprised as well to see a figure like him walk up here but not horrified as her best friend who had seen him with a gun.

"No." He gave her a balant reply with a balant stare before turning his attention back to Aurora.

"We have business to discuss, Ms Beckett." She wasn't surprised to hear him say her name she never told yet the way he said he had buisness with her like he was mocking her was enough to send a chill down her spine. "Alone." He added, sparing lia another glance.

"Buisness? What is he talking about, Aurora?" Lia spoke, turning to her with confusion evident in her tone. Of course, she would be confused, surprised even. It was not every day a man in an Armani suit and tie that cost more than the space they were standing in, walked in to talk buisness.

Aurora's eyes peeked back at her friend with an uncertainty of their own. "I-uh.." Her gaze moved back and forth between her best friend and the man that seemed to look at her with an intention to bore a hole in her head.

Taking a deep breath and collecting her thoughts, she turned her back and made lia do the same, her voice intended for only her. "This.. is what I meant when I said I was exploring some options." Lia gave her a look of disbelief. "But - But you don't need to worry. He's a trusted ally even though he doesn't look like it. Everything's gonna be fine. You just need to let me have a talk with him." She hoped the blanched expression only crossed her face mentally when she said the words trusted ally and him in the same sentence.

"I'm not leaving you alone to speak to him, Aurora." She deadpanned, her voice intentionally loud enough for him to hear across the counter.

A deep exhale came from his side. Lia opened her mouth to protest further, but Aurora quickly placed a hand on her arm, squeezing it gently.

"It's fine, Lia. Really." She forced a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just give us a minute, okay?"

Lia looked unconvinced, her gaze flicking between Aurora and the man she was skeptical about, but after a tense moment, she sighed and nodded. "I'll be in the back," she said, her tone making it clear she wasn't going far.

As Lia disappeared behind the kitchen door, Aurora turned back to him, her nerves getting on edge again as she locked eyes with his.

"What buisness?" The sound was somewhat of whisper yell as if she was afraid of the walls listening but was still trying to make her point across at the same time.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drift around the bakery, taking in every detail with that calculating look that unnerved her so much. “This place—” he gestured vaguely at the bakery, “—is mine now.”

She blinked, the words not quite registering at first. “Yours?” she echoed, incredulous. “What do you mean, yours?”

"I brought it." He said - matter of fact - as if it was the most normal thing.

But to her, the words felt foreign, like they belonged in someone else’s nightmare, not hers. "You… bought it?”

"Choi is no longer your problem. Consider this… payment for your silence.” He spoke, his voice turning bitter at the latter.

Her mind raced, struggling to keep up with the situation. She should have felt relief—after all, wasn’t a resolution to her problem what she had asked for? Instead, a dread seeped into her bones.

It hit her then, like a slap she should have seen coming but didn’t. This wasn’t help. This was control. This was him sinking his claws into her world, and worse — it was her fault for letting him.

The words slipped out before she could stop it. “I didn’t ask for this.”

His expression was a puzzled one. "You asked for my help. This.." He stepped closer to the counter and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a folded document. He placed it on the surface. "Is how I help."

Help? This was ridiculous. It wasn't a solution. Of course, Mr Choi was a nuisance, but this man was something worse than that. She didn't want something dear to her tied down to him.

But the weight of his words pressed down on her, the realization of what this meant sinking in.

"There must be a catch! Is all this really just for me to keep my mouth shut?" Her brows knitted together as she spoke.

His expression remained unreadable as he spoke, “Nothing more than what we agreed upon. And just your cooperation that I should add."

The nonchalance in his words didn't fool her. "Cooperation?"

His eyes flickered with something unreadable—dangerous, perhaps. "Keep your end of the bargain so I'll not be provoked to keep the end of my promise." She guessed what he was hinting at, and it took her everything not to choke him with a loaf down his throat.

The threat lingered in the air, a dark cloud settling over her. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She had asked for help even if foolishly so, not for him to take over her life.

Aurora bit her lip,“You think you can just come in here, throw your money around, and claim whatever you want?”

He didn't respond, Instead fumbled a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket to lit it before he was holding it between his gloved fingers and parted lips.

She frowned deeper at the audacity of this man. "And you can't smoke here either!"

He straightened up to look at her with a detached look. Taking a whiff out of the cancer stick, he spoke."I own this place, sweetheart. I can do whatever the fuck I want. You can either accept it or fight it and see consequences you and this place won't like."

She glared at him, hating the truth in his words. Hating that she had somehow ended up in this mess. Yet all fight seemed to drain out of her. What choice did she have? She could actually act upon her urges to shove a loaf down his constantly threat spewing mouth but that wouldn’t change the fact that he did owned her bakery. And, by extension, a piece of her life.

"This-" She was cut off with brutal ignorance as he added. "You should be grateful, Ms Beckett." his eyes briefly scanning the bakery one last time before he turned to leave. "You're in better hands now."

The bell above the door chimed as he walked out, leaving her standing there with her world tilted off its axis and a stack of papers that confirmed just how deep she was in over in her head.

୨ৎ

"What was he on about?" Lia asked as she emerged from the kitchen that was in the back.

Aurora's response was a sigh before she spoke. "Do you wanna go for a drink?"

To be continued..

→Previous chapter.

[gravityglitch-blog]

My contribution to @beauty-beast-week, organized by @firawren, for Day 3.

The prompt was Lavender (relaxation, sleep, baths, summer, scents...)

I imagine this taking place in the movie's timeline, between the "Human Again" sequence and the famous waltz.

INK AND MOONLIGHT

Be careful what you wish for, Belle thought to herself as she idly drew patterns in the frost on the library window panes.

All her life, she had felt different. She'd never considered herself better or worse than anyone else. She was simply...apart.

While everyone around her was down to earth, she was an incurable dreamer. Her mother had been like that, according to her faded memory. Her father, too. She'd spent most of her life sighing over the pages of fairy tales and wishing something fantastical would happen in her own life.

It didn't get much more fantastical than life with a mythic beast in an enchanted castle filled with living, breathing housewares.

How long had she been here now? A few weeks? A few months? Magic had a way of playing with your sense of time.

She sat curled up in a corner of one of the massive library's many window seats. At her back, flames cheerfully crackled in the fireplace, keeping her warm this winter's night and providing a soft glow to read by. She took another sip of the lavender tea Mrs. Potts had been so kind to provide and tried again to focus on the book in her hands. Normally this was no trouble. But tonight, she was distracted by thoughts of the dreams she'd been having.

It was the same dream, every night since she'd been in the castle. She was lost in a beautiful, unfamiliar forest. It was silent as death, and equally endless. She'd start out walking, then running in search of a path, anything to lead her out of there.

And then the man would appear before her.

She could never make out much about him.

His figure was always blurred, like she were trying to see him through a veil of water. She could make out a few details. Tall. Copper hair. The only thing really clear about him were his eyes, the purest blue she'd ever seen.

Her dream self would always ask, "Who are you? Can you help me?"

"I would give anything to tell you who I am," the man would reply, his voice soft and sad. "But I can only help you back to the castle."

She would pull away. "I don't want to go back there. I want to go home."

"I know," the stranger would say. "And I know you have no reason to trust me. But please believe when I say, you have nothing to fear from the castle or anyone in it."

Then he would hold out his hand to her.

She always wanted to ask more questions.

But somehow, in that one heartbeat, her fears would calm. She would reach out...and she would wake up.

It wasn't even enough to call a nightmare, but it left her unsettled all the same.

She wrapped her hands around her teacup to better absorb its warmth. Belle giggled lightly as she felt the teacup snoring against her palms. At least someone was getting a good night's sleep.

A flicker of shadow caught the edge of her vision. She looked up and saw Beast in one of the archways leading to another book-filled chamber. Though her fear of him had mostly dissolved after that night he'd rescued her from the wolves, she still found him a paradox.

There was strength and power in every line of him, and he could move through this castle quick and noiseless as the shadows themselves. Right now, he looked like a child who had been caught staying up past his bedtime.

"You can't sleep, either?" she asked.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," his deep voice rumbled.

"You're not," Belle assured him. "It gets so quiet around here at night, I...I'd be glad of the company for awhile, if you don't mind."

He nodded, and she thought she glimpsed a shy smile, but his expressions were often difficult to read. He took up the other corner of the window seat, farthest from her. He gazed out the window at the gently falling snow, seeming hesitant to look at her. The silence was broken only by the quiet sound of his breath and her heartbeat. Belle studied his reflection in the glass, the only way she felt she could safely look at him for more than a few moments without being rude. She'd been terrified of him at first sight, she had to admit. The setting and circumstances hadn't helped, her father locked in a dungeon while she bargained for his freedom. Later, when she'd tried to escape and run right into the jaws of the wolf pack, she'd witnessed the sheer ferocity and wildness he kept contained. Looking at him now...there was a strange grace about him. She could imagine him as a creature of myth, an otherworldly guardian of some secret or forbidden world. Belle gave herself a mental shake. No wonder the people back home called her a funny girl.

"What are you reading?" Beast asked finally.

In answer, she held out the book to him. Carefully he took it from her and leafed through a few pages. One heavy eyebrow went up. "Vampires? Are you trying to give yourself nightmares?"

Belle shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. "What can I say? I've always found stories of the night fascinating."

He gave a rough snort, his version of a laugh. "No wonder you fit right in here."

She tilted her head. "How do you mean?"

"Can you really not feel it? The magic of this place embraces you like it's been waiting for you all its life."

Unsure what to say to that, she smoothed out non-existent wrinkles in her soft purple dress. Hoping to smooth out the awkward silence as well, she smiled gently at him. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

She gestured at the caverns of books around them. "You're in here nearly as often as I am. What are your favorite kind of stories?"

He turned to look at her then, and this time she was certain of the smile. "You were the one that reminded me how much I enjoy reading. After so long, I'd nearly forgotten how. I don't think I've even thanked you yet for helping me remember."

"You don't have to thank me. I was happy to do it."

He nodded once, then returned to her question. "When I was young, it was adventure stories. Pirates and treasure hunting."

Belle's smile grew wider, her mind conjuring the image of a miniature Beast embarking on imaginary quests across the high seas. "And what about now?"

He drew in a deep breath, as if gathering up his courage. "Would you like to hear it?"

"You want to read to me?"

"It's the least I can do, after you brought it back to me."

"I'd love to hear it!"

He glided over to a shelf nearby and pulled out a green leather-bound volume, more worn-looking than the others in the library. He rested the book on the windowsill, now kneeling on the seat so he could open the book for her. Belle gasped as the pages spread out to reveal a map of the sky, constellations lovingly drawn and named in delicate strokes of ink. Most stunning of all were the illustrations in the center, the sun and moon frozen in a celestial dance. She gently set her sleeping teacup back on his tray, tucking a napkin around him like a blanket, so she could give her full attention to Beast and his story. Taking only the very edge of the page between his claws, he turned to the beginning of the story. Here the ink spun into an icy landscape, not unlike the scene outside their window. The sky in this picture had been replaced by delicately scrawled words. In his low, soft baritone, he began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a poor husbandman who had many children and little to give them in the way either of food or clothing. They were all pretty, but the prettiest of all was the youngest daughter, who was so beautiful that there were no bounds to her beauty."

She thought he glanced at her here, but surely it was her imagination.

Stop being silly, she chided herself.

"So once", he continued, "it was late on a Thursday evening in autumn, and wild weather outside, terribly dark, and raining so heavily and blowing so hard that the walls of the cottage shook again--they were all sitting together by the fireside, when suddenly some one rapped three times against the window-pane."

So went the story of a girl swept away from her mundane world on the back of a white bear, who was truly a prince in disguise, her true love. They were parted by a mistake realized too late. But so strong was their love, that the girl was undaunted, riding the Four Winds until she could rescue her prince.

Belle wanted so desperately to hear the ending. But the lavender tea was working its' magic, and Beast's voice and presence was so warm, that she fell asleep upon her folded arms.

___

Beast heard her first snore before he could read out happily ever after. He suppressed a laugh with all his strength. She had an adorable snore. Moving quietly, he put the book back in its place. Now he faced a dilemma. He didn't want to wake Belle, but he couldn't exactly leave her here, either. Praying that this wouldn't be pushing their newborn friendship too far, he carefully gathered her into his arms until he was carrying her bridal-style. His heart almost stopped when she stirred, but she only pushed her face further into his broad shoulder. "Warm," she mumbled dreamily.

He would have given anything to live in that moment forever. But time never stops, not even within the walls of an enchanted castle.

Beast glided out of the library and up the stairs to Belle's room. He could already hear whispers from a few insomniac servants. There'd be gossip among them by morning. The door to Belle's room kindly (and silently) opened itself for them. He delicately laid her down on her bed. He thought that she clung to his shirt for a moment before settling onto her pillows, but of course that had to be his imagination.

Don't be stupid, he scolded himself.

He pulled the blankets over her, and allowed himself the indulgence of brushing a rogue lock of hair away from her eyes. He made it to her doorway before looking back at her once more. "Sweet dreams, my princess."

He knew he had no right to call her this.

She might never return his feelings. 

Even if she did, a free spirit like Belle would never be owned by anyone, and that was part of what he loved about her.

But he couldn't help it. To him, she was a princess, no matter what happened next.

He softly closed the door and left her to her dreaming.

And dream she did. But this time, instead of the endless ominous forest, Belle dreamt of ink and moonlight and a gentle thundercloud weaving stories at her shoulder.

[twinkle-art]

Andromeda's garlean, or at least raised in garlean society, right? How'd she take the whole Varis/Anima thing in Endwalker? Or just the Garlemald section as a whole? If you've done all the EW role quests, how'd she feel about that last blasphemy?

unfortunately for her, she sure is! she was raised by her garlean mother and spent her entire childhood in the capital city so coming back to that under the circumstances that she did was, frankly, the worst experience of her life. just a profoundly miserable, harrowing time for her.

wrt to the anima stuff, i don’t actually know how strongly it hit her through the noise of every other horrific thing she was seeing, but i think the revelation that the people of her homeland had been devoured by their own nationalistic fervor nauseated her first and foremost because of how it almost felt like a foregone conclusion- a sort of “of course that would be what destroyed them” reaction that, in the face of how gruesomely it actually played out, makes her too unsettled to really feel any sort of vindication at the karmic comeuppance. mostly it just makes her sad. 

(the particular way she personally suffered at the hands of garlean fascism did little to harden her to the many, many cruelties of war she both witnessed and participated in in her capacity as the warrior of light- she has always done what she must without complaint, but she has never been able to turn off the way she instinctively sees humanity in those she cuts down for the sake of justice, knowing they’re probably a lot like the kind of people she was raised in tenuous community with. she just tries not to think about it too hard.)

of course, within the larger context of the arc, it’s ALSO pretty hard for her to view it as any sort of divine retribution when she knows not only what real, tangible person is responsible for unleashing this disaster on them, but that he all but says he did it to get under her skin, specifically. she might even feel culpable for the massive civilian casualties, if she let herself think about it for more than ten seconds. good thing there’s always something else for her to be doing!

anyways, more broadly, the garlemald arc was when her elaborate lies about being a normal eorzean girl completely and utterly collapsed under the strain of actually returning to where she came from. the psychological toll of keeping up the façade with the ilsabard contingient (though the scions, lucia, maxima, and some others have all kept her secret for a while now) And being treated by the garlean populace as a foreign invader (which strikes a nerve she was surprised to realize was still raw after all this time) And not knowing if her mother, who she had very recently accepted might’ve been a more complicated figure than she assumed, was even alive was, frankly, just way too much. the jig is extremely up. she’s taking out her anguish by cursing out some uncooperative military guy who probably reminds her of her step-father in her native language. she keeps asking everyone they meet if they know a woman named lucretia eir caecus. she’s finding any reason to avoid regio urbanissima because if she sees her old home she’s probably gonna have a panic attack. it went Extremely Bad.

the one and pretty much only spot of hope for her during all this is that it did help to get it through her thick skull that her friends like, really really love her. alphinaud and alisaie were basically glued to her side as much as they could be and each had their own approaches to trying to protect her from something that they pretty obviously couldnt. and, for what it’s worth, even as word began to spread through the ilsabard contingient that Hey I Think She’s From Here? i simply don’t think it destroyed their respect for her the way she had convinced herself it would. if anything i think a lot of them just felt bad for how much of a toll this was clearly taking onher.

…sadly i have not actually done all the edw role quests (i’m REALLY bad about doing role quests. i didn’t even do the shb ones until i made that video essay in june. and we all know i’m a huge shadowbringers guy) so i can’t comment on that but i’m sure it’s probably in line with all of this. yeah <3

[fiannans]

Yearning (noun): a strong feeling of wishing for something, especially something that you cannot have or get easily.

