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saetiate · 2 months ago

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okay i ran out of space in the tags when i was almost finished sorry for the additional short comments here :') please read the tags first and then this comment ahaha i have been commenting as i go through!!! tldr this is a beautiful fic i have been so excited to read it and your writing is brilliant!!!

OHMYGOD THE WAY THAT MYDEI WAS CAPTURED??? omg this plot twist... waugasf;jds i cannot believe this i am jaw dropped fr

WAHH IM SO EXCITED TO READ THE NEXT PART!!! i love that at the end he allows reader to feed him :') I WANNA KNOWW what the conditions are and how he gets out and i wanna see him and reader's relationship progress!!! im so excited ahaha this has been so fun!!! thank you for sharing your writing w the world!!!

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less.

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might.

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart.

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air.

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three.

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind.

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood.

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime.

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer.

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said.

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced.

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mikashisus @ivana013-blog @mizukiqr @shehrazadekey @simp-simp-no-mi @reapersan @casualgalaxystrawberry @secretive3amramenmaker [if your tag does not show up in grey, that means tumblr had an issue with it, sorry! sometimes it does that sadly]

#been waiting to have a moment just to read this :> excited hehe #cora rb: hsr #you 🤝 me ; not knowing much about amphoreus ahaha i have not played it yet either outside of seeing phainon’s entrance #i am immediately intrigued omg the statue and reader lowkey not even liking her husband???#calling his pride worthless and juvenile omg i love seeing through reader’s perspective #‘dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars’ absolutely beautiful line your writing is incredible #i love the way you write it truly feels like a novel or a fairytale written long ago ; like i’m reading the old folklore of another land #the comparison to a snake is absolutely stunning too ; actually lowk reminds me of oliver HAHAHA sorry that’s my wandering mind #yo what kinda gift is this (playful) (i’m aware it’s a development of the story dw HAHA i love how this is going and how you introduce plot #points)#thinking about mydei tied up did smth to me SORRY sorry irrelevant and inappropriate LAHDK he is so hot tho #YOUR BACKWARDS LAND HELLO I WILL MURDER HIM (playful and lighthearted but also a testament to the emotions in me your writing evokes)#‘scratched like bile’ same reader ohmygod u and i can start a murder this man alliance #‘a beast born of sun’ wow this is so beautiful. love the way you weave words together #reader having the foresight to put a hood on ; i love her intelligence and forethought. idk i just really love reader in this ahaha she #feels like a real character which i love a lot personally!!! i love her depth ; OKAY HELLO I got called away i hath come back to finish #reading!! sorry for the delay!! ; 'I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would' again so beautifully written #also mood as someone who has like never lived in the country they're from :')) waugh #'a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers' this is absolutely stunning too ; the dignity and hard-won pride #u describe i really really love this about him too and i love your characterization of him in this sense #'Does your language not have gods you can swear on?' WHEWWW WHAT A LINE (compliment)#'n truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him' YEAHHH GIRL LET HIM KILL YOUR HUSBAND WOOO (playful) HAHA #I'M ON TEAM MYDEI BABEY ; i love the lore building with the thrice blessed chains very very cool #'the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air' another absolutely beautiful #line ; 'swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke' I LOVEEE this #'Ten. That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here' AND THEN SHE WALKED AWAY HAHA I WAS LAUGHING #PLEASE the cousin thinking it's HIS LOVE ohmygod. ; awee reader's father loved her :'))) i love that for her ; OHMYGODDD MYDEI KNOWING #READER?? i LOVE a i have known you trope ohmygodd i love this #'So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation?' HAHA YEAHH GET HIMM

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goyardgoyangi · 3 months ago

Text

𐙚 sports car pt. 1 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⌗ pairings: sukuna x reader

⌗ summary: sukuna’s used to being in control— on the streets, in the sheets, and everywhere in between. but then you show up, watching him speed through the finish line like it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen (because, honestly, it is), and before he can smirk in your direction, you beat him to it. a simple bite turns into a steamy mess in the backseat of his car at a drive-in. sukuna wants it to be a one-night thing. but then why can’t he stop thinking about you?