[carefulfears]

mulder and diana literally have the most intense divorced energy anyone could ever have...they have the chemistry of two people who've been married for decades and maybe don't wanna be married anymore, maybe aren't married anymore, but once you're married you're grandfathered in. you're always married. haven't touched each other in years, go most days not even considering the other, but owe each other something, and aren't sure of what it is. diana lies and lies and lies to his face, and then dies to save him. she feels entitled to him, she knows what's best for him, what's his is theirs. always. she was there when he got it. she helped him build it. (she tells him herself: "don't forget that"). so much of what she does appears as she's trying to establish a claim over him, but she doesn't have to try. she just is. she's irreproachable. you don't talk about the wife. (and you don't talk to her, as scully and diana arguing is met only with mulder's impatient, "scully...scully...scully.")

any time she comes up in conversation, his friends are uncomfortable. i love the way byers goes "well....yeah?" when scully asks if he knows diana. he says it like he's surprised that scully didn't know about her. when scully won't stop pressing mulder about diana in one son, all three of the boys tense up. the camera keeps going to their reactions. (you don't talk about the wife. they were there. "i always wondered why they split up.")

scully says "special agent diana fowley" as though maybe if she had one more title to throw in, she would disappear. diana says "fox" like she has something to prove. mulder says "diana" like it communicates everything he doesn't say. and in a way, it does. the first time scully heard him call agent fowley "diana," she knew.

[blujayonthewing]

something I think is kind of funny but also genuinely really good is how many times I've gone 'okay this OC isn't necessarily attractive' and then over time that has eventually ceased to be true, mostly just because I've changed my mind about it

[gyuuberryy]

teeth

“let's play together, you make me so thirsty”

pairing: vampire!heeseung x reader

synopsis: you were not thrilled about the move in of your new neighbour. mostly because he was so strange and seemed to be hiding something dark. and partly because you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him because of your unwanted attraction. you were determined to expose his dark secret and get rid of him once and for all. but, it was proving to be a difficult task because he was just so irresistible..and needy.

genre: enemies to lovers, vampire au

warnings: lots of suggestive content!!(read at your own discretion), blood, alcohol, getting trapped in a lift, making out, teeth and biting(obviously)

note: this is like my first time writing something suggestive so i was a little nervous, but i think it turned out well! there's no smut tho. teeth is such a freaky song teehee, i hope this gives off the same vibes. listen to the song while reading this, enjoy!

word count: 5.2k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

fairy lights strung across the hallway cast a warm glow on the gaggle of your neighbours crammed into the shared corridor. plates heaped with enough food to feed a small army overflowed from a makeshift table, the air thick with the aroma of baked ziti and something suspiciously like burnt brownies.

it was the monthly floor potluck, a supposed chance for neighbourly bonding. you, however, stood alone by the shoe rack, arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place.

the source of your discontent? lee heeseung, the new resident in 3B. he'd moved in a week ago, and in that short time, had managed to charm the socks off everyone else. mrs. kim from 3A gushed about his "angelic smile," mr. lee from across the hall swore he'd single-handedly fixed the perpetually leaky faucet, and even the ever-grumpy mrs. park from 2B had softened to his "polite demeanour." you, however, weren't buying it.

there was something… off about him. he was a little too pale, a little too perfect. the way his eyes seemed to glint in the fairy lights sent shivers down your spine, not the good kind. maybe it was the way he never seemed to eat anything, politely declining every dish offered with a charming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. or maybe it was just a gut feeling, a primal instinct screaming that there was more to heeseung than met the eye.

as you nursed your lukewarm coffee, heeseung materialised beside you, a plate piled high with (uneaten) pasta in his hand. his smile, as always, was dazzling.

"hey there! i'm heeseung, from 3b. i’ve been meaning to meet you for a while! everyone's been raving about you."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "is that right?"

he chuckled, a sound a little too melodious. "absolutely! they say you make the best chocolate chip cookies on the floor." he gestured to the burnt offering on the table. "though, these brownies look like they could use some work."

a sarcastic snort escaped your lips. "they're mrs. park's. apparently, baking isn't her forte."

heeseung's smile faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he recovered. "well, maybe next time you could bring your famous cookies," he suggested, his voice smooth as silk.

you raised an eyebrow, suspicion solidifying in your gut. "maybe i will," you said, your voice devoid of warmth.

heeseung seemed to hesitate, the air crackling with a strange tension. then, with another dazzling smile, he excused himself and moved on to mrs. kim, who was already gushing about his "nonexistent" culinary skills.

you watched him go, a cold dread settling in your stomach. he might be fooling everyone else, but you wouldn't be swayed by his facade. there was something about heeseung, something dark and unsettling, and you were determined to find out what it was.

weeks bled into months, and your suspicions about heeseung only intensified. he'd become the bane of your existence, a charming yet infuriating shadow that seemed to follow you around the building. every potluck, every hallway encounter was a constant push and pull between your icy suspicion and his playful facade.

he revelled in teasing you, his compliments bordering on flirtatious. "looking lovely today, aren’t you?" he'd purr, his eyes gleaming with an amusement that sent shivers down your spine. you'd counter with sarcastic remarks that usually sailed right over his head, leaving you more frustrated than ever.

one particularly rainy afternoon, you were rushing down the hallway, arms laden with groceries, when the treacherous floor betrayed you. your foot slipped, and you went sprawling towards the cold tile. but before you could hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you upright with surprising ease.

for a moment, you were trapped in heeseung's embrace. your ear was pressed against his chest, and a jolt of fear shot through you. there was no comforting thud of a heartbeat, just a chilling silence. his touch was icy cold, sending a wave of goosebumps erupting across your skin.

you scrambled away from him, a mixture of terror and anger twisting your features. "don't touch me!" you hissed, dropping a bag of groceries with a clatter.

heeseung straightened, his smile unwavering. "whoa there. just trying to be a good neighbour."

you glared at him, your voice trembling. "there's nothing neighbourly about you, heeseung. what are you?"

his smile faltered for a flicker of a second, a flicker you caught this time. but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual charming facade. "just a guy who likes to help out a damsel in distress," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. they held a glint of something predatory, something that confirmed your worst fears. he wasn't normal. and whatever he was, it was becoming increasingly clear that he was toying with you.

you grabbed the remaining grocery bags, clutching them tightly to your chest as if they were a shield. "don't think this is over, heeseung," you hissed, your voice surprisingly steady despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "i'll find out who you are, and i'll expose you."

he tilted his head, a playful glint back in his eyes. "is that a challenge, darling?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "be careful what you wish for. you might just find out more than you bargained for."

with that cryptic message hanging in the air, he turned and sauntered back to his apartment, leaving you alone in the hallway, the weight of his words and the chilling memory of his touch settling over you like a shroud. you were determined to unravel the mystery of heeseung, but a new, terrifying question gnawed at you: were you prepared for what you might find?

sleep evaded you that night. the unsettling encounter with heeseung replayed on a loop in your mind. you tossed and turned, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of rain against your window. finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, you crept out of bed and tiptoed towards the door, hoping to get some fresh air.

just as you were about to unlock the door the ‘ding’ of the elevator’s arrival stopped you in your tracks. who could it be this late at night?

peeking through the peephole, you were met with a sight that sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through you. heeseung stood casually a few feet away from your door, the rain slicking his dark hair back from his forehead.

he was whistling a cheerful tune, completely oblivious to your scrutiny. but what truly sent shivers down your spine was the state of his hands. they were stained with something dark and viscous, drying in the cool night air. it looked… suspiciously like blood.

the blood ran cold in your veins. just as you were about to pull back, heeseung paused, his head tilting ever so slightly as if he could sense you watching. a slow, unnerving smirk spread across his face, his eyes seeming to lock with yours through the peephole. how? it was impossible.

panic clawed at you. you stumbled back, adrenaline flooding your system. you had to warn the others. heeseung couldn't be trusted.

the next day, you stormed into mrs. kim's apartment, her usual cheery demeanour replaced by a frantic urgency. you blurted out everything – the coldness, the lack of a heartbeat, and the bloodstains you witnessed the night before.

mrs. kim, however, listened with a furrowed brow. "blood? are you sure, dear? heeseung wouldn't hurt a fly."

heeseung, conveniently appearing in the midst of your outburst, played the part of the concerned neighbour perfectly.

"is everything alright here?" he asked, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. "seems a little tense."

mrs. kim just dismissed him, shaking her head with a small chuckle, “nothing dear, it’s not important.”

his smile was disarming, his eyes brimming with feigned innocence. "oh i see. what were you two talking about so intently then?"

you glared at him, your voice trembling with barely contained anger. "i was just telling mrs. kim about your… unusual habits." you recounted the previous night's events, your gaze flitting between mrs. kim and heeseung.

heeseung chuckled, a light, airy sound that sent shivers down your spine. immediately, his expression morphed into one of concern, looking at mrs kim. "hasn’t she been acting strangely lately? maybe a little… stressed?"

his words stung. he was twisting the narrative, making you seem paranoid and delusional. your frustration grew, your voice rising as you tried to explain what you saw, but your neighbour's eyes held only pity and dismissal.

mrs. kim patted your hand soothingly. "maybe you're just a little stressed, dear. heeseung's a good boy, always looking out for everyone. don't you worry about him."

shame burned in your cheeks. you were alone, your warnings falling on deaf ears. heeseung's smile widened, the glint in his eyes predatory.

"see?" he said, his voice low and menacing, but directed only at you. "sometimes, silence is the best policy."

with that, he turned and sauntered away, leaving you trapped in a nightmare you couldn't seem to wake up from.

back in your apartment, you sank onto the couch, a defeated sigh escaping your lips. you were alone, your suspicions dismissed as paranoia. but the image of heeseung's bloodstained hands, his chilling smirk, burned into your memory. you wouldn't give up. you had to find a way to expose him, to prove to everyone that the perfect neighbour was nothing but a monster in disguise.

the bass vibrated through the floor, the air thick with sweat and the sweet scent of spilled cocktails. you were lost in the music, laughing with your friends, a rare moment of reprieve from the constant worry that was heeseung. the tipsy buzz from the vodka-cranberries only amplified the carefree feeling, pushing his unsettling presence to the back of your mind.

tipsy from a few too many drinks, you excused yourself, needing a momentary escape from the pulsating heat of the dance floor of the club. the cool night air was a welcome change as you stepped into the balcony, the cityscape shimmering under the neon glow. a sudden prickle ran down your spine, making you stop mid-step. it was the distinct feeling of someone's gaze boring into you, a predator sizing up its prey.

your heart hammered against your ribs as you spun around, searching the crowd. there, leaning against the wall opposite the club entrance, stood heeseung. his perfect features were cast in shadow, but the glint of his eyes in the darkness sent a shiver down your spine. he held a drink in his hand, his knuckles white around the glass, as if tightening his grip to control himself.

the moment you locked eyes with him, the air crackled with a tension so thick you could almost taste it. it wasn't just fear this time. there was a strange undercurrent, a dark energy that seemed to emanate from him.

your mind, fuzzy from the alcohol, couldn't quite grasp it, but your body reacted instinctively. panic surged through you, erasing the tipsy haze. this wasn't the charming neighbour; this was the dangerous entity you'd glimpsed before.

you didn't waste a second. turning on your heel, you practically sprinted back into the club, weaving through the crowd. your breath came out in ragged gasps, fueled by a cocktail of fear and the alcohol throbbing in your veins.

with a desperate lunge, you pushed open the nearest door, the sign above it proclaiming it a restroom.

just as you fumbled for the lock, a strong hand shot past your shoulder, wedging itself between the door and the frame. you froze, staring in horror as heeseung casually pushed his way in behind you. he slammed the door shut with a sickening thud, the lock clicking ominously behind him.

he cornered you against the door, his body acting as a wall and a scent that was both familiar and strangely intoxicating. the air crackled with unspoken tension, thick with the remnants of your fear and an undeniable spark of…something else.

“what do you think you’re doing?”, you winced at how weak your voice sounded.

he leaned impossibly close, his breath chilly against your ear. he seemed to be tipsy as well, with the way he stumbled and invaded your personal space.

the alcohol loosened your inhibitions, and his voice, usually smooth and playful, now had a dark, alluring edge to it.

"you looked beautiful dancing under those lights," he whispered, his words sending shivers down your spine. "such a shame you seem to hate me so."

his nearness was overwhelming. you couldn't feel any heat radiating from his body, but the way his lips brushed against your ear sent a jolt through you. his voice, usually smooth as silk, now had a rough edge, sending a shiver down your spine that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

your mind, fuzzy from the alcohol, struggled to process the situation. he was terrifying, yes, but a strange, confusing attraction warred with the fear simmering beneath the surface.

your gaze latched onto the physical beauty in front of you - the sharp angles of his jaw, the way the moonlight glinted off his dark brown eyes. all the warnings you'd tried to ignore hammered against your intoxicated mind, but for some reason, they held no power in the face of the undeniable magnetism of the man pinning you to the door.

“what do you want from me”, your words came out in a hushed whisper, scared as if speaking any louder would ruin the moment.

his gaze flitted down to your lips as he got closer to you, now only a breath away. he leaned closer, the scent of something foreign, yet oddly alluring, invading your senses.

his gaze dropped to your lips, painted a soft pink from the drinks you'd consumed.

before you could register the movement, his lips were on yours. the kiss was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions – the initial shock giving way to a surge of heat that defied logic. his hand slid down your back, pressing you flush against the wooden door.you clung to him, a confused mix of fear and a thrilling sense of forbidden desire coursing through you.

the kiss deepened, becoming desperate, hungry. he tasted of something sweet and metallic, a strange anomaly that sent a jolt through your system. you ignored it, caught up in the intoxicating whirlwind.

his body was freezing cold, save for his lips, his skin a contrast against the heat from your body which made a wave of concern rise up in the back of your head. but it was all forgotten as his hand moved to your neck, his fingers trailing a chilly path before dipping behind your ear.

you gasped at the sudden feeling, and heeseung took the opportunity to let his tongue enter your mouth. the kiss got messier and hotter, as if he was trying to devour you whole.

he rained kisses down your jawline, each one a searing brand against your skin. his touch sent shivers of anticipation down your spine, your breath hitching as you felt his teeth graze a sensitive spot.

it wasn't a bite, not yet. it was a brush, a feather-light caress that sent a jolt through your system. but it wasn't just the touch. there was something… different about his canines. they were sharper, pointier than human teeth, and the sensation sent a wave of surprise through you.

he froze, the movement of his mouth stopping abruptly. his breath hitched in his throat, coming out in ragged gasps like a predator startled mid-hunt. his eyes, locked on your neck, flickered with a mix of hunger and… something else. a flicker of remorse, a struggle you couldn't quite decipher.

the tension in the room was suffocating. you stared back at him, your mind a tangled mess of confusion and desire. but before you could form a question, before you could understand the shift in him, heeseung pulled away. his grip on your neck loosened, replaced by a cold indifference.

his eyes, once filled with a dark desire, now held a chilling emptiness. the warmth of his body vanished as he stepped back, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. he stared at you for a long, agonising moment, his eyes unreadable.

then, in a swift movement, he turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving you pressed against the door, the memory of the heated kiss a stark contrast to the cold dread settling in your stomach.

the heat of the kiss still lingered on your lips, a confusing memory tainted by the chilling realisation of what he truly was. you cradled your neck, the phantom sensation of his sharp touch lingering long after he was gone.

days bled into a strange silence. the unsettling encounters with heeseung, once a daily occurrence, had vanished. you wouldn't normally miss his presence, but the sudden absence gnawed at you with an unsettling curiosity. you found yourself glancing down the hallway at his door more often than you cared to admit, the memory of the stolen kiss replaying in your mind in a confusing loop.

the thought of venturing to his apartment, of seeking him out after the charged encounter in the washroom, sent a jolt of nervous energy through you.

shame burned in your cheeks at the memory of the heated kiss, a stark contrast to the chilling way he'd left you. yet, a sliver of concern gnawed at you. his absence was unnerving.

finally, curiosity, laced with apprehension, won over your better judgement. you stood outside his door, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked tentatively.

the silence stretched for what felt like an eternity before the door creaked open a sliver. heeseung stood there, his face pale and drawn, dark circles smudging the area under his eyes. he looked… unwell.

"heeseung?" you ventured, surprised by the concern that slipped into your voice. "are you alright? you look terrible."

he didn't answer, just stared at you with an icy indifference that sent a shiver down your spine. the playful glint in his eyes, once so unsettling, was replaced by a hollowness that chilled you to the bone.

heeseung scoffed, a harsh sound that scraped against your nerves. "i'm fine. now leave."

the hostility in his voice stung. the concern you felt evaporated, replaced by a cold anger.