⌗ word count: 3.3k

♥ pt. 2 ♥ masterlist ♥

You stand at the edge of the crowd, watching as cars line up at the makeshift starting line. You aren’t here for the cars—not really. You notice Sukuna the moment he arrives— it’s impossible not to with his striking tattoos, the cocky way he carries himself, and the absolute menace in his smirk. His car, a matte black Nissan GT-R with burgundy-red accents, looks just as ruthless as he does. He leans against the hood, eyes scanning the competition like a king surveying his territory.

There's no denying that he's handsome— sharp jawline, impossibly perfect cheekbones, eyes that burn like embers under the glow of streetlights. Even his scars, jagged and unapologetic, only add to his allure. He crosses his arms, exuding effortless control. He doesn’t just own the space; he owns the entire night.

The race is over in seconds. Sukuna wins, obviously. It isn’t even close. You aren’t surprised— how could someone who looks like that ever lose? He has the kind of presence that makes anything less than winning seem absurd.

When he steps out of his car, dripping in arrogance, you walk up without hesitation, tilting your head slightly as he looks down at you with amusement, like he already knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He’s just so damn attractive, too sharp, too cocky, too effortlessly seductive. The kind of man who could ruin someone without even trying. And that’s why you want to watch the way his lips curve into a smirk, hear that voice in a more sultry setting that doesn’t involve screeching tires.

You just smile. “Wanna get a burger?”

For the first time all night, Sukuna hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want to—he absolutely does. You’re hot, and he’s used to women throwing themselves at him, but they never ask. They linger, they flirt, they wait for him to take control. He’s used to making the first move, to dominating the space, to pulling them in with that razor-sharp smirk and letting them know they don’t really have a choice.

You? You just invite him out like it’s no big deal. Like he is no big deal.

He’s intrigued by that.

“All right, sweetheart,” he says, spinning his keys around his finger with lazy precision, the metal glinting under the streetlights. He lets them twirl once more before catching them effortlessly, smirking as he looks at you. “Let’s see what you’re about.”

By the time you reach the drive-thru, you're mid-story about a disastrous first date you once had— something about a guy who spent the entire time talking about crypto. Sukuna actually finds himself laughing, something rare enough to surprise even him. You definitely aren’t intimidated by him, most people either fear him or admire him from a distance, but you just…talk. Like you’ve known him forever.

The drive-thru itself is part of an old-school car movie theater, the kind that plays classics on a massive outdoor screen while people eat in their cars. Sukuna pulls into a spot near the back, where the glow of the projector flickers against his windshield. The night air is cool, but the inside of his GT-R feels warm, thick with the scent of fresh burgers and the lingering trace of his spicy cologne. You unwrap your food casually, now paying more attention to the movie playing in front of you than to the man sitting beside you.

“So, what’s the deal?” Sukuna asks, watching you with lazy interest as you dip a fry into your shake.

“With?”

“You.”

You lick a bit of chocolate off your lip before answering, slow and absentminded— but his eyes follow the movement, sharp and unreadable. It’s such a simple thing, but somehow, it feels deliberate. Seductive, even.

His grip on his keys tightens for half a second before he spins them around his finger again, leaning back like he isn’t affected.

“Nothing,” you say casually. “I just thought you were hot, and I wanted a burger.”

His smirk deepens, dark amusement flickering in his gaze. “That simple, huh?”

You shrug, popping the fry into your mouth like you aren’t playing with fire. “You don’t look like you think that hard about anything.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance flashing across his face— but it’s quickly replaced with an unexpected chuckle. He should be offended. But you aren’t treating him like some street racing legend, or like he’s someone to be wary of.

You aren’t scared, aren’t trying to play coy, and sure as hell aren’t trying to impress him.

It pisses him off how much he likes it.

He doesn’t believe in fate or any of that shit, but something about tonight feels different. Something about you feels different.

You take another sip of your milkshake, licking from your lips before catching the way Sukuna’s gaze darkens. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at your mouth. “You keep looking at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually want to fuck me.”

Sukuna shifts in his seat, turning toward you fully now. His arm drapes lazily over the back of your headrest, closing the space between you as he leans in. His scent— something dark, spicy, and unmistakably masculine— wraps around you, making the air feel even warmer.

He lets out a low chuckle, his fingers drumming against your thighs. “And what if I am?”