"look," you snapped, "i just came to see if you were okay. but clearly, you don't want the help."

he scoffed, a humourless sound. "of course not. why would i need help from the likes of you?"

he slammed the door shut before you could retort, leaving you standing alone in the hallway, the echo of his harsh words ringing in your ears. shame burned in your cheeks, a confusing mix of hurt and anger churning in your gut.

how dare he act like you were the villain? he was the one who made your life a living nightmare, the one with secrets that sent shivers down your spine.

scowling, you berated yourself for your momentary lapse in judgement. you hated him. you had to.

he was a danger, a monster in disguise. yet, the flicker of something vulnerable you'd glimpsed in his eyes, the way he'd pulled away so abruptly… it was a confusing puzzle you couldn't seem to solve.

heeseung stumbled out of his apartment, a desperate lurch in his gait that spoke volumes of his weakened state. he fumbled with grabbing his keys, nearly dropping them, before finally unlocking the deadbolt.

he needed to get out, anywhere but the suffocating confines of his apartment. he threw a glance down the hallway, hoping for an empty elevator, but his luck had run dry. the red "in use" light mocked him above the metal doors.

he slammed on the button, urgency pushing past the haze in his head. as the doors dinged open, revealing you standing there, his heart sank.

heeseung flinched back, shuffling into the corner like a wounded animal. "get… out," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

"seriously?" you scoffed, following him with your glare. "that makeout session in the club must have been rough if you can't even stand the sight of me now."

heeseung remained silent, the effort of breathing stealing his focus. you rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath about his lack of manners. you turned away, choosing to ignore him.

suddenly, the elevator lurched to a halt, plunging the cramped space into slight darkness. a metallic groan filled the air.

"great," you sighed, reaching for the call button. "looks like we're stuck."

a strained voice answered through the speaker, informing you that a technician would be on their way shortly.

"shortly?" you groaned. "how long is shortly?"

"it's hard to say, ma'am. there's been a minor fault in the system."

you groaned, sinking down onto the floor.

heeseung remained silent, his body trembling. every passing second felt like an eternity. hunger gnawed at him, a primal urge clawing its way to the surface. he gritted his teeth, fighting against the monstrous transformation that threatened to take over.

"hey," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

you shot him a sceptical glance. "what?"

shame burned in his throat, but the need for survival outweighed his pride. "do you… by any chance… have any blood on you?"

you leaned closer, your suspicions finally confirmed.

"about time you admitted it," you cheered, a triumphant smirk creeping across your face. "i knew you weren't normal."

heeseung let out a dark chuckle, a sound devoid of humour. "don't get too excited," he rasped. "you shouldn't be so happy about this."

"oh, come on," you scoffed. "spill it. what are you? some kind of freak?"

a tense silence followed, broken only by the hum of the faulty elevator. finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"vampire."

shock flooded your system. it was one thing to suspect, another to hear it confirmed.

"no way," you scoffed, refusing to believe it. "vampires don't exist."

but his next words sent a shiver down your spine. "the reason i stopped you at the club… it wasn't because of the kiss. it was the smell of your blood. it was… intoxicating."

"ever since i've met you…" he began, his voice surprisingly soft despite the edge of desperation in it. "the smell of your blood, so sweet, has been driving me crazy. so different from anything i've ever encountered."

he paused, a tremor running through his voice. "for years, i've resisted feeding on humans. morality, you might call it. i rely on animal blood, a poor substitute at best. but your blood…" he took a shaky breath, "it was like a siren song. after that night, i can’t even smell any other type of blood without my stomach churning in disgust."

you listened intently, a strange fascination battling with the fear that coiled in your gut. this wasn't the heeseung you knew, the playful neighbor who reveled in teasing you. this was a creature raw and exposed, driven by a primal need he could barely articulate.

"years," he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "years of animal blood, a constant reminder of what i can't have. but then you…" he trailed off, the echo of that night in the club hanging heavy between you.

a shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn't entirely from fear. there was a vulnerability in his confession, a desperate need for something more than just sustenance.

"the challenge," he said, his voice gaining a tinge of bitterness. "the forbidden fruit. maybe that's what drew me in at first. but then…" he hesitated, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features.

"then what?" you prompted, your voice barely a whisper. this wasn't how you'd imagined confronting a vampire, yet here you were, drawn into his story.

"don't you see?" heeseung's voice rose, a tremor of desperation colouring it. "you make me weak, vulnerable. yet, your defiance only intensifies the pull. you're everything i shouldn't want, everything i crave."

the revelation sent a jolt through you, a terrifying mix of fear and… something else. the line between predator and prey seemed to blur in the confines of the elevator. you were trapped, yes, but there was also a strange sense of being held hostage by a creature consumed by a desire he both craved and loathed.

the silence that followed heeseung's confession stretched on, thick with a tension that was no longer just fear. you understood him, perhaps better than he understood himself.

taking a deep breath, you surprised yourself by what you said next. "maybe there’s another way."

heeseung's head snapped up, his eyes searching your face in the dim light. "what do you mean?"

"i can help" you held out your wrist, the moonlight filtering through a crack in the elevator door illuminating the delicate veins beneath your skin. "you said you needed blood. maybe i can…

he recoiled as if struck. "no. absolutely not. i won't—"

"heeseung," you interrupted, your voice firm despite the tremor in your heart. "look at me. i'm not scared. in fact…" you hesitated, a blush creeping up your neck. "maybe i… feel the same way."

the air crackled with a new kind of tension. heeseung stared at you, his face a mask of disbelief. "the same way? how?"

"like you said," you whispered, "forbidden. a dangerous attraction." you met his gaze, holding it with a newfound resolve. "if this is what you need, i… i consent."

heeseung's breath hitched. shame flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a raw hunger that made your own pulse quicken. "but," he said, his voice low and urgent, "i need more. much more. and from… a different place."

your stomach lurched. "different place?"

a flicker of vulnerability crossed his features. "my apologies," he murmured. "to properly sustain me, i need… the jugular."

the word hung heavy in the air, a primal request that sent a wave of apprehension through you. the image of a vampire sinking its fangs into someone's neck flashed before your eyes. but then, against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding slowly.

a surge of relief, tinged with desperation, washed over heeseung. he moved towards you, a predator closing in on its prey. the closeness brought back a memory - the night in the club bathroom, pressed against the wall, his chilly breath on your neck.

he trapped you against the corner, his body a wall of heat, completely different from the other day where he was freezing.

"please," he rasped, his voice raw with hunger and a strange, desperate plea. "i can't control myself much longer. let me…"

his voice trailed off, replaced by a whimper that both shocked and ignited something within you. this wasn't the cold, calculating heeseung you'd feared. this was a creature on the brink, his monstrous hunger battling with a threadbare shred of control.

"alright," you whispered, the word leaving your lips before you could overthink it.

he didn't hesitate. he leaned in, his movements a blur of desperation. kisses, hot and wet, rained down on your neck, each one a branding iron leaving a fiery mark. you closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain. but it never came.

instead, as his fangs pierced your skin, a jolt of something unexpected surged through you. it wasn't pain, but a warmth that spread through your body like liquid fire. your mind grew hazy, your senses overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure that originated from the very point of contact.

he moaned, a deep, primal sound that echoed in the confined space. "so sweet," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "the best i've ever tasted."

he drank deeply, his body trembling with each intake. you could hear him purring, a low rumble that resonated deep within your core. the pleasure was overwhelming, a dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure that left you gasping for breath. your mind turned hazy, each noise tumbling out of his lips sounding like liquid gold to you.

when he finally pulled away, breathless and satiated, he looked at you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. he languidly licked away the remnants of blood from the wound, his warm tongue sending a jolt of electricity through you.

he didn't stop there. he swiped at the blood that trickled down your collarbone, his tongue making a suggestive swipe against your skin. a dangerous glint flickered in his eyes, and you couldn't help but lean closer, a thrill coursing through you.

the jarring hum of the elevator coming back to life jolted you both from your current position. heeseung, his fangs retracted, quickly pressed the button for your floor. a strange mixture of fear and elation bubbled in your chest, a sensation as unfamiliar as the pleasure you'd just experienced.

he turned to you, his eyes searching your face. "are you alright?" his voice was concerned, a stark contrast to his needy whines just moments ago.

you hesitantly reached for your neck, expecting a throbbing pain. instead, you found smooth, unmarked skin. a gasp escaped your lips. "it… it healed?"

heeseung nodded, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "vampire saliva," he explained casually. "has a few… interesting properties. speeds up healing, for one."

a blush crept up your cheeks as you recalled the wave of euphoria that had washed over you during his feeding. "and…" you stammered, "the pleasure?"

"speaking of pleasure," heeseung's voice dipped to a husky whisper, "vampire saliva has another... side effect."

he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "an aphrodisiac," he breathed, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "especially potent when mixed with a good dose of desire. all thanks to those initial kisses on your neck i had planted.”

"so that's why…" you mumbled, suddenly embarrassed.

the elevator doors slid open, revealing the familiar hallway. you stepped out, feeling oddly energised despite the ordeal. a playful smile tugged at your lips.

"so," you said, turning to face him, your fingers playfully tapping his arm, "how do you plan to repay me for that little… service?"

heeseung raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. before he could answer, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a sweet kiss. pulling away, he grinned, his fangs catching the dim light playfully.

your heart hammered in your chest as he took your hand, his touch sending a spark of heat through you. stepping closer to your apartment, he winked.

"let's discuss repayment options in private, shall we?" he said, his voice dripping with a promise of things to come.

he took your hand again, his touch surprisingly warm despite his vampiric nature. before you could respond, he gently steered you towards your apartment, leaving you breathless and caught in the undercurrent of a dangerous, exhilarating game you'd just begun to play.

as you fumbled with your keys, trying to unlock the door in hurry, he leaned down next to you and murmured, his voice a low, suggestive rumble.

"i'm sure you taste just as good everywhere else."

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[ohproserpine]

ii. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3

tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, unsettling & obsessive behavior, jealousy, possessiveness, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, unwanted advances (not by alastor), murder, graphic descriptions of injuries

As the days unfolded into weeks, Alastor remained true to his word. A routine soon formed between the two of you: he would make regular visits to the speakeasy, engage in polite conversations with Mimzy, and take his usual seat to enjoy your performance.

In time, Alastor's interactions with you grew more intimate. And one night, following the success of one of your busiest night and biggest show, he surprised you with a beautiful necklace. Pulling you into your dressing room, Alastor asked for permission to formally court you. Without hesitation, you agreed, and in a burst of affection, proceeded to kiss him within an inch of your life. 

Since then, Alastor had begun to take you on dates outside the speakeasy. He whisked you away to quaint diners, lively jazz joints, and even introduced you to his mother—a sweet woman who welcomed you with open arms.

Throughout your time together, not a single one of your performances escaped Alastor'. Why would they? For him, your shows were the very essence of color in his otherwise dull and monotonous existence. His devotion to you almost mirrored religious fervor as he attended each of your shows like an impassioned disciple in the dimly lit speakeasy pews.

Your voice became a spell, luring Alastor like a foolish sailor drawn to a siren's call. In those moments, the world faded away, and he followed the melody with an irresistible pull, captivated by thoughts of you, you, you.

Only you.

Tonight, however, was anything but ordinary.

Alastor, following his usual routine, occupied his customary spot at the pub, savoring his whiskey with slow sips from his glass. However, the comforting rhythm of the night, which he had grown used to, was broken when the band screeched to a halt, the shrill notes of the violin cutting through the air. Immediately, the pub erupted in a chorus of boos and shouts.

Alastor blinked, his smile turning strained as he noticed a man stumble onto the stage. It was clear that he was intoxicated, moving about as gracefully as a headless chicken, as he made his way towards you, nearly knocking you off your feet.

Noticing the commotion, Mimzy clicked her tongue, slammed her drink onto the counter, and swiftly rose to her feet. She rushed to the stage, the glitters on her vibrant dress catching the dim lights of the speakeasy.

“Why, I oughta—" she began to seethe, as she stomped towards the stage, finger wagging in the air. “That’s the fifth time this week, Giovanni!”

"Ah, Mimzy! Jus' wanted to surprise my sweetheart," Giovanni slurred, his thick accent muddled as he clumsily leaned into you, head tucking into your neck.

Snap.

Alastor felt a visceral reaction, something within him snapping as the glass in his hand cracked under the strain of his grip. The fractured crevices dug into his skin, and golden liquor seeped out, mixing with crimson red blood.

As a regular performer at this pub, your popularity was unquestionable, and Alastor was not entirely pleased with the attention you garnered from other men. If given the opportunity, he would have you whisked away from this place. In his eyes, your voice was too lovely for a place like this. Your talent deserved a grander stage than the confines of this tacky establishment.

“Ahah,” you smiled awkwardly, shuffling away and shrugging the man's arms off of you. “Not your sweetheart, Giovanni…”

"Are you not happy to see me, carina?" Giovanni’s voice dropped to a whisper, his hand dropping to grip you by the waist. He leaned his face in closer, and you cringed. The man's breath reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were a bloodshot red. “Come on~ I came all the way to see you.”

“Ya' can go see and do whatevah the fuck you want with her after the show!” Mimzy scowled, stomping her heels onto the wooden flooring. “Can't have a moment of peace in here. Someone get him off my stage!”

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want!" Giovanni retorted, his anger bubbling over as he lashed out, kicking the microphone stand in Mimzy's direction. She barely dodged in time, the crash of the mic hitting the floor drowned out by the screeching feedback.

"Please. Just go," you pleaded, your patience wearing thin. "Why? Why do you always have to make a scene?"

"Ay, carina, don't get bratty with me. Let's talk in the back," Giovanni insisted, his grip on your shoulders tightening as he attempted to pull you off the stage. But before he could, Mimzy's guards intervened, forcefully yanking him away.

"Hey! Get ya' hands off'a me!"

Turning around, you rushed to get off the stage, but Giovanni somehow managed to break free and extended his hand, trying to grab onto you. Panic welled up within you as his hand reached out, but relief followed when he was abruptly stopped by none other than Alastor.

"Now, now," Alastor's voice had a lilt as he held onto Giovanni's wrist, but the venom woven into each word was unmistakable. His ever-present smile stretched wide, serving as a clear warning. "Causing a commotion isn't the best way to impress a lady."

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wring his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled and adjusted his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"This ain't none of ya’ business. Let go’a me!" Giovanni scowled, attempting to wriggle his hand out of the brunette's iron grip. Alastor merely chuckled, adjusting his glasses with his free hand, the unsettling grin still playing on his lips throughout the exchange.

"Ha ha! Kind sir, when someone disrupts a delightful performance, it becomes everyone's business," Alastor laughed, the sound of it tinged with sarcasm.

"But I must commend you. My, that impromptu performance of yours was quite remarkable; you truly made a wonderful spectacle of yourself!" Alastor's grin widened, his mocking tone drawing out laughter from the crowd.

Then, Alastor bent down to meet Giovanni face to face, his amusement fading. 

“Though I think you've overstayed your welcome, no?” Alastor's grip tightened around Giovanni's wrist, the pressure leaving bruises in its wake, hues of purple, green, and blue blossoming beneath the skin.

Alastor's grin turned sharp. "You will leave. Now."

"F-Fuck are you gonna do if I don’t, aye?" Giovanni spat, attempting to maintain a façade of bravado despite the pain. He tore his hand away from Alastor's grip, cradling his wrist. "Ya' think you can tell me what to fucking do?!"

"Hmm. I would at least advise you to salvage whatever dignity you have left and leave. If you had even a dust of intelligence in that hollow head of yours, that would have been the first thing you'd have done," Alastor chuckled.

“Damn right. Ya ain't got no fuckin place in my establishment,” Mimzy scowled, snapping her fingers and gesturing towards the men surrounding Giovanni. “Take him away, boys!”

As Mimzy’s goons surrounded him again, Giovanni sneered, "This ain't over."

"Oh, my dear pal, I assure you, it is very much over. The lady has made her wishes very clear," Alastor grinned.

With a final snarl, Giovanni was forcibly led away from the scene, his protests fading into the background as Mimzy's guards escorted him out. Mimzy wasted no time, bustling backstage and barking orders to her staff to clean up and prepare the stage once more.

Alastor's charismatic facade returned as he turned to you, though a glint of irritation lingered in his eyes. "Apologies you had to see that, cher. Let's hope the rest of the evening proceeds much more smoothly."

"I hope so." With a sigh, your gaze shifted downward, and you spotted his injured hands. The glass he had broken earlier had left wounds all over his calloused palms — not deep, but enough to draw blood.

Concern etched across your face, and you gently touched Alastor's hands. The radio host, accustomed to your touch by now, allowed you to inspect the damage.

"You're hurt," you pointed out, caressing his skin.

Alastor met your gaze with a reassuring smile. "Ah, this is just a trifle. A mere inconvenience, I assure you! My, I've endured far worse during hunting, darling! This is hardly worth mentioning."

"But—" you began, only to be interrupted by his finger pushing against your red lips.

"Worry not, cher. I'll take care of it. There's no need to play nurse," he spoke with finality, as if this was a matter not open to further argument.

"Alright," You managed a small smile. "I am really sorry things turned out this way, Al. I didn't know Giovanni was going to show up again. He's always been like that for as long as I can remember. I told him to stop but he never does."

"No need for apologies. None of this fault is on you, darling. Though it does add a touch of excitement to otherwise mundane affairs, doesn't it?" Alastor chuckled heartily, though you sensed there was a bitter undertone to his laugh.

"Excitement? That man is a shitshow just waiting to happen," Mimzy returned and walked up to both of you, rolling her eyes. "And I thought I got rid of him for good..."

Suddenly, she leaned in with cosmetics in hand, deftly swiping lipstick across your lips and delicately brushing blush on your face. "Now come on, dollface, let's get you back to that stage."

You realize you're still on shift, but the thought of performing feels nearly impossible at the moment, especially with all this lingering adrenaline in your system. Admittedly, you're a bit shaken up, and all you want is to curl up by Alastor's side and savor the night with a drink in hand. 

"Oh, Mimzy…I'm not sure I can really perform right now, love. I feel…" you slowly trailed off, faltering under the weight of Mimzy's hardened gaze.

The blonde cooed out your name, her fingers gently wrapping around your arm, soothingly rubbing it up and down. "Dollface, you're not here to question; you're here to perform! Alastor here has been so kind to get rid of your little problem. Now, let's get back up on that stage and do what you're good at."

"Pardon?" Alastor snapped with a raised brow, his usually jovial tone replaced by a sharper edge. "Well, I don't mind in the least. In fact, I rather enjoyed putting that simpleton in his place. I'm sure your patrons can afford to wait, can't they? This poor dear is still shaking in her heels!"

But you intervened, mustering a smile and smoothing down the wrinkles on your dress while nervously tending to your hair. "Oh no, Al, it's alright. Mimzy's right. I can't just let one man ruin my entire night."

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, taking a moment to compose before adding, "Besides, the show must go on, right?"

Alastor paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied your nervous tics. The radio host silently appraised your form for a few more seconds before eventually giving in. "Hmm, very well. If that's what you wish."

"Thank you, Al," you whispered with a smile, tilting your head up to press a kiss against his cheek. Your lipstick had left an imprint on his bronze skin, but he made no move to wipe it off.

With a chuckle, Alastor leaned back into you and returned the gesture warmly. 

"I'll take care of everything, doll," he whispered, voice low, before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "He won't ever bother you again."

Confused, you blinked up at him with those bright eyes he loved so much. "How do you plan to do that, Al?" you asked, but he ignored you, staring at you with that unsettling look in his eyes again.

Alastor suddenly raised your hand to his lips, brushing the knuckles with gentle pecks, causing your mind to blank and cheeks to go aflame. 

Tapping her foot impatiently, Mimzy's irritation grew as the display of affection lingered longer than she deemed appropriate. With a swift swat of her hand against the man's shoulder, she hissed at him. "That's enough outta you!"

Alastor smirked to himself and began walking back, seemingly satisfied with the subtle disturbance he had caused. He was such a bastard, but he was yours.

With a shake of your head and a smitten blush gracing your cheeks, you returned to the stage. The blinding spotlight enveloped you as Mimzy tossed the microphone back into your waiting hands. 

Meanwhile, Alastor reclined in his seat at the booth, his gaze fixed intently on you as you resumed your performance. The audience, having brushed off the brief interruption, eagerly redirected their focus to you.

Rabbit, rabbit! Won't you run away? Don't give the farmer all his fun today~ He'll get by without his rabbit pie. So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run!

As you neared the end of the song, Alastor joined the crowd's applause, rhythmically snapping his fingers together.

Wonderful, as always.

.

Snap.

The sudden, jarring sound shattered the stillness of the forest, followed by a shrill scream that seemed to shake the trees. Giovanni's hands instinctively shot down to his ankle, where his bone had twisted in a gruesome sight that sent bile rushing to his throat. However, he had no time to inspect the damages as a rustling bush caught his attention. Desperately, the man began crawling on the ground, doing his best to move farther away, dragging mud and dirt all over his body.

"Don't give the farmer his fun. Fun. Fun," emerging from thick shrubs, Alastor sang lowly as he continued his slow advance, relishing in the fear that emanated from his prey. He raised his hand, fingers idly tracing over the red mark on your lips, and if he focused hard enough, he could still feel the burn of your affections. "He'll get by without his rabbit pie."

The dense forest around them seemed to close in, casting eerie shadows as Alastor's menacing silhouette moved closer. Giovanni, now gasping for breath, cast terrified glances over his shoulder, desperately searching for an escape route.

"So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run," Alastor continued to trail after the man, his axe slung over his strong shoulders, a sinister grin etched on his lips.

Ah, it had been so long since he last pursued larger prey, opting for smaller catches like rabbits and squirrels lately. This, however, was a different kind of pursuit, and the thrill was delicious.

“It's rather unsavory to disrupt a live performance,” Alastor mused, gripping his axe and running his bandaged palm along the side of the blade. "Oh, the misery! Each performance interrupted, a masterpiece marred!"

“Though I suppose you redeemed yourself with your own impromptu circus show,” Alastor snickered, reaching down and seizing Giovanni’s sprained ankle, dragging the screaming man back toward him.

"Good show!" The radio host grinned as he pressed his feet against Giovanni's back to prevent him from escaping. Alastor raised the axe high, the glint of the blade reflecting the crazed gleam in his eyes.

"Now, let's see how this act ends."

With a practiced swing, he brought the blade down, chunks of flesh and blood spraying onto his clothing and skin from the impact. Alastor laughed as the light gradually faded from the man's eyes, his once-struggling arms and legs now falling limp.

“What a show!”

[ssahotchnerr]

okay so, I really don't like angst so I'll go with jealous!Hotch 🤭

Something like when Reader is at Jack's soccer game and Idk, a dad flirts with her? But when Jack sees that she's talking with someone who isn't Hotch, he calls her "mom" in front of the dad who's flirting with her, (bc he's jealous too 🤭) but Hotch hears him and he's kind of moved, but someone is flirting with his girl so he gets all jealous and starts like kissing her or something in front of the man? And the night they end up at his home, with Hotch showing her that she belongs to him 🤭

(feel free to change anything, don't worry, also, sorry for my bad english, it's not my first language 😭)

keeping score

🤭 minors dni cw; fem!reader, jack calls reader mom, unwanted advances, suggestiveness, allusions to sex, small praise, dominant!jealous!possessive aaron 🦋 wc; 1.5k

early saturday mornings - grass still slightly wet from the dew, the sun slowly rising higher into the sky (threatening a hot day), sat alongside a soccer field - you couldn't imagine another place you'd rather be.

as aaron was the coach, you spent majority of jack's game sitting alone. it was a small price to pay; you were more than happy to cheer on jack from the sidelines, and to check aaron out as much as you wanted.

but most importantly, attending his games made you feel like you were a part of the family. the hotchners were closed off and let very few people in, and so your attendance here only solidified your role in both their lives. that aaron planned on keeping you around, and that jack trusted you. your role in his life wasn't to someday replace his mom, but rather you were just another person who simply loved him. you loved him like he was your own, and he knew it.

"mornin'," a voice pulled you from your thoughts; a familiar face amongst the other parents on the team, but you didn't know him by name.

you offered a quick, friendly smile, "good morning."

he set up camp near you, setting his foldable chair down and getting settled a few feet away. you paid him no mind, resuming your attention to something more worthy of your focus, such as how attractive aaron looked in the jeans he was wearing. and the game, obviously.

however, you could feel him peering at you from time to time, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

ten minutes or so passed before he spoke again, "so, big soccer fan?"

your eyes followed jack, who was dribbling the soccer ball down the field. your heart swelled with pride as he successfully kicked it to a teammate, "not until recently."

"me too." he offered you a look that he probably thought was slick, while you kept your gaze straight forward. "i'm always looking to score, if you know what i mean."

his words instantly caused your cheeks to burn, along with your whole body. it was clear he was objectifying you, with no good intentions in mind.

you didn't bother replying. hopefully, that would be a clear indicator for him to leave, or to leave you alone.

but he still chose to linger. and while he wasn't speaking, in your peripheral you kept noticing his head turn, gazing in your direction. his eyes were nearly burning a hole into you.

"shit." he swore as he suddenly stood up, picking up and moving his chair even closer to yours, "the grass is eating away at my chair. must've been that damn rain last night."

it hadn't rained last night.

the unsettling feeling he was causing you only grew, but again you didn't dare to say anything. the uncomfortableness only eased when the whistle finally blew, signaling halftime. this meant a water break and a small snack for the kids, and it meant aaron and jack would soon be joining you for a moment.

as expected, jack hurried towards you as soon as one of the other moms distributed him his snack, but paused abruptly as he reached you, his eyes scanning between you and the man. a confused expression filled his face, his bottom lip sticking out into a pout. it was the same one he produced whenever aaron gave him the fifteen minute warning for bedtime.

"mom," jack inserted himself in between the two of you, a small package of fruit snacks in hand, "can you open these for me?"

you froze for a spilt second, touched and surprised. you've been a constant in both aaron and jack's lives for almost a year now. but that title, was a first.

"of course sweet pea," you coughed a bit to clear your throat, and to stop the tears from surfacing, opening it for him.

"you did good out there kiddo," the dad spoke again, flashing a smile.

your fists clenched at that one - you knew he was trying to impress you, and you hated how he had decided to use interacting with jack to his advantage.

just wait until you find how he's the coach's son.

while you were furious, jack ever so slightly rolled his eyes, such an annoyed expression almost humorous for a child his age, choosing to focus on his snack and leaning comfortably against your shoulder.

and a minute or two later, aaron joined.

as aaron approached, his face nearly pulled into the same expression as his son's as he analyzed the visual in front of him. only his was accompanied with a more hardened, possessive aggressiveness.

"hi sweetheart," aaron greeted you, leaning in to kiss you once you were on your feet. it wasn't a chaste peck either, but rather more showy. his fingers grasped onto the waistline of your pants, pulling you flush to him. "enjoying the game?"

you nodded, still recovering from the unexpected heated kiss, looking down at jack who also was glued to your side, offering protection of his very own. you gave him a smile, ruffling his hair gently, "i think we've got a soccer star on our hands."

"speaking of," aaron started, straightening his torso and squaring his shoulders, making him appear taller. "jack, why don't you join the others. they're taking turns aiming at the goal before the game resumes."

with a nod, and after handing you the empty wrapper, jack ran off to his teammates. aaron was still holding his menacing glare, but dropped the entire expression suddenly.

"how are you feeling?"

"feeling...?" your eyebrows quirked in confusion.

"you're not too sore today, aren't you?" his eyes darted behind you, a rather confident, fiery glint within them. "i wasn't holding back last night, was i?"

oh.

"and now that i'm thinking about it, i don't think you've ever been that loud either."

aaron had always been a stickler for pda; any displays were kept to quick kisses, hand holding, and any suggestive comments were kept to a murmur, meant for you and you only. even when you tagged along with him to bau outings, such as a bar on a saturday night, he held back. anything more was private, and aaron preferred it that way - him being the only one to witness you in such a vulnerable state, was something he took gratification in, and only added to his overall pleasure.

so this, was something else. he wasn't speaking loud enough for all to hear, just enough for the man in question. your back was towards him, so you had no idea how he was reacting to aaron's words.

"i'm fine." you managed, your body also reacting immediately.

aaron's lips found home behind your ear, again conscience of his volume - just loud enough. "good, because i'm not done with you yet."

aaron's hand slid up to the small of your back, but not without stopping on the curve of your ass first - again he wasn't subtle about it, making sure it was noticeable.

and it had to be working, for the man hadn't uttered a single word.

"and actually, sweetheart." another glare pointed behind you. "would you mind helping me at the bench for the rest of the game? i could use an extra set of hands."

"of course." you blurted out, complying without a second thought.

"good girl," he was heavy on the emphasis, patting your hip affectionately. "c'mon."

you were visually flustered as you leaned down to gather your belongings, especially when aaron's hand rested on the small of your back as you did so. your eyes lifted to the man, who was avoiding all eye contact, staring off into the field with a flushed face.

once you straightened up aaron took your hand, leading you away.

"thank you." you mumbled as your hand slid up his arm, giving his bicep a squeeze.

aaron's jaw clenched. "i fucking hated the way he was looking at you."

"you wouldn't like what he was saying either." you mumbled, causing aaron's nostrils to flare in anger. but to calm him, you changed the subject, heat filling your cheeks again, "and you."

a pleased, closed lip smile graced his face. "what about me?"

"what was all that?" you teased, stomach fluttering. you already knew the answer, but it was something you wanted to hear from him again. "i've never heard you, so..."

he chuckled softly, an almost embarrassing undertone to his words. "vocal?"

"yeah." you blurted out, blinking. "it was hot."

aaron shrugged, satisfied but still agitated. "he was devouring you, practically undressing you with his eyes."

"well, i don't think he'll be trying anything again."

"i know he won't," aaron's eyes darkened as his overly confident demeanor resurfaced, his lips pulling into a smirk as one of his fingers tapped your neck, "especially when he sees you next week. because you won't be covering up those marks."

[diejager]

hear me out, your mother goes on holiday with her friends and horangi is away on some family business which means stepdad!König has the reader all to himself for like a week and he’s been crawling into bed with her so in the morning he can convince reader to let him fuck her dumb🤭

Oooh, you beat me to it! I wanted to write this but hadn’t really had the time yet! Cw: dub-con/non-con, stepcest, cheating, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, cunnilingus, anal fingering, anal sex, thigh fucking, tell me if I missed any.

You felt your heart sink to the darkest pit of your stomach when your mom kissed you on the head and made your stepfather promise to watch over you while she was away on a month-long holiday/business party to get that promotion she was aiming for. You would be home alone with König, without your mom’s presence to mediate and busy him from hovering over you and touching you nonstop. The only “light in the darkness” of your situation was that Kim - he told you over and over to call him Kim even though your stepfather used Horangi - was gone for the week, a family emergency he said, grumbling about his past catching up to him.

He doesn’t do anything on the first day, letting your apprehension and nerves simmer in your gut, letting you squirm in your seat while he stares you down at the head of the table, his plate left untouched to watch you eat his dish. You went to bed feeling unsettled, eyes wide open until the clock hit midnight, unable to stay awake from the day’s stress.

You wake up beside him from then on, his chest pressed against your back with his thick arms wrapped around your waist, his morning wood jabbing at your ass with rhythmic throbs. He either fucks your thighs, slipping his leaky cock between them, the loud ad wet slaps of his cock; he spoons you, lifting your leg over his arm as he rocks himself into you, slamming his bulbous tip against your bruised and spongy cervix; or he straddles your legs, jerking himself off with one hand and the other stretching your tight rim with two big fingers.

You spend your waking hours around him, confided to your house and on a leash - at his beck and call - with your stepfather doing everything he can to keep it that way. He has you on your knees between his legs, cockwarming him with your hot mouth, your jaw aching and your mouth drooling over his balls. Your knees hurt, but you can’t tell him how bruised they feel because his cock sits heavily at the back of your throat and you’re trying not to choke and gag on it. It makes him proud that you can take him too, your mother couldn’t, but he wasn’t bothered by it.

If you’re not slobbering all over him, you’re sprawled across the table, back arching and toes curling as he eats you out. You flush from the wet sounds of your cunt and your moans, covering your face with your hands even when König growls at you to look him in the eye as he devoured your cunt. He laps at your folds, the fat of his tongue laying flat over your clit and pulling the hood up, stimulating the twitching nub. His hands grip your waist, holding you still to suckle at your oversensitive button and pump his tongue into your cunt, then teasing your twitching rim.

And at the end of the day, he fucks you to sleep, slamming his hips into you and growling in your ears about how tight you feel around him and how wet you were. He pumps you full of cum, one load spilling over another, he fills you with so much that it bursts from you, globs leaking out of your tight hold, yet you’re still so bloated, navel bulging with more than the girth and size of him. He alternates between your cunt and your ass, filling you in one place and making you sleep with him leaking out of you, drying and crusting over the night and looking at your gaping hole clench.

By the time Horangi’s back, you’re limping around the house, dreading the moment he comes back and cursing at every little stab of pain in your core. And by the time your mom’s back, you can’t even greet her at the door, laying limp on your bed while Horangi and König smile at her at the door.

“Ah, Schatz isn’t feeling so well,” your stepdad reassures your mom when she doesn’t see you beside them. “She’s resting upstairs.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[moonstruckme]

mae my lovely, can i possibly request emt!marauders and reader who hasn’t replied to any texts in a few days/a week? pre-established relationship but not quite living together, and reader struggles with her mental health and has holed herself up in her apartment which worries the boys greatly? please don’t write if you feel uncomfortable (and if you’ve already written it but i’ve devoured emt!marauders today and i don’t think you have) obviously!! love you

Thank you for requesting my love! And thanks to @ellecdc for helping me figure out the emt stuff <3

cw: mental health struggles, self isolation

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Sirius’ knuckles rap loudly on your door. 

“Fuck, ease up.” James winces. “She’s gonna think we’re the cops.” 

“Good. Maybe she’ll answer for them.” 