The inside of Sukuna’s car feels smaller now, the air thick with something heavier than the scent of fries and milkshakes. You raise an eyebrow, acting unbothered even as your pulse quickens slightly. “Then I guess you should do something about it.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

Sukuna’s grip on your hips tightens as he lifts you slightly, his crimson eyes glinting with that feral edge you’ve come to crave. “Ride me, but don’t you dare move those hips.” He repositions you effortlessly, settling you atop him in the cramped driver’s seat.

His cock, hard beyond belief, buries deep inside your pussy, fills you to the brim, stretching you in a deliciously overwhelming way.

He doesn’t thrust, doesn’t give you the friction you’re dying for—just keeps you there, cockwarming him, your walls clenching around his pulsing length as he leans back with a wicked grin.

His rough hands start to slide up your waist, calloused fingers brushing the curve of your waist before cupping your breasts. “Look at these,” he growls, squeezing them firmly, his thumbs grazing over your nipples until they harden under his touch.

He dips his head, his hot breath fanning across your chest, and then his mouth is on you. His lips latch onto one nipple, sucking hard, the wet heat of his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. He flicks it with quick, teasing strokes, then drags the flat of his tongue over it in a slow, deliberate lick that sends a jolt straight to your core.

You can’t help it— a soft whimper escapes your lips, your body trembling as his mouth works you over.

Sukuna’s teeth graze the tender flesh, making you gasp, and then he sucks again, pulling the nipple deeper into his mouth. His tongue rolls around it, sloppy and relentless, leaving a trail of spit that glistens on your skin.

He switches to the other breast, giving it the same treatment—latching on with a hungry growl, sucking until it’s swollen and aching, his tongue tracing lazy circles before flicking the tip sharply.

The sounds start spilling out of you, quiet at first— little whimpers that catch in your throat, then soft moans as his mouth grows more insistent.

“S-Sukuna…” you breathe, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your body quivering from the torment of his stillness inside you and the onslaught on your chest.

Each moan seems to stoke something in him; you feel his cock throb harder, swelling even more within your tight heat. It’s like your sounds are fueling him, his length twitching against your walls, hot and heavy, stretching you further with every pulse.

He groans against your breast, the vibration rumbling through your core as he pulls back slightly, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your glistening nipple.

“Fuck, keep making those noises,” he mutters, as his tongue leaves your breasts slick with spit as he alternates between them—sucking one while pinching the other between his fingers, rolling the bud until you’re whining helplessly on his cock.

You can feel it throbbing again, harder this time, and you swear you can feel every vein pressing into you, the sensation driving you wild as you sit there, impaled and desperate.

Sukuna’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he suddenly lifts you off his lap, his cock slipping out of you with a wet, obscene schlick that echoes in the tight confines of his sports car.

You feel the absence of his thick heat immediately, your pussy clenching around nothing, dripping with a mix of your arousal and his precum.

“Backseat,” he snarls, his voice rough and commanding, a primal edge to it that makes your thighs quiver. “Now.”

He doesn’t wait for you to move on your own— Sukuna manhandles you with ease, tossing you into the sleek, leather-clad backseat of his car like you’re a ragdoll.

The cushions squeak under your weight as you land on your back, legs splayed open, your slick folds glistening in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. Sukuna climbs in after you, his massive frame filling the space, the car dipping slightly under his bulk.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard" he growls, grabbing your thighs and forcing them apart until your knees nearly touch the sides of this car.

You’re breathless, chest heaving as he positions himself between your legs.

The head of his cock brushes against your entrance, hot and heavy, smearing your clit with a mix of precum and your own dripping wetness. He doesn’t ease in— he thrusts, hard and deliberate, the blunt tip forcing your folds apart with a slick, squelching pop.

You cry out as he stretches you open, the first inch sinking in with a slow, burning pressure.

“Fuck, you’re so warm,” Sukuna grunts he grips your hips, pulling you onto him. His cock plunges deeper into, the thickness of it splitting you wide, every vein dragging against your walls with an instictive intensity.

You hear the wet slap of skin on skin as he bottoms out, his heavy balls pressing against your ass, the tip kissing your cervix with a dull, delicious ache.

Your pussy squirts a little, a hot gush of fluid coating his base, and the sound, a lewd squelch, fills the car, mingling with your shaky moan.

He starts fucking you then, hard and fast, the backseat creaking with every brutal thrust.

“Take it,” he snarls, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock in to the hilt again and again. Each plunge makes a filthy schlop-schlop-schlop as your soaked pussy grips him, sucking him back in every time he pulls out to the tip.