“You need to calm down.” Remus’ voice is patience with a firm edge. “We don’t know what’s going on. If we go in angry with her, it’s not going to help anything.” 

“I think I have the right to be somewhat miffed,” Sirius argues. “You ghost someone after a first date, not once you’re in a relationship. It’s fucked.” 

“She’s not ghosting us,” James says certainly. Sirius’ mouth pinches in response.

James knows that, truly, his boyfriend is as worried as any of them. You’re well past the point in your relationship where you feel the need to establish the next time you’re going to meet before parting, but after your date last week it took the boys a few days to put it together that none of them had heard from you. 

At first, James presumed you’d simply gotten busy. Remus was convinced he’d done something to upset you. Sirius, secretly the most prone to worry, would rather believe he’s been slighted than consider the possibility that something might be keeping you from responding to their calls. Now that it’s been nearly a week, James is convinced something’s happened. You’ve had to take an emergency trip out of town or something’s spooked you and made you avoid them or—worst case scenario—you’re ill and have been holed up here with no one to check in on you for almost a week. 

Once he brought up that idea, it wasn’t difficult to convince his boyfriends to do a wellness check during their shift. 

“Just don’t be harsh with her,” Remus says gently. 

Sirius huffs. He knocks again, albeit somewhat softer. 

“NHS,” he calls. 

James holds his breath when he hears some shuffling from inside. Gradually, it gets closer and louder, until the door is creaking open and you’re peering through the crack. 

Your voice is scratchy, like you haven’t used it in a while. “What’re you doing here?”

James expects Sirius to snipe at you, is already prepared to smooth it over himself with kinder words and a gentler tone, but something seems to shift in the other boy at the sight of you. He pushes through the crack in your door, hugging you fiercely. 

“We…” Remus seems as thrown by this deviation as James is. “We thought we ought to check up on you.” 

Your hand migrates up, touching Sirius’ back tentatively. “Why?”

“It’s a wellness check.” Sirius’ voice is bitter, but the effect is somewhat muddled by how he’s speaking into your neck. “We had reason to believe you could be harmed or deceased.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

James takes a moment to look you over. You’re in pajamas, visibly rumpled, and yet you look as tired as if you’ve not slept in some time. There’s something off about your expression, something missing that he can’t put his finger on. It’s unsettling in a way that makes him want to wrap you up in a tight cuddle and not let go. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, perhaps more brash than he means to be. Normally he’d expect more tact from himself, but he’s shocked Sirius hasn’t asked yet, and someone has to.

“Can we come in?” Remus asks at the same time. 

You look between them like you’re not sure what to do with them. Like you’re questioning whether you’re still in some sort of dream. 

“Yeah,” you say after a moment. James gets the sense you mean it to answer both of them. You step back from the door to make room for them, and Sirius moves with you. “Um, forewarning, it’s really bad in here.” 

Really bad by your standards isn’t the same as James’. If he hadn’t seen the way you normally keep things, he’d never notice anything was amiss. Your place smells a bit stale, like when you leave for a weekend and then come home. There’s a laundry basket on the floor with a few balled socks like you’d started to fold them and given up, and if he peers into your bedroom he can see a small trash pile on your floor and the covers of your bed all twisted up. It’s no worse than his side of the dorm he’d shared with Remus and Sirius in school. 

“What happened?” Sirius asks you. His voice sounds clearer now, and James focuses back in to find that he’s let you go enough to press his forehead to yours. His brow and lips are pinched. “Why have you been avoiding us?” 

James is nearly overcome by the desire to kiss him and rub his back, but he decides to let you have the honor, if you want it. 

You look unsure whether you do. 

“I’m sorry.” The words seem scraped out from some aching part of you. “I wasn’t trying to.” 

“Then why didn’t you answer our calls?” Sirius’ tone matches yours for desperation. Remus’ expression twinges compassionately. 

“I couldn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“Sirius,” Remus chides softly. 

Your shoulders are slumped, but when Sirius moves away you seem to droop further. He’s only giving you space, his expression far from unkind. 

“Why couldn’t you pick up, dove?” Remus asks gently. 

“I…” Your eyes meander the floor. “I didn’t know what to talk about. And then my phone died, and it was just easier. I’m really sorry.” 

“Is talking to us really that bad?” Sirius is clearly making an attempt at joking, but the heartache underlying his words is unmissable. 

“No,” you sigh. “I’m just not really fit for the world right now. I didn’t want you to worry.” 

James’ ribs hurt at your admission, but he feels himself nodding. Even if he doesn’t know exactly what it is you’re dealing with, he’s familiar with people who think they’re somehow so damaged they don’t deserve to engage with anyone or anything. Sirius was like that once. Remus even more often. He sees the recognition on both of their faces now, pity and love and regret all tangled up into one messy thing. 

“Well, it was a noble effort,” says James, giving you a small smile, “but you can’t stop us worrying. Can I hug you?”

You nod, making an effort towards returning his smile. It’s a half-hearted, flickering thing, but he appreciates it nonetheless. 

He kisses your forehead as he folds you into his arms, starting gentle and tightening when you hug him back. Your grip feels a bit weak, if ardent. James pushes his palm up your spine. 

“Have you eaten today, sweetheart?” 

Your hum in the negative vibrates against his skin. 

“I’ll make us something.” Remus starts toward the kitchen, passing a hand over James’ curls as he goes by. “A sandwich alright, dovey?” 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” His voice raises as he enters the kitchen, and James knows he wants you to hear. To understand that this is something he would happily do for you. 

“Let’s sit down,” James suggests. “Pads, would you mind opening the curtains some?” 

Sirius complies with vigor, whipping open your drapes while James gets you situated on the couch. In the light, the shadows under your eyes are more evident, as is the redness in them. 

James squishes you up against his side. Rubs up and down your arm. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. 

You make a tiny, stymied sound, and turn your head down. 

“Hey.” Sirius sits on your other side. He kisses your shoulder, worry hewn into the lines of his face. “What’s wrong?” 

Your shoulders give a little shake. It’s small, defeated. You curl further in on yourself. 

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” 

“You don’t have to explain,” James tells you, continuing to drag his hand up your arm. “It’s okay. You’re alright.” 

“I wanted—” You take in a wet inhale. He feels close to tears himself. “I wanted to be better when I saw you. I’m sorry.” 

“We don’t need you to be any sort of way, sweetheart.” Sirius’ voice is soft but fervent. “We just want to be with you.”

“As much as you’ll let us,” James agrees. His own voice is thick, and Sirius slides his arm around you to rub between his shoulders. 

You don’t say much after that. James holds you tight until your trembling stops, and even then he only loosens his grip to let you eat the grilled cheese Remus has made for you. From the wrappers he saw in your room, it’s likely the closest thing to a prepared meal you’ve had in some time. 

When you’re done eating, Sirius insists on kissing the saltiness from your cheeks even though your tears have dried. Remus coaxes you into a bath while James and Sirius tidy your room and change your sheets, and then Remus enlists Sirius to shampoo your hair while he tucks your sheets in more effectively. They put your phone on the charger. James makes dinner and puts it in the fridge for you to have later. None of it fixes anything, but he hopes it makes you feel less alone. 

When they have to go out for another call, Remus gives you a long hug, James makes you agree to go on a walk with him the next day, and Sirius threatens to pester you with calls until you block his number if you ignore them ever again. 

Your eye roll at his antics makes James’ heart sing.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

felix and his gf being at saltburn and felix noticed ollie acting weird towards her and gets upset at him!!!!!!

The eyes, Chico. || Felix Catton x reader

A/n: YAY TY FOR THE REQUEST! PLS SEND THRU MORE

Warnings: fem!reader, Oliver being a creep, swearing, smoking, if there’s anything else lmk!

Wc: 826

Felix Catton Masterlist

Feeling Felix’s thumb rub circles on your back, you flutter your eyes open and are met with his smile. "Mornin', baby," he greets you, and you respond with a lazy smile, relishing the comforting embrace of his body. His chuckle resonates through his chest, a gentle vibration against you. "It's too early, Felix," you murmur softly, wanting to fall back into slumber.

"Breakfast starts soon, aren't you hungry?" Felix questions, a playful tone lacing his words. You shake your head. "Yes, you are. Don't lie. I can hear your stomach," he asserts with a laugh, and you can't help but crack a smile in response. "Fine," you concede.

You and Felix make your way to the kitchen, where the aroma of breakfast awaits. You greet everyone good morning, almost forgetting that Oliver is here at Saltburn too.

You don’t understand why Felix invited him over; they barely know each other. Even when you confront your boyfriend about it, he just says that he feels bad for him, that he's going through some things at home.

Honestly, he's sort of a strange guy. You always catch him looking away from you when you look at him, around school, his eyes widen the slightest when he sees you walking down the corridors, and then he focuses his gaze on the ground. One time, he even bumped into a pole because he wasn't looking where he was going.

But today, he seems even more odd. The unease is palpable as you sit down at the table. The morning sun streams through the windows, casting a warm glow on the scene.

As you and Felix engage in light morning banter, you catch Oliver staring at you. His gaze is intense, lingering longer than is comfortable. At first, you dismiss it, thinking maybe he's just lost in thought. However, the oddity of his behavior becomes more apparent as the meal progresses.

Oliver’s eyes follow your every move, and you feel an unsettling awareness of his gaze on you. It’s as if his attention is fixated solely on you. You exchange a glance with Felix, who seems oblivious to Oliver’s strange behavior at first.

You try to focus on your plate, on the conversation with Felix, but the weight of Oliver’s gaze is distracting. It’s not the kind of attention you want or need, especially coming from a guy who's already odd enough.

You try to enjoy breakfast, but the uneasy feeling persists. Oliver’s eyes seem to follow you, and you sense a strange tension in the air. However, as the minutes pass, even Felix begins to sense the unease in the air.

“You alright, Ollie?” Felix's timely interjection is a relief. Oliver shifts his focus from you to Felix and responds with a casual, "Hm? Oh, yeah. I'm good." A smile graces his face as he savors a spoonful of breakfast as your eyes flicker between the two, watching the interaction. You can't help but wonder if Venetia or Farleigh picked up on the awkward tension in the air.

As breakfast concludes, you can’t shake off the lingering discomfort. “Remind me why you brought Oliver to Saltburn again?” You question your boyfriend beside you as you continue your skincare routine.

Felix, sensing the need for discretion, swiftly moves to the door leading to Oliver's room. "Shh, don't be so loud," he cautions in a hushed tone, closing the door behind him with a sense of urgency.

"Darling, I know he's been acting weird—" Felix begins, coming up behind you, but you swiftly cut him off. "Oh, he's been acting more than weird. I could barely focus at breakfast with his eyes on me," you huff, applying sunscreen to your face, preparing for a day out in the sun by the lake. The tension in the air is palpable as you address the unease surrounding Oliver's peculiar behavior.

"I know, I know. He just has a... tendency to stare. He's probably admiring how gorgeous you are. Aren't you used to the stares?" He bends down to kiss your cheek, and you roll your eyes in response.

"He should know it's rude to stare," you say in a sing-song voice as you pack up your skincare products. "Don't mind him," Felix adds, his large hands wrapping around your bare stomach, giving your hips a slight squeeze.

The hot temperature outside and the high UV ray lead you, Venetia, Farleigh, Felix, and Oliver outside to lounge by the lake. As you settle on the blanket, the odd tension with Oliver becomes more pronounced. He positions himself nearby, and you catch him stealing glances at you.

It’s not the casual glances friends share; they're lingering, intense stares that make you uneasy. You exchange puzzled glances with Venetia, both of you trying to make sense of Oliver’s peculiar behavior.

“That Oliver has a staring problem, doesn’t he?” Venetia comments, readjusting her sunglasses that sit on her nose. “You saw the stares this morning right?” You turn your head towards her as she does the same. “I think everyone could sense the awkwardness between you two.”

You sigh, closing your eyes and turning your head back. “He’s so strange. I still can’t wrap my head around why Felix invited him here.” You try to focus on the conversation with Venetia, hoping to ignore Oliver’s odd glances. However, his behavior persists.

As you and Venetia engage in conversation by the lounge chairs, Oliver’s attention seems solely fixed on you. It’s as if he’s not present in the moment, lost in his own thoughts. The picturesque surroundings lose their charm as the atmosphere becomes charged with an unspoken tension.

“Is he looking,” You say lowly to Venetia, who discreetly looks behind you before humming. “Fucks sake,” You groan, turning your head only to find his eyes looking at his hands. Rolling your eyes, you gravitate your gaze to Felix right beside you.

Felix, sensing the unease, stands up to move his chair closer to yours, a protective gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed, especially when he places his large hand on your thigh. You appreciate his presence, but the situation with Oliver casts a shadow over what should have been a carefree day by the lake.

The discomfort peaks when you decide to take a break and lie down on the blanket, soaking up the sun’s warmth. Venetia joins you, and you both close your eyes, attempting to find solace in the peaceful surroundings.

However, Oliver’s peculiar behavior doesn’t wane. As you lie there, eyes closed, you sense his eyes on you, a prickling awareness that mars the tranquility of the moment. You open your eyes to find Oliver glancing at you again, a furtive gaze that makes you uneasy.

Venetia, too, notices the strange dynamic and shoots you a concerned look. You spot Farleigh and Felix in deep conversation, Farleigh glancing at Oliver from time to time before giving you a look, silently communicating the shared discomfort.

“Fuck this, I’m going to take a bath,” You mutter annoyed as everyone watches you get up from your towel. Perching your sunglasses on your head, you walk over to Felix. “I’m going to take a bath,” You lean down to kiss him as he hums.

“I’ll come join you in a sec,” He says, his hands toying with the strings on your bikini bottoms. With a brief exchange of nods, you make your way back to Saltburn and to Felix’s bathroom, which connected to Oliver’s room.

The cold water is already calling your name, promising respite from the tension that clings to the air. Closing the door behind you, you take a deep breath, hoping the solitude of the bath will provide the sanctuary you need.

Little do you know that the shadows of unease follow you into the bathroom. As you start to run the water, the events of the morning replay in your mind. The odd glances, the tension at breakfast—all of it weaves into a disconcerting tapestry.

Stripping off your bikini-clad body, you let out a moan of relief when your warm body makes contact with the cold water. Lighting up a cigarette, another sigh of relief escapes you.

Unbeknownst to you, Felix decides to retrieve something from Oliver’s room. As he opens the door, the scene before him freezes him in his tracks. Oliver, standing too close, is peering through the crack of the bathroom door, watching you in the bath.

Felix’s initial surprise gives way to a flash of anger. “What the fuck, Ollie?” he exclaims, his voice cutting through the silence. Your heart skips a beat as you hear the commotion outside. You hear Felix yelling as you quickly get out the tub, wrapping a robe around your naked body before emerging from the bathroom.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screams as Oliver stammers, caught red-handed, unable to form a coherent response. You move beside Felix, rubbing your hand up and down his arm, trying to ease him down.

“You can’t just invade someone’s privacy like that,” Felix continues, his tone sharp. “What were you thinking, watching through the door like some creep?” His eyes were blown out, his face red as Oliver just stood there distressed.

“That’s so fucked up, Oliver.” You say quietly, though your tone and glare were ice cold. Oliver, looking sheepish and guilty, attempts to explain himself. “I-I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry.”

Felix’s frustration deepens, and he points out, “Sorry is going to cut it, mate. What’s been going on with you? The staring, the weird glances—it’s not normal, man. We’re supposed to be friends. She’s my girlfriend, and you’ve been creeping her the fuck out!”

The room is charged with tension as the two friends face off. Felix, normally calm and collected, is visibly shaken by the breach of trust. You stand there, wrapped in a towel, feeling a mixture of concern and disgust for Oliver and an urge to comfort Felix.

Oliver, fumbling for words, finally admits, “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I messed up, and I completely understand if you’re mad.” Felix lets out a dark laugh, throwing his head back as Oliver gulps.

“Mate, we’re more than just mad. What you did is so fucking wrong,” Felix spat as Oliver says nothing but nods his head lightly. "I think it’s best if you leave, Ollie," you tighten the robe around your body as Felix lets out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair as Ollie nods, his gaze on the ground.

“Of course. I’m sorry again,” he apologizes as you give him one final look, grabbing Felix’s arm and pulling him with you back into the bathroom. Felix looks over his shoulder at Oliver, slamming the door shut and locking it.

[rhysazriel]

Only Angel [Mafia!Azriel]

SUMMARY: Azriel's a dangerous Mafia leader, Y/N is his favourite dancer at his strip club. His usual Friday night dance turns into something a little more. (6.2k)

WARNINGS: mentions of the mafia and illegal activities, kissing, teasing, swearing, smut; dirty talk, sexual intercourse, spanking, fingering, lap dance.

A/N: This is a rewrite of a very old fic from an old fandom I was in. I’ve edited it the best I can to fit around Azriel’s character, so I apologise in advance if anything appears out of place :) 

Azriel owns a lot of businesses. From stores to hotels, to apartments to clubs. To many, he's a man of business, a man of money. To those aware of the world around them, he's a man of the mafia. Powerful and dangerous. Maybe that's what caught her eye all that time ago, the mysterious aura that bubbled around him.

Y/N's been a dancer at his club since it opened three years ago. It started as a joke between her friends. She was fresh in college and desperately needed a part-time job to pay her bills after she was laid off from the bakery she'd been working at. Callie had mentioned a new strip joint opening on the outskirts of Prythian, that it was a more underground, elite sort of club.

Y/N had laughed it off, joking that she'd look into it and then didn't think of it anymore. But after two weeks of job hunting and no luck, she found herself bumping into a group of young women in a restroom at a bar, and somehow snagged herself an interview at said club.

Eria Vanserra, manager of the club, had hired her the second she opened her mouth and her pretty little voice spoke her name. Y/N was attractive, there was absolutely no doubt in that. She had that look of pure innocence in her eyes, but her lips were wicked. 

The girls had trained her up, taught her the basics on the pole. She's grown close to them, thinks of them as her sisters more than colleagues. They're a team, have each other's backs when new customers try to take advantage and hype each other up for when the regular 60-year-olds come in and request private sessions. 

Y/N -- or rather Angel -- only offers private sessions for one customer: The Boss. They met just over a year into her employment, and it was on their first greeting that Azriel took an instant liking to the devilish dancer, and she took the same approach with him. 

Y/N's been teased for it relentlessly; snickers made from a few of the girls that didn't like how much Azriel liked her, but she didn't care then, and she doesn't care now. Not when every other Friday night, he has her booked for an intimate performance in the back room -- the room that's only ever reserved by him. 

It's been a long week. Classes were cancelled due to some ongoing investigation with one of Y/N's professors, and so she's been able to pick up shifts every night at the club. Shadow's is an elite place, and Y/N knows it. It's a home for the best dancers and the richest of men that sneak off to get their fix. 

It's not a brothel -- at least, not primarily. And none of the girls is ever forced into anything they don't want to do. That's one of the first things Eris made very clear. 

You're here to dance. Private sessions are your own choice, and anything that goes on behind closed curtains is your decision. If you want to offer extra services, the club doesn't touch that money.

Y/N's never been one to stray from the pole. She knows her strengths, and she knows her weaknesses. She's strong, it's obvious, but even the strongest of dancers find it unsettling to be behind a closed curtain with a strange man that clearly can't get much outside of what his money can buy.

The thought unsettles her, but she's never let her own discomfort project on the other girls that spend hours in private rooms with a different man every twenty minutes. They're the real talent, she thinks. Inspiring and badass, and Y/N wishes she had that extra ounce of confidence that they do.

Or at least, she used to wish so. Before she met Azriel -- before he started watching her whenever he stopped by. For two years, she's the only dancer his honey eyes have watched, and something about that knowledge gives Y/N all the confidence she thinks she'll ever need.

Because she's the one that gets under the mafia leaders' skin. His eyes are always on Y/N. She's the one that occupies his mind and tightens his pants from her presence on the pole. It wasn't until almost five months ago that Azriel made a move to ask for a private dance. 

He's done it before, many times. He's had his dick sucked more than he can remember behind those red curtains, but never by a woman as captivating and as talented as her -- his Angel. 

Azriel still remembers the first time he laid eyes on her, upon that risen stage with soft lights offering a halo effect on her silhouette. He saw her hips first, her long legs as she wrapped them around the poll and jutted her ass out deliciously. Then he saw her face -- those angelic eyes and sinful lips, and he knew he was fucked.

He remembers pulling Eris to the side, eyes still on her as he asked who the fuck she was, and why someone so beautiful was working for him. Remembers the way Eris told him her stage name, how it had his cock springing to life in appreciation for the way she moved. 

It all seems like a lifetime ago when he thinks back to it. And while there have been plenty of Friday nights that he frequents the club, he's yet to take things outside of the red room. 

And it's not that he doesn't want to, because he does -- more than he wants a lot of things. But Azriel is a man of honour (even in his line of work), and he's never been one to pressure a woman into something he wants. 

But Angel isn't like any woman. Not to him. 

Azriel deems she's by far the most precious thing he's ever laid eyes on, and he has a need to hold and protect her and show her just how a woman like herself deserves to be treated. 

He could give her the world, and they both know it. 

Tonight is like every other late Friday evening. Y/N's dolled up to the nines as she reapplies her lipstick. She's been at the club since seven, and three dances later and a round of waitressing, it's nearing midnight. Y/N's ready to go to bed. 

She's ready to call it a night, to tell Eris she's heading out early after picking up so many shifts in the week. Not only because she's tired, but also, Azriel hasn't shown up yet, and he's never come this late before. 

Just as Y/N is adjusting her bra straps, she sees Mor’s head pop out through the corner of the door through the mirror. The blonde has a wide grin on her face, and she knows exactly what that suggests. 

"He's here."

Y/N rolls her eyes. "He's also late. My shift ends in ten minutes."

Mor pouts out her lips, shaking her head, and her breasts bounce slightly on her covered chest. "But he's asking for you. And stop pretending like it's such a burden. You love when he shows up, and he loves when you dance for him. We all know it. Quit acting like you don't secretly enjoy it." She bites back, stomping her foot to make her point and Y/N spins in her chair to look at her full on.

Mor raises her brows. "All the other girls would kill to dance for him, to have him ask for them. Myself included. Stop acting like a brat and put on a fucking show."

Y/N isn't given a chance to reply because Mor is sauntering out of the dressing room, and she's left alone to swiftly get ready. She pretends to ignore the rampaging butterflies in her stomach at the idea of seeing him again. 

She's never scared, could never be. Y/N knows Azriel would never hurt her. But, she's nervous. Azriel always gives Y/N his undivided attention when she's dancing for him, and it's intimidating and exciting all at once. His eyes are so dark and calculated, and he's always so damn respectful when she sits on his lap­ -- never wanting to make her uncomfortable. 

Sometimes, Y/N just wants him to take charge. Even knowing exactly what he's capable of, she wants him to take her. Ravish her. Have his way with her. She wants him to completely dominate her, and often, Y/N finds herself wondering what would happen if she riled him up enough to get him to that state. 

If she acted like a brat, would he throw her over his lap and spank her?

If she talked back, would he pull her hair or spit in her mouth?

If she asked for him to touch her, would he grip her ass and kiss her neck?

Y/N's mind swirls with the unanswered questions every time she sees him, and it's getting a bit much to keep to herself. She's getting tired of being a little plaything to him –- not that she has the right to be upset, but she is. 

She doesn't like that he only comes to her every Friday night. To the club. Is she not worth more than two hours a week? 

Then spirals the anxiety.

Is he only coming to her because he thinks she's easy? Is he doing it because he knows he'll never have to do anything more than let her dance? Is he doing it out of pity? Because he thinks she's lonely, so it's to make her feel special? 

Is Azriel even attracted to her, or does he just do it for shits and giggles? Does he go back to his brothers and his men and laugh about her? At her? Is it all a bit of fun to him?

Y/N gets too in her head, and then the idea of seeing him again is revolting. She doesn't know him -- she can't say whether her thoughts are crazy or valid. She doesn't know the kind of person he really is -- despite the rumours. 

But though she goes through these motions, Y/N pushes them to the back of her head and gets on with it. She puts on her smile, and she dances. 

Azriel tends to book her out for an hour at a time, sometimes two hours if he's feeling extra needy or he has the time. And he's generous with his money, too. Typically, he pays double for her time, which is a month's rent for Y/N but pocket change for him.

It makes her feel dirty, but she has to remind herself that actually, this is her job and he does have the money and means to pay for her time.

That's all he's doing -- paying for her time. For her. Like some sort of cheap and easy prostitute that he can go to whenever he needs a fix. And she never touches him (not under his clothes), but it still makes her feel dirty.

Y/N knows what the other girls do in the private rooms; the type of shows that they offer. She doesn't judge them, she could never. They're all in the same or similar boats: broke and trying to make a living, to make ends meet. But none of them dance for the owner. None of them are ever requested by him. 

Y/N takes a deep breath and composes herself. She can't look in the mirror for a moment longer because if she does, she'll start seeing every flaw she has, and she'll never leave the damn dressing room. 

The club is busy, it always is on a Friday night. There's a party in the upper left tier, a few dancers that have been hired for the night and Y/N is more than pleased that she wasn't booked for it. It's a bunch of frat boys celebrating one of their friend's birthdays, and from Y/N's place on the lower deck, she can already recognise a few familiar faces from her classes.

The last thing she needs is for people to know she's an erotic dancer at one of the most elite, secret clubs. 

She doesn't bother questioning how the younger men know about the place. 

Y/N makes her way toward the private booths, and the one to the far right has its curtains closed. She takes a deep breath, knows he's sitting behind it, waiting for her.

She doesn't give herself any time to hype herself up or change her mind, because she's pushing through the red velvet curtain and closing it behind her. 

The booths are all the same. Dim lighting and velvet cushioned seats. The walls are deep, silky pink, the furniture all an intoxicating shade of red, and in the centre of the rounded chair, Azriel sits. 

His legs are spread wide, dressed to the nines in a slick black suit, and his bulging arms are outstretched across the back of the chair. 

He's shed his blazer, has it hanging on the side, his shirt sleeves folded up to his elbows, swirls of black ink coating his dark complexion. Everything about his attire screams power and sex, and Y/N hasn't even looked at his face yet. 

"There’s my pretty girl."

Her eyes dart up, his lips are parted. There's a knowing smirk on his pink mouth, and Azriel's eyes are a glimmering caramel under the dim light. Y/N thinks he's never looked more handsome, but that's always her thought whenever she sees him.

She can't help the contagiously shy smile that tugs on the corners of her plump lips. 

"Little late tonight," she mentions quietly. 

He doesn't say anything, and his eyes are too busy taking in her appearance. He hasn't seen this outfit before; a lilac cami bodysuit, entirely of lace. The chest of it is plunged yet lifted, and her supple breasts look the most inviting they've ever been.

Azriel struggles to wrap his head around the sight of her -- he always does. Always thinks she looks even prettier every time he sees her.

Azriel finally shrugs his shoulders. "I'm a busy man, Angel. Thought you knew that by now." He doesn't take his eyes off her, he can't.

Completely fucking mesmerised.

Y/N shrugs. "Must've been extra busy to be this late." She tells him.

Y/N is making her way closer, her hips swaying with every small step and Azriel's sure he can feel his cock twitch in his pants from anticipation.

"I was starting to think you weren't going to come."

He raises a brow as she settles herself in his lap, his scarred hands–that she’s never shown any distaste to–slowly yet respectfully finding her waist.

"Oh, I always come, baby."

She knows there's a double meaning to his statement — can tell by the smirk on his lips and the tone of his voice. Always a smooth talker.

Y/N decides that if he can play, so can she. 

"I wouldn't know."

Azriel's the one to stop her hips from moving on top of his, and he chases her gaze to lock eyes. She's deadpanning -- void of emotion on her pretty little face and Azriel thinks this newfound side of her is the sexiest thing he's witnessed in a long time.

He cocks a brow. "Playing like that tonight, are we?" He asks, his thumbs pressing into the fleshy skin of her side.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders, plays coy. "I don't know. Are we?"

She twists the question, unsure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but she isn't about to back down from it, from him.

She wants more than just a lap dance. She thinks Azriel does too.

Azriel stays quiet for a moment or two like he's toying with the idea of having his way with her -- of letting her have him.

He squints and tries to look for an ounce of uncertainty or hesitancy. He comes empty, finding nothing short of confidence and desire. But has she thought it all through?

Has she thought about what this could mean? Has she accepted the fact that they may never see each other again -- something so silly because Azriel quite likes the girl, but if he kisses her, touches her -- what if it inherently puts her in danger?

She senses his dismay and offers an ultimatum; one that she knows she'll win. 

"Because either we are, or you need to find a new dancer."  

The threat awakens something in him. Something primal — animalistic. His eyes flash, darker and darker until his swelling pupils almost completely drown out the honey in his eyes.

His grip on her hips tighten, and Azriel forces her closer; lace-clad chest bumping against his clothed one. "I don't want a new dancer." He tells her. His voice is firm, tone even and stable. He knows what he wants, and now, she knows it's her.

Y/N lets her fingers reach for the longer curls on the nape of his neck. She intertwines her fingers around them, generously tugging, so his head pulls back just enough for her to use her other hand to grip his chin. Azriel's lips are parted, eyes hooded. He can feel her breath fan across his face as she brings hers closer.

"But that's all I am to you, right? Just a dancer?"

He isn't sure what she's doing -- whether she's fishing for something more or if she's about to walk out of the booth and leave him panting and painfully hard.

He plays into it, though. Let's see where this is going.

"More than just a dancer, baby." He promises.

Y/N ghosts her plump lips over his. "Yeah?" She breathes, her voice an airy whisper and Azriels got the perfect fucking sight of her cleavage. Reckons he wants nothing more than to bury his face between her pert tits.

He nods. "Mhm, you're my Angel." He tells her.

Azriel's hands reach around for her ass, grabbing handfuls and pulling her cheeks taut. He removes his hand and strikes it back down on her warm, fleshy skin. Y/N jolts into his body, teeth gnawing painfully on her lower lip to bite back her desperate pleads and whines.

Azriel gropes her again, massaging her cheeks and grabbing fistfuls. "My Angel."

His. She's all fucking his.

Her breathing is laboured as she takes in his words. Y/N tries not to let him see how riled up they make her, but she knows Azriel can see straight through any facade she tries to hide behind.

"Well, if I'm an angel, that must make you the devil."

Y/N's words echo through his mind, and his grip on her waist tightens in a squeeze before it loosens. His eyes find her chest, lip taut between his teeth.

"Maybe I am. Tell me, Angel… are you really ready to be corrupted?"

His eyes find hers, low and hooded and full of so much excitement and darkness, he gets lost in the way she pulls him in. Y/N's hands find his on her waist, her fingers gripping over his and his hold tightens again.

She rolls her hips against his crotch. "Maybe that's exactly what I want," she whispers, her lips trailing over the shell of his ear and her warm breath fans across his neck. "Maybe I'm already a little wicked."

She pulls away, nose brushing past his but he doesn't let her put any more distance between them. He wants her close, likes the feel of her warm breath on his face, likes the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut that's splattered on her skin and lingers in his mind.

Her lips are parted, as is Azriel's, and he can see the little peek of her glistening tongue, teetering between her teeth. His own does the same, subconsciously matching her teasing and his length throbs beneath her; something they both feel but neither say.

"If we do this, there's no going back. You're not just a fuck to me."

Y/N's heart skips, her heat quivering and chills run down her spine. So she is more to him... but what will this mean after?

"If I'm not just a fuck, then what am I?" She pries.

Azriel nudges the tip of his nose with hers. A smirk ghosts on the corners of her lips as they brush against hers. "My Angel," he whispers. "My only Angel."

Y/N envelopes Azriel's lips in hers, fingers reaching for the back of his head and they tug at the curls on the nape of his neck. It's hot, fiery. She can feel her soul ignite in bursts of white flames, and Azriel's no better at controlling himself.

His mind is foggy, judgement clouded, but he knows he never wants to live a day without feeling her pillowy lips on his. So he kisses her harder, grips her hips with such force they both know she'll bruise by morning. But she loves it, loves the idea of having him mark her and the animalistic part of Azriel craves it too.

"I'm not gonna go easy on you." He warns her breathlessly through the smacking of lips, but Y/N rolls more rigid atop him; pulls his hair that little bit eager.

"Good," she pants, pulling away. "I want it hard."

Y/N stands between his thick, parted thighs. She lets her mouth water as her gaze takes him in. Azriel's no better. His cock is leaping eagerly in his pants at the sight of her. Perfect body in a perfect set, lips swollen and eyes wholly fucked. Her hair is a mess, lipstick smudged and fuck, does he want to shove her face into his silk pillows and ram her little pussy from behind until she can't breathe.

"You're gonna kill me, Angel." He chokes out through his lust-filled daydream, chest heaving in anticipation.

Then she starts to sink to her knees and rubs her palms up his inner thighs, and Azriel about loses it. He shakes his head, breathing hard through gritted teeth and his hands find her wrists, halting her movements.

He shakes his head as he pulls Y/N to her feet, dragging closer until she's straddling him again. Azriel's hands cup her jaw, fingers tangled in her hair. "Gonna take my time with you, have you squirming beneath me until you beg me to stop." His promise has her drooping eyes flutter close, and her lips parting. Thinks she's the sexiest thing he's ever laid eyes on.

His nose bumps hers, lips touching but they don't kiss. "But right now, I need you to be a good girl and turn around." 

Azriel's voice is stern, commanding. It makes her pussy throb and clench and gush, and he knows it. She nods and moves on trembling legs, turning so her back is to him, and Azriel's hands find their home on the swell of her ass.