You’re whimpering now, a string of “Kuna— oh fuck—ngh!” spilling from your lips, your hands clawing at the leather for purchase. His grunts are guttural, animalistic— “Yeah, that’s it— fuckin’ take me”—his breath hitching as your walls flutter around him, squeezing tighter with every slam.

The air grows thick with the sounds of your bodies colliding— the wet smack of his balls against your ass, the rhythmic creak of the car springs, the faint drip-drip of your arousal pooling beneath you on the seat.

Sukuna leans down, his chest pressing against yours, and you feel the heat radiating off his tattooed skin as he pounds into you, relentless, the drag of his cock inside you driving you both crazy.

Sukuna’s thrusts grow more erratic, his hips stuttering against yours. The backseat creaks and groans under the force of his movements, the leather squeaking with each brutal snap of his hips.

Your pussy is a mess— swollen, dripping, stretched obscenely around his thick shaft, a constant stream of wet sounds filling the car as he fucks you mercilessly. You can feel every ridge, every pulsing vein of his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, pushing you closer to the edge.

Suddenly, he leans down, his face hovering inches from yours.

Without warning, he spits— hard and thick, the saliva landing on your lips and dripping down your chin. The gesture is possessive, marking you as his.

"Open," Sukuna growls, his voice strained with impending release.

You obey instinctively, parting your lips, and he kisses you messily. His spit mingles with yours, the taste of him filling your senses. He swallows your moans, his hips pistoning faster, his cock swelling inside you as he chases his climax.

Your hands roam his back, nails digging into the hard muscles, leaving crescent marks on his skin.

You can feel the tension coiling in his body, the way his thrusts become more urgent, more desperate. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath ghosting over your sweat-slicked collarbones.

With a final, harsh thrust, Sukuna buries himself to the hilt, his cock throbbing almost violently as he reaches his peak. A loud groan tears from his throat, the sound echoing through the car as he begins to cum.

Hot, thick ropes of semen erupt from his tip, painting your chest and stomach in white streaks.

It's an intense, messy release— his hips jerking forward with each spurt, cum coating you as he empties himself. You can't help but moan, your back arching off the seat, pressing your breasts up to catch more of his essence.

He looks down at the mess he's made— your chest and stomach coated in his semen, your pussy swollen and leaking. A satisfied smirk spreads across his face. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice husky and sated. "Covered in my cum like a good little slut."

Without warning, he leans down and starts licking his own release off your skin. His tongue swipes through the sticky mess, lapping it up with obvious enjoyment.

Sukuna's tongue is hot and rough against your skin as he cleans you up, his mouth making obscene slurping noises as he sucks his own cum off your breasts. He hums, the vibrations sending shivers through you.

He circles your nipples with his tongue, the sensitive buds still hard and aching from his earlier ministrations. Each flick and swirl makes you gasp, your back arching off the seat as you chase more of that delicious friction.

Your mewls fill the car, soft and needy, as Sukuna teases you mercilessly. His lips close around one nipple, sucking hard, and you cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. "Please, Kuna, want more."

Sukuna's eyes flash with a wicked gleam at your plea. He releases your nipple with a wet pop, only to latch onto the other, sucking it into his mouth with bruising force.

His hand comes up to pinch and roll the neglected bud, the dual stimulation sending electric shocks straight to your core.

"Beg for it," he growls against your skin, his voice vibrating through you. "Beg me to let you cum again."

Sukuna's smirk widens at your desperate pleas, his fingers now pressing against your clit as he feels you teetering on the edge. He increases the pressure, his touch growing more insistent, and you can't help but buck your hips, chasing the friction.

Your moans fill the car, a constant stream of needy sounds that only seem to fuel Sukuna's desire.

He sucks your nipple harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and that's when you snap. The orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing as raw pleasure consumes you. Your pussy clenches and spasms, gushing around Sukuna's fingers once more.

As your orgasm subsides, Sukuna slows his fingers to soothing circles on your oversensitive clit. He releases your nipple with a final, gentle suck, pressing a soft kiss to the tender bud. "Shh," hemurmurs, his voice surprisingly tender as he pulls you into his arms.

"You did so well, so fucking good for me."

He holds you close, his strong arms wrapping around you protectively as you tremble in the aftermath. His hands run soothing patterns on your back, his touch gentle and comforting.

"I've got you," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've got you."

He reaches into the glove compartment, pulling out a pack of wet wipes and cleans you up, wiping away the sweat, saliva, and cum that coats your skin.

Once you're clean, Sukuna helps you sit up, pulling you onto his lap so you're cradled against his chest. His large hand rests on your thigh, squeezing gently as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"You good?" he asks, his voice softer than you've ever heard it, softer than it should be.

You nod, snuggling closer to him, and he tightens his arms around you in response.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his breath warm against your hair. "Took my cock so well, sounded so pretty for me." He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest.

Sukuna maneuvers the both of you back to the front seats and starts the car, the engine purring to life. He wraps a jacket around your shoulders, tucking it in around you to keep you warm.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, he keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin. The motion is soothing, and combined with the gentle vibrations of the car and the warmth of Sukuna's leather jacket, you find yourself drifting off to sleep despite your best efforts to stay awake.

The ride to your apartment is quiet. Sukuna’s car hums with the low growl of the engine, the kind of noise that is familiar and comforting to him. He glances over at your sleeping form, a soft smile playing on his lips. You look so peaceful, so vulnerable, curled up in his jacket.

His thoughts drift, replaying the moments before— your body pressed against his, the way you felt, the way you moved. He can still feel the heat of you against him, the softness of your lips, how you pulsed around him.

Sukuna's thoughts turn dark, possessive. He wants to fuck you out, to mold your tight walls around his dick as if they were made for him and him alone, fill you up so completely that no one else will ever compare, so you can't ever take anyone else. He wants to train your body to be addicted to him, so only he could satisfy your desires.

Tonight was supposed to be nothing— it was just supposed to be a one-off, a casual fuck. But now that the drive is nearing your place, Sukuna realizes it isn’t as simple as that for him.

As you stir awake, your eyes flutter open to find Sukuna's large hand resting possessively on your thigh. The car is parked outside your apartment building, the engine off and the interior dimly lit by the glow of the streetlights. Sukuna is staring at you, his crimson eyes intense and filled with a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat.

"We're here."

As blink up at him, still groggy from sleep, he grins, making him oddly look almost… sweet. You open the door, slipping out of the car with the cutest stumble that only makes him want you even more. "Goodnight Kuna."

He leans back against his seat, watching you head for the entrance of the building. And for the first time in his life, Sukuna is left with an unfamiliar ache.

You hadn’t asked for his number. You hadn’t asked for anything. You had just… left.

Sukuna sits in his car for a long moment, staring at the empty space where you had been, his mind racing. What the hell? He isn’t some sentimental idiot.

He’s used to getting exactly what he wants, never having to chase after a girl, especially not after a single night.

But something about you makes him want something he’s never wanted before. Sukuna looks up at your apartment building one last time before starting the engine, his thoughts swirling in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

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somnoir · 6 months ago

Text

Gotham's newest Crime Lord - part 3

Part 2 | Masterpost

"You know your way around the city." Dan commented, eyes narrowed once he realizes that Kitty and Johnny adapted a little too well to Gotham. Going to places even he didn't know existed, exploring and giving them intel he never realized was relevant. They knew history of Gotham in a way a local would.

Johnny shrugged, turning back to Kitty who welcomed Ember with a bright smile. The two were squealing, talking about how they were going to help mess with Firefly after burning down a well-loved studio down town.

For Dan, he wasn't going to intrude too much on his former rogues but... "You're from Gotham. Both of you."

Johnny twitched, watching as Shadow moved to play with Elle in the air.

"Yeah, we’re not too sure if our folks are still kickin’, but Kitty and me took off after they flipped over our thing. This place still gives me the heebie-jeebies, but hey, you guys are here. Gotham’s cool these days with all the furries and rogues runnin’ around." Johnny laughed, his cocky nature still burning bright, even when he looked almost melancholic at the memory of this place.

No ghost was truly comfortable in their hometown, whether they died there or not. This was where they were born, where their lives began.

"I see..." Dan mumbled, glancing to the space where Danny was usually in. His younger brother was off doing kingly duties again, slumped by work and the Observants pestering him about shit.

There's a quiet knock on his door and Jeremy was poking his head into the room again. The ghosts didn't even care, continuing to be visible and floating around. Discomfort and a bit of fear was clear on the man's face but he turned to Dante with as much courage as he could muster.