There's something about him being so strong and dominant to her that has Y/N a puddle of arousal and submission.

She bites back a squeak as he smacks a palm down on her cheek, her eyes squinted closed while Azriel licks his lips at the way her flesh moves with the force of his strike. "Perfect fucking ass."

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip, teeth piercing the skin but the slight sting of pain only spurs her on -- makes her even more eager for him. She sways her hips, ass a perfect peach shape as she does so and Azriel grips her hips and forces her on his crotch.

Her arousal is sticky against the lace of her panties as she can feel the thick outline of Azriel's cock when she gets seated over his clothed centre.

"Holy shit," she gulps.

Y/N has heard the rumours, the ones that are whispered in the shadows of the night -- of the one that's half man, half something else.

Now she can feel him directly beneath her, and Y/N's mind is heavy and clouded. "Feel how hard you make me?"

His lips are ghosting across her ear; teeth nibbling hauntingly on the shell of it which sends shivers down her spine.

Y/N nods, breathless and wanton. She can't make sense of anything, but she knows she wants this -- needs this.

"Use your words."

She swallows, shaky whimper teetering on the tip of her tongue. "Yes, I can feel you."

Azriel's sick behind her; full of himself as she strokes his ever-growing ego. There's something about hearing her so vocally express how much she wants him, how much she can feel him that has Azriel seeing stars. He isn't blind, he can see just how desperate and hungry the woman is, but a little verbal confirmation never hurt anyone.

His hands rest upon the globes of her ass again, swatting and smoothing however he pleases. The hits have her jolting and shrieking — they have tears stinging at her eyes but fuck, she wants more. She needs it harder.

"Please," she coos softly.

Her voice is cracking and unsteady like she's walking on eggshells.

"Please." Azriel mimics, voice high and childish, one that has her squirming in his lap.

He spanks her again. "Please, what?"

There's a pause of silence as Y/N attempts to catch her breath. She knows what this man can do to her, how he can make her feel. She knows he'll be far from vanilla, and maybe that's exactly what she wants and needs.

"Please, sir." She breathes. "Fuck me."

Smack!

A shrill shriek tears through her chest, and Azriel strikes his palm back down on her skin. His other busies with his belt, tugging it open and popping the button of his pants. He drags down the zip, a sound that echoes through her ears and sends shivers down her spine.

Y/N looks back over her shoulder, her hands steadying herself on Azriel's parted knees when she sees him. Thick, long... oozing with his sweet arousal that she wants to suckle up and swallow down her throat.

His cock stands tall, smacking against his lower stomach and he's big -- better than anything Y/N's ever had before. Her mouth waters at the sight. She can feel her cunt pulsing when his scarred hand wraps around his length and tugs deliciously at himself.

She whines, eager and needy. Azriel's eyes are on her ass, hasn't even realised that she's looking back at him.

He toys with the lace of her panties that disappears between her cheeks. Looping his pointer finger under the fabric at the top of her ass, he lifts it and bunches the lace in a fist, effectively tugging friction across her cunt as he gets a better view of her ass.

She's glistening, he can see. Y/N's pussy is swollen, and the sides of her lips threaten to spill out of the fabric that barely covers her.

"I'll fuck you, baby." He tells her.

Azriel tugs the lace to the side, her pussy soaked and perfect. He swipes a thumb through her wetness, swirling around her tight hole and bringing his thumb to his mouth as he suckles her arousal.

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

He grasps his cock in his hand again, pumping a few ample times before holding himself at the base and lining up with her sopping cunt. Azriel teases her for a moment, smacking the ruddy head of his prick against her pussy and she whines, rolls closer to him.

With a sick grin, Azriel massages his tip against her hole, jutting softly as he pushes in just enough to get comfortable. A low whine echoes through the room, but neither of them knows who it belongs to.

His hands find her hips, squeezing at her flesh. "But you won't be dancing on that pole for a few days."

Lifting his hips and pulling her down by hers, Azriel sheathes into her at once. Her frantic gasp tears through her lips, and her eyes are wide and watering with complete bliss and pain.

Azriel's gritting his teeth, sharp breath spitting through between them. He can't believe how fucking tight she is, and Y/N is fairly confident she can feel him so deep in her fucking stomach.

"Such a tight fucking cunt, Angel." Azriel's mind is in turmoil, can't quite fucking believe a cunt can feel this good.

Y/N is no better; she's a quivering mess on top of him, her grip on his clothed knees surely carving half-moons upon his skin but if it's causing Azriel any pain or discomfort, he seems to love it.

"So big, feel so full," she whines out.

Her ass is nestled in his lap, the coarse hairs of his pubic bone tickling at her supple skin and Y/N rolls her hips experimentally against his. He's still gripping her hips as she moves, her cunt clenching deliciously around his length and he's positively amazed by just how fucking tight she is.

"Yeah? Feel me in your tummy, Angel?" 

She's nodding, whining filthily, and she can't comprehend how sex can feel this good. One hand of Azriel's snakes around her body, tips of his fore and middle finger massaging tight circles on her clit.

Y/N's cunt is on fire, swelling and pulsing and fucking gushing all over the thickness of Azriel's entire dick. He's a mess below her, though. He can't believe how well she's taking the entirety of him.

She's snug, tight — warm and fucking soaked. The feeling of her swallowing him up is completely euphoric; has Azriel's eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His rhythm on her clit is furious; strong, tight circles that have filthy cries and moans slipping past her flawlessly painted lips. Y/N's still gripping his knees, hips rolling and pussy squelching.

"Yeah, right in my tummy. God, it's so good. Don't stop, Azzy... please don't stop."

Y/N is a blubbering mess, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack. She bounces quickly on top of him, feeling every vein and ridge of his thick cock as it pounds into her and tears her apart. Her walls are slick around him, desperate to milk him dry and take his sticky cum.

Azriel lets his eyes focus on her ass, the way it's spread just a little and how the imprint of his ringed hands are starting to bloom on her supple cheeks. Azriel's eyes divert lower when he sees it, sees her take him.

Her lips are swollen, clinging to his length as she comes off him. The base of his cock is soaked, the start of a creamy ring forming around him and Azriel can't get enough. He relents his assault on her clit, makes for her ass instead and pulls her cheeks as far apart as he can. 

His hands massage her skin, saliva welling on his tongue and parting his gritted teeth for a split second, he spits down on her puckering hole and rubs the lubricant across her ass.

Y/N keens at the touch -- the welcomed intrusion -- and bounces faster. Azriel's thumbing at her hole, teasingly rubbing the tip of his thumb around her but it has her a quivering and desperate mess.

"Please, please." She pants out, head falling back and eyes tightly shut.

Azriel gnaws on his lower lip, biting back a smirk, but his hooded eyes are a dead giveaway he's having the time of his life. "Yeah?" He rasps. "Want me in both your holes, Princess?" He baits. He knows it's exactly what she wants.

Y/N nods quickly, crying and pleading for something. He knows precisely the effect he's got on her right now, the power Azriel holds over her, (not that he sees it that way, but knowing she's in such a besotted state from him playing with her ass a little, is feeding Azriel's ego tremendously.)

"Now that's not very Angel-like of you, is it? Angel?"

A shriek leaves her lips as the tip of his finger pushes through, immediately enveloped in warmth and softness. She's blubbering, can't make sense of fucking anything and it feels so damn good.

Azriel never anticipated such a reaction from her, but he's got it, and he fucking loves it.

"Who would've thought," he pants, feet firm on the ground as he fucks up into her cunt, completely obliterating her soul, "that my Angel likes having her sweet little ass stuffed?"

A borderline pornographic cry teeters past her silky tongue, and Azriel's mind is keening. She's still as she hovers over his crotch, letting him fuck her however he damn well pleases. His pace is fast, cock brushing every overwhelming part it reaches as he pushes his thumb deeper into her ass.

"Your Angel," she whimpers out, eyes watering and thighs spasming. "I'm yours, all yours. Only want you stuffing me this good."

Her words are drawled in a matted string of barely comprehendible syllables, but Azriel can understand what she's saying.

"Yeah? Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, sweetheart."

"Cum! Please, cum in me, wanna feel it."

Azriel curses silently behind her, can't believe how fucking perfect this woman is. His balls feel tight, can feel her squeezing him harder and he knows she's about to come too.

"Yeah? It's gonna be a lot baby," he warns. "Think you can handle it? Think you can take my cum, Angel?"

Y/N nods quickly, vigorously. "I can take it! Please, I promise."

She's despondent, like a child. The need in her voice spurs Azriel to his edge, and as his cock bloats and shoots his arousal across her walls, she reaches her own high of euphoria.

They're both panting, grunting and moaning and whining. Y/N's gushing around his cock, creating a decent spillage on the base of him but even as he softens, he's still quite hard.

Azriel doesn't move, no. He makes no endeavour of pushing her off him. Instead, Azriel slowly pulls his fingers from her ass and cooing at the winces and whimpers that resound through the private booth. He shelters his arms around her waist to pull her back flush to his chest.

They both whimper, bodies spent, and eyes hooded. The back of Y/N's head is lounging on his shoulder when Azriel finally gets a glimpse at her face.

Totally fucked.

A wheezing laugh rumbles deep in her chest, and he reaches for her face, cupping the side of her jaw and guiding her lips to meet his in a messy, wet kiss. She pulses around him.

"You're fucking phenomenal."

Another breathy snicker falls past her lips to his. Azriel pinches her hips. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N puffs, eyes fluttering as she slowly raises, bites back the whine she wants to pout at the hollow feeling of him slipping from her cunt.

"The big bad Mob boss wants to know how I'm feeling?" She tantalises.

Azriel watches her make quick work of pulling her panties back over her cunt, halting his cum from leaking out and down her thighs, but he makes no effort to tuck his softening, yet still majestic, length back in his pants.

He lies back with his arms outstretched across the back of the oval couch. "He does," he agrees. "Cares about you, if you didn't already recognise that."

Azriel doesn't miss how she shies away from his gaze, turning her back to him to alter her outfit and to take a moment to compose herself. He takes the opportunity to fix himself too, before he's right behind her, nosing at her hair.

"I meant what I said, Angel," he murmurs. "You're not just a fuck to me."

Y/N turns, chin raised as she eyes him. Her shoulders are strained back, and Azriel knows she's making this posture move to assert confidence, and he doesn't doubt her one bit.

"Then what am I? And don't say your Angel."

"You're a strong, elegant, smart, badass, sexy, intelligent, confident woman," he begins, his hands finding her hips. "And I want you. I want you all to myself."

She peeps, her heart thumping sporadically in her chest. For a moment, it's like the mind-blowing sex from just seconds ago has been utterly omitted.

"You trust me enough for that?" She asks, and Azriel knows precisely what she's asking.

Does he trust her with who he is and what he does? Does he have trust that she will keep her mouth shut and not see him differently when she learns what he's truly capable of? Does he trust that she's all about him?

Azriel quirks a brow. "Do you trust me?"

Does she trust him with her life, because that's what it boils down to? Does she trust him enough to put her life in perpetual danger? Does she trust that he will only desire her, that he will put her before his work? Does she trust that he will never harm her?

Y/N nods. "I trust you."

Azriel drops his head, face closer to hers and the tips of their noses brush.

"Then I advise you to get your things and let me take you back to my place. Because you're in for a long fucking night, Angel."

Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a reblog and leaving some feedback!! <3

[cherienymphe]

Everybody Knows That I'm A Good Girl, Officer (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

WARNINGS: Dub-Con, power imbalance, abuse of power, degradation, manipulation, slight stalking, choking, semi public sex, mentions of cockwarming, mentions of gun kink, dom/sub elements, free use elements, jealousy

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies

summary: ...and everybody knows. Everybody knows...that he fucks you.

~

You didn’t know a thing about Coriolanus Snow.

Not until he quite literally cornered you in the meadow one day.

Peacekeepers came and went, especially in District 12, so you never took it upon yourself to pay attention to any new face that appeared on the streets of your district in those blue uniforms. In truth, you never took it upon yourself to pay attention to any of their faces. They all perfectly blended together into one faceless being that was merely a puppet of The Capitol, anyway.

However, standing in front Coriolanus Snow, you wondered how you missed him. Not because he was handsome—and he was—but because there was a hard glint to his blue gaze that told you he wasn’t the average capitol dog. Gun tight in his hand at his side, he stared at you like he wasn’t at all surprised to find you there.

He wasn’t.

You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked to watch you, silent footsteps shadowing yours as he wondered what you were up to when you crossed the district line. He liked to watch you pick flowers and write underneath a tree and bring back the occasional caught animal for your ma and pa. He watched you play with the children in your district and help that old neighbor with her window…and steal food on occasions when your family couldn’t afford it.

“You could get into a lot of trouble for that.”

His tone was even and strong, but something about it told you that he didn’t want you to get in trouble for that.

“I know,” you told him, jutting out your chin as if challenging him to do something about it.

You said nothing, merely pressing your back to the tree when he moved closer, the gentle breeze ruffling the tall grass around his feet. You said nothing when he stood so close that you could smell him, wondering to yourself what a peacekeeper could possibly have access to that would make him smell so good. You even remained quiet when his free hand reached for yours, the softness of it shocking you, a sharp inhale when he turned your hand over.

Your palm was lightly stained from the bird you’d killed.

You curiously eyed him, a slight frown between your brows as he studied the skin. You drank in his prominent nose, full lips, and those unsettling blue eyes. Staring at them for too long actually made you uneasy, and when his gaze lifted to meet yours, you couldn’t look away fast enough. It only then occurred to you that you were out in the woods alone…with a peacekeeper who could do absolutely anything he wanted to you.

His next words surprised you.

“If someone other than me were to catch you…I can’t imagine what they’d do to you,” he murmured, making your frown deepen. “So, I would advise you to stop.”

By the way the corner of his mouth twitched, you knew that your shock and confusion was all over your face. When he dropped your hand, he pointed his gun at your catch of the day in a gesture for you to get your things, waiting for you to grab your dinner and your book.

You thought that he was letting you off the hook.

You thought wrong.

You learned that Coriolanus Snow was not a good man.

“Your daughter dropped these, ma’am, and I knew she’d kick herself if I didn’t bring these home.”

That smile on his pink lips was perfect, blue eyes twinkling when your mother thanked him profusely for bringing home your groceries—groceries you both knew you didn’t buy. When your eyes met his over her shoulder, that charming smile didn’t move an inch, and the longer he stared at you, the more uncomfortable you felt.

“Thank you,” you told him the next day, seeking him out.

He wasn’t technically on duty, and you found your gaze lingering on the dog tag around his neck. However, you found your gaze lingering on his face instead when he took a step closer, gaze unreadable.

“Anytime.”

It was a strange thing to say about bringing you food that you didn’t buy, and when he took another step towards you, your face pinched ever so slightly. You were all too aware of your close proximity, and when you felt his chest lightly brush against yours, your lips parted in realization. The moment it clicked had your blood running both hot and cold, uneasy and conflicted.

As you stared at each other, there seemed to be a lot of unspoken words between you, Coriolanus with one hand on the wall and you with one hand fidgeting with your shirt. You looked between his eyes, looking for some hint of hesitation, some evidence that deep down this wasn’t something he actually wanted to do…but there was none. There was a resolve in his gaze that felt all too familiar. It was the same determination you were sure was in your gaze anytime you swiped food for your household.

The same determination when your desperation won.

You took a deep shuddery breath.

“Anytime…?” you wondered, keeping your eyes on him.

Something in his face relaxed, evening out as he completely crowded you, now.

“Anytime.”

When his lips met yours, you didn’t exactly know what to do, feeling both unsure and sure at the same time. You were sure that you wanted to live comfortably and not have to wonder how you’d get your next meal, but you were so unsure of how this would end and what this would mean for you. You wouldn’t be the first girl to give herself to a peacekeeper or the mayor or whoever else she needed to just to ease the weight in her chest.

Coriolanus kissed you like he was the hungry one, lips moving against yours in a way that left you breathless. His hand wouldn’t stop kneading into your waist through your shirt, and his other found a home on your face, thumb brushing over your skin and tilting your head back. The only thing to pull you apart was a noise coming from inside the building you were pressed against, and when the blond man told you to hurry home, you did.

You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked obedience.

He wasn’t the kind of man who enjoyed repeating himself, and you learned that quickly, so now when he told you to get on your knees, you didn’t hesitate. When he told you to open your mouth, you did, and when he practically begged you to look up at him, you did. Coriolanus would never beg, he would never do that, but it was evident in the way his voice strained—the way the words left him breathlessly.

Or maybe that was because you had your lips around his cock.

With a hand in your hair and a hand on your chin, he gently guided you to take him into your throat again and again. You were no virgin, but there were still a lot of firsts to be had for you, and sliding your tongue over the tip of him was one of them. The feel of his fingers massaging your scalp soothed you, made this less nerve-wracking, and to your surprise, it even stroked a slowly burning fire between your legs.