"Boss, we've got a lead on the missing kids."

Ah, yes. The recent disappearances of children. He doesn't know where they go, what happens to them. All he knows is that children were picked of the streets and never to be seen again.

"Someone's been takin' kids?" Kitty grimaced, not minding how Jeremy shuddered. "Dan, dear, darling! Send me and Johnny. We know this city better than Batman and his little birdies."

Again, Dan sighed. "Gimme a minute, Kitty. Not enough information." He grunts, turning to Jeremy to hand him the report.

"Anything else?"

"Well... About the Bats..."

"They snoopin' around again?"

"Trynna sniff out Phantom." Jeremy shrugs. "Red Hood's been pretty active. Heard he's been wonderin' about Phantom not visitin' the kids last week."

"Thanks Jeremy. Tell Marigold I said hi."

"Will do, boss!"

Once Jeremy left, the other ghosts were swarming Dan like bees. Their eyes glittering with anticipation, excitement, and vengeance. It felt strange for them to pay attention, to follow him. Danny's always felt like the better leader, struggling and suffering in the role yet rising above it all. That was why he was the king now.

"Alright, let's get to work. Most of these kids have one thing in common. Their skills. Flexible, acrobatic, and have some sort of combat training. Usually in self defence." Dan plugged in the USB into his laptop, projecting the screen on to the tv. "The latest disappearance is Layla Smithson. Fourteen. Gymnast and was sent to take taekwondo classes by her parents. Before that was Evan Chavez. Another gymnast but was also known to get into multiple fights."

"So whoever is takin' the kiddies, they go after the ones with pretty good skills." Ember hummed, turning to Kitty and then nudging her. "You've got anything to say about that?"

"Well... Maybe." Johnny shrugs too.

"Ooh! What about that nursery rhyme every Gothamites gets to listen. Y'know. About the court."

Dan frowned. "What court?"

"The court of owls!" Kitty grinned, "Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowy perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send the Talon for your head."

"Who the fuck uses that kind of shit for a nursery rhyme?" Dan scowled, but considered the possibility. "Any idea if they're real."

"Very." Johnny warned, "When Kitty and I died, we came back here a couple of times. Explored the place and tried to dig up secrets that would have killed us if we were livin'. One of 'em was the court. A secret society of a bunch off rich bastards."

"Johnny," Dan warned, knowing that something was still being kept from him.

"There's another thing..." Johnny hesitated but Kitty took his hand and continued.

Kitty grimaced, "The Court of Owls has a bunch of soldiers. They got this chemical they use on people, turnin’ ‘em into their own assassins. From what me and Johnny dug up a while back, these assassins were trained when they were kids. They call 'em Talons."

Dan wanted to yell, scream. Burn down the cursed with it's cursed bricks. Fuck. Fuck. Was the world always so shitty?

"You're telling me... There's an entire secret society that uses chemicals to turn children into assassins?"

Children.... Fucking children. They were weaponizing kids!

Ancients, he might just commit mass genocide again.

"Alright. Alright. We leave the living people out of this. The court? Their talons? I want all of you prepared. I'm gonna contact Danny to drag Skulker and Wulf's asses here immediately."

Elle grinned, "GRAB AMORPHO TOO! We're gonna need his help if we want to dismantle the court."

The office is vacated quickly, with Elle dragging Ember and Kitty for girl time and Johnny runs off with shadow. Dan is left alone, frustrated at the new information before he does his best to summon his brother, the very annoyed ghost king that appears before him in full royal regalia.

"A bit busy, Dan. Still tryin' to fight the laughing magician to help with getting rid of the Anti-Ecto Acts. Constantine is running around trying to destroy the GIW now."

Dan snorted. He knew about John Constantine. The crazy motherfucker who's soul fragments were scattered around and Danny had to deal with the paperwork and mission to collect them all.

"I know, yeah, sorry. I get that's important. But we've got a situation here."

"What would that be?"

"Secret society of rich fruitloops that are worse than Vlad. They're kidnapping children and making them into brainless assassins."

Immediately, the room grows colder than the far frozen. Danny's eyes are as green as they could ever be, but his pupils were an icy blue that would have made Frostbite shudder.

"What do you need?"

"Skulker, Wulf, and Amorpho."

"I'll send them on your way. They'll be here within 3 hours." Danny sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I'll finish up things on my end to help."

"Sure thing, twerp