There was such a stark contrast between the gentle touch of his fingers in your hair and the harsh hold of his hand on your chin. It wasn’t the easiest to take all of him into your mouth, and you couldn’t swallow down the noise that escaped when he hit the back of your throat. His smooth baritone reached your ears when he gently shushed you, softly telling you to use your hands.

“Wrap them around me,” he whispered in the otherwise quiet room.

Coriolanus liked obedience…so you did.

Your hand slid along his length in time with your lips, twisting around his cock, an easy task with the help of the mess you were making. He didn’t seem to mind though, only groaning above you, and when you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes, you took in the way his head was thrown back, the skin of his throat straining and bobbing as he swallowed.

When he lowered his head, you started to look away, but the tightening of his hand in your hair told you not to. You kept your eyes on his as best as you could, sucking your cheeks in and flattening your tongue against the side of his cock. Every bob of your head made him shudder, and you dropped your hand when his hands came to rest on both sides of your head.

Remaining still for the man standing over you, you kept your mouth open as he slowly began to push his hips forward. With every surge of them, his cock dipped into your waiting lips, sliding over your tongue and against the inside of your cheeks. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks as he lost himself in his movements, blue eyes gazing down at you as he filled your mouth.

You didn’t know why—couldn’t understand it—but something about his outright use of your body and your lips had you squeezing your thighs together. It made heat settle in the pit of your stomach, twisting and burning violently until your not-so-subtle movements became noticed by him. In between his uneven breathing, a soft chuckle reached your ears.

“You’ll get your turn.”

…and he was a man of his word.

With the taste of him still on your tongue, Coriolanus had one forearm completely pinning your hips to the bed as he pressed his face between your thighs. Another first ripped away from you, wide gaze on the ceiling as you fought to keep from squirming. The feel of his tongue inside of you was jarring, and you couldn’t stop your toes from curling at the warm feel of it quite literally lapping at you.

Your hands came down to rest on his short blond hair, hips attempting to lift from the mattress, chest arching upwards towards the ceiling. When he hummed between your legs, you felt it all over, and you couldn’t stop the moans that climbed out of your throat. With him holding you down, the only appropriate thing to do was claw at whatever you could, turning your head from side to side.

It wasn’t enough for you to come into his mouth once. Coriolanus needed to know that he was the best you’d ever get, and even when you were out of breath and exhausted and overstimulated, he didn’t let your thighs go, only using them to drag you closer as he knelt between them. His perfect teeth winked at you when he leaned in to kiss you.

If your ma and pa wondered what kind of job you lucked out with to afford all of the food and clothes you started to bring home, they didn’t ask. Although, something in you suspected that they had an inkling of just what you had to do to bring home the freshest bread and the warmest clothes they’d ever had. You started to suspect that everyone did.

Coriolanus wasn’t exactly the most discreet, and you learned that he didn’t intend to be.

On the off chance you crossed paths in the street, he stopped you for all to see, voice lowering as he got really close and asked you how you were. You would feel the eyes of his peacekeeper friends on you as the unspoken questions lingered between you. Did you need more food? Did you need a new dress? You would tell him that you were fine, code for you didn’t need anything at the moment, and he wouldn’t try to hide his perusal of you, those unsettling blue eyes slowly dragging over your frame.

He didn’t seem the kind of asshole to brag about such things, but you weren’t stupid. Even without saying it, he made your arrangement abundantly clear. The way he talked to you, studied you, and ran his fingers over the back of your arm without a care as to who saw. Coriolanus had staked a claim on you, an unspoken display of ownership, and you wrote it off to some sick power trip.

…but you learned that Coriolanus Snow was a very jealous man.

That revelation struck you as odd because you didn’t think anyone would have anything he’d be jealous of, and you certainly didn’t think he’d be jealous over you. You were some average thieving girl whom he exploited the first moment he saw an opportunity to do so. Considering that he was willing to do it to you, you didn’t doubt that he was willing to do it to someone else should he find himself unable to have you anymore. That was what you believed anyway…

Until his fist was ruining the face of some District 12 boy you’d grown up with. You were far from friends, but he’d been a familiar constant in your life for years, and so sharing a drink with him while everyone danced to the live music on stage seemed like nothing at all to you. You didn’t even think there were lines to cross, a sentiment that was quickly corrected.

With one hand curled around your throat—holding you in place—there wasn’t any other option but to take Coriolanus’ thrusts. The sound of guitars and flutes and fiddles bled through the thin walls, everyone quickly moving on from the brief display of violence they’d witnessed. You could still remember the shock on your face as other peacekeepers pulled him off of the unsuspecting man who’d never been anything more than an acquaintance, really.

Your horrified gaze had met that of a familiar blue, and there wasn’t much time to do anything before Coriolanus neared you, reaching for the back of your neck as he walked you away from the crowd. It had been hard to ignore the numerous eyes following your movements, and you wondered now if they quickly moved on from the display because it was nothing or because they were too nervous to get involved with Coriolanus and the girl the whole district knew belonged to him.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out in some back room, your chest pressed to the table.

Your eyes were squeezed shut as he stretched you out, cock pushing into you and throbbing with every push of his hips. You knew that the words wouldn’t change anything, but you felt compelled to say them, anyway. His fingers were tight against your neck, and every time you reached up towards them, he only squeezed tighter. Despite the discomfort, you couldn’t stop your stomach from squeezing, coiling tight as you gripped him.

When he pulled you up so that your back was firm against his, his hold on your neck loosened a bit, and you took a deep inhale. His thumb was pressed to your jaw, and he brought his face down to rest on the other side of your neck where his arm didn’t rest, pressing open mouthed kisses there.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” he whispered against your skin.

It was the truth, and at your silence, he squeezed your neck again.

Your nails scraped against the table he fucked you on, upper body straining as he kept you upright and against him, hips lifting to push his cock into you with the kind of thrusts meant to make a point. When his teeth grazed your skin, you shuddered in his hold, and despite the fact that you couldn’t hear his laugh, you felt it deep within his chest.

“He can’t give you what I can…”

You started to tell him that you knew that, but Coriolanus didn’t let you.

“…so, don’t go thinking he can.”

“I wouldn’t…”

Your words died in the air when he pushed you back down, completely pressed against you and pinning you between him and the table.

“Wouldn’t you?” he hummed, his free hand trailing over your visible cheek. “Everybody knows your price.”

The demeaning words made your stomach turn, but the way he curved his hips against you only had you clenching down on him at the insulting insinuation.

“They see the nicer clothes…the better living conditions…and they know why. They know what you did to get that.”

His lips brushed against your skin with every word, and as if it make his point, he reached down between your legs to brush his thumb over you, making you gasp. With the circling of his fingers, you fidgeted beneath him, toes pushed to the absolute tip to get some reprieve and lips parted as you scraped and clawed at the table.

When he came inside of you, something he never did before, he held you down, forcing you to milk his cock until he was completely satisfied. The nice dress he’d gotten sewn for you was ripped, and you reached up to touch it with trembling lips the moment he let you go. He was so determined to get his hands on you the moment the door was shut that you liked to think it was an accident, but the way you were forced to wear the jacket of his uniform as you walked out made you think otherwise.

Even though Coriolanus was nowhere near you once you rejoined the crowd, his presence was still loud and clear. No one needed to be a genius to figure out where you’d been, and as you glanced around, you realized that he was right. The discreet looks and nervousness around you… Everyone knew.

…and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked to have you whenever and wherever he wanted.

Whether it was in his bunk when he should’ve been on duty or in your room during the early hours of the morning when your pa was in the mines and your ma was asleep or between the openness of the trees when you were only amongst the grass and the birds. He didn’t like disobedience, and so, he didn’t like the word no. So, you never uttered it.

Even when you wanted to.

“Good girl,” he purred into your lips when you did as he wanted, reaching down between you and sliding yourself onto his cock.

It was late when he knocked on your door, gently telling your ma to go back to bed when you answered it. You didn’t know if you wanted to see the look on her face when you left with him, afraid of what you’d see. There was a rare stillness about District 12 when you crossed the district line, Coriolanus’ fingers brushing over your neck the entire way.

The only light was from the moon, his soft hands gripping your hips and guiding you over him. His gaze alternated between your face and his lap where you two connected. Occasionally he lifted his own hips, driving his cock up into you and making you gasp. His hands ran up and down your frame, kneading your skin and basking in the thin layer of sweat that clung to you—to both of you.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he’d murmur in the darkness, completely letting you go.

He opted for leaning back on his elbows, his own pink lips parted, blue eyes glinting under the light of the moon as he watched you fuck yourself onto his cock. Your hands pressed against his chest, keeping yourself upright as your lashes fluttered. There was a burn in your hips that ached too good to stop, the sound of you squeezing him and sliding up and down him loud to your ears.

“Make yourself come,” he’d whisper, refusing to touch you as his voice lowered. “Work for it.”

When you finally did tense on top of him, shuddering and pressing your nails into his chest, the blond man wouldn’t hesitate to circle his arm around your waist, flipping you before you could even catch your breath. Back pressed into the grass, he snapped his hips against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the air.

Under the cover of darkness, Coriolanus allowed himself to lose control, holding your throat and pushing into you—taking full advantage of having you at his mercy. He plunged his cock into your walls, praising how wet you were for him and how snugly he fit inside of you.

“Whenever I want,” he told you.

“Whenever you want,” you agreed, nails digging into his back.

When you returned in the early hours of the morning, your ma never acknowledged it. She never acknowledged how the house stayed stocked with food despite you never going to the market. Her only acknowledgement of the clothes sewn for her were quiet ‘thank yous’…but she knew. Everyone knew.

…and it bothered you less and less until it didn’t bother you, at all.

It couldn’t bother you.

…because if it did you would have to say no when Coriolanus wanted you to rest in his lap, cock fitting snugly inside of you as he held you there. You would have to say no when he brought you another dress he had made or the freshest groceries you would’ve never been able to afford. You would have to say no when he asked if you were his good girl, demanding you prove it as he slid his gun between your legs, telling you to remain completely still.

…but you didn’t say no to any of that because it didn’t bother you—because it couldn’t bother you. Even when the discreet looks were hard to ignore or your ma started to ask if you’d be out late or you started to feel cheap and used. You couldn’t let it bother you.

You were his good girl, and that was what he told you when he tied a pretty delicate ribbon around your neck for all to see one evening.

It was soft.

White.

Just like snow.

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader requested by multiple: doctor visit

The pediatrician's office is very bright.

Bright walls, bright furniture, bright toys. The hallway is painted a bright blue, dotted with wispy, spongey clouds, spiraling in patterns from floor to ceiling.

The exam room is not much better. It's yellow. Supposed to be soothing, you tell him. It's anything but.

The bright colors unsettle him, but he shoves it down. Swallows the gnawing anxiety brewing in the back of his mind, forces away the spiral attempting to swallow him whole. He falls back on what gives him comfort, what allows him to sleep at night, what makes him feel whole. The only one who doesn't make him feel torn to shreds. The one who can touch his bare skin without making him shake. You.

You're nervous too. It started when you got the baby undressed, and has only gone downhill from there. He can see it in the way you pace back and forth in the room, holding Ry to your chest, bouncing him, rubbing his back. There's dread scrawled into your expression, grim unease radiating from your bones.

"C'mere mama." He reaches, pulling your forearm and tugging you close, resting his chin on top of your head. You relax, but barely. "Everything's going to be alright."

"He hates shots."

"He's a baby, course he does. Can't blame 'im. Huh bub?" He strokes Orion's chubby and round cheek, tilting his head to press a kiss to your temple.

Someone knocks on the door, and it creaks open.

"Hi!" A young woman in a white coat smiles at them, giving Simon an odd look before stepping forward. He swallows the acid burning the back of his throat.

"Hey, Dr. Marsh." You greet weakly, face pinched. She says hello, and washes her hands, keeping a stream of chatter until she's seated on a rolling stool with an iPad in her hand.

"How's our big man?"

"Still big." You quip drily, and she laughs, glancing up at Simon. You look at him too, and then your mouth drops into a little o. "Sorry, this is Simon. Orion's dad." She stands, extends her hand. He takes it, careful to not squeeze too tight before letting go and hanging his own rigidly by his side, tense, like he's priming for a fight of some kind.

"I guess we know where he gets his size from." Fingers tap across the screen, and then she sets it on the examination table. "So, how is it going?"

"Fine, good, I think. He's still feeding every three hours. I feel like he's gained ten pounds since our last visit." She nods. "I've been trying to pump as much as I can but... there's just... not as much."

"That can happen. If you're still happy with breastfeeding, I don't have any concerns. Of course, if you want to stop, that's more than okay. As long as he's getting what he needs, there's no wrong way to feed him." You nod, rubbing his back. Dr. Marsh asks about any other concerns, and after you say you have none, she reaches for him. "Let's see if our guy is still a ninety nine percenter, huh?" Simon frowns.

"Ninety nine percenter?"

"He's uh, in the ninety nine percentile. Very big."

"Very big, and very tall." Dr. Marsh says from over her shoulder, where she's now got Orion on the baby scale. "Born at what mum, four and a half kilograms?" Simon blanches. Bloody hell. You haven't really told him too much about the birth, and he hasn't pushed you on it. Maybe this is why. You don't have a c-section scar, and he winces thinking about you giving birth, naturally. He should have been there. Should have held your hand, told you how amazing you were. How strong. The familiar feeling of regret resurfaces, and he gives you an apologetic look. You shrug with a little smile.

"He looked like a giant in the nursery, next to all the... regular sized babies." Dr. Marsh laughs, but Simon grimaces. Guilt settles in his stomach like a rock.

"Sorry, mama." He apologizes sheepishly, squeezing your hand, and you rub your thumb over his knuckles.

"It's okay, I kinda," your eyes sweep over him from head to toe, "expected it."

"Alright, so," Dr. Marsh brings Ry back over, handing him to you, but Simon intervenes, pulling him into his arms. He worries about your back. She smiles again, types something into the tablet, and then clears her throat, "growth is slowing down."

"Is that bad?" You sound alarmed, and she shakes her head.

"Not bad, considering he's been outperforming in height and weight since he was born. This happens, it's normal, there's nothing to worry about. However, he's still in the nineties. Just shy of eight kilograms."

"What's normal?" He's curious now, wondering how big his son is really, compared to others. He'd even feel proud, if he wasn't worried about the trauma having him may have caused you.

"Fiftieth percentile is around six. Now," she rests her hands on her thighs, and levels a serious look at you. "How are you? Sleep getting any better? Are you keeping up on hydration?" Simon peeks down at you, lips tugged into a firm line.

"He still feeds every three hours, and I'm the source so... not really."

"Any more dizzy spells?" What? His head snaps your direction. Orion gurgles, and he pats his back absentmindedly. Dizzy spells? Why haven't you said anything?

"Uh, not really. Maybe a few."

"Breastfeeding can take a lot out of you. It uses a lot of metabolic energy, so try to make sure you're eating enough and drinking a lot of water. It's normal to feel exhausted or fatigued, but taking care of your nutritional needs will go a long way. I know I sound like a broken record but, I think it will help. You might also try talking to your OB, since you know... I'm only a little human doctor." You swallow.

"Okay." She gives you a serious look, and you nod.

"Alright then, let's move on to everyone's favorite part."

He holds Orion for the entirety of the rest of the visit. He squirms and screams as he gets his shots, crying at the top of his lungs, and Simon closes his eyes at one point to take a deep breath. He's okay. He's safe. They're both safe. They're here.

You take him afterward, lips to the top of his head, eyes closed as you whisper. "Shhh, I know baby, I know. It's over now. All done. You were so brave." Simon's heart aches. It hurts to know you're struggling, that you see yourself as a failure, when it's so blatant that you're anything but. He's going to fix that.

You stop at the reception desk, lingering until the girl behind it gets off the phone. "Um, can we update Orion's emergency contact list? I want his dad to be on there, too." Simon looks down at you, momentarily dumbstruck. Sweet, sweet girl. Sweet little kitten. The receptionist smiles brightly, taking the information he provides, phone number, back up phone number (work cell) and his name.

The two of you head towards the elevator, and you give him a hesitant look as you step inside. "You don't mind right? I didn't want to overstep but... you're his parent too, I thought you might want to be-" You don't get to finish before he's swooping down with a hand at the small of your back and another on the baby's head, slamming his lips to yours so fiercely your breath hitches.

"Mama," he kisses your forehead, and then cups your chin. "You and Orion are my family now. You're it for me, and I'm chuffed you'd think to put me down as an emergency contact." You jerk back at his words, eyes wide. Too much? Too soon? Too strong? He doesn't care. He needs to start easing you into it, getting you used to the new reality, before he's moving you and the baby out of your flat and giving you a new last name.

"Simon." You whisper, but he shakes his head.

"I told you. I wanted you the night we made him, and I still do. You're everything. You're mine. You and our boy." You don't say anything, and the silence kills him until you reach for his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. "An' we're going to have a talk about you getting dizzy and not saying anything to me. Alright?" You gulp.

"Alright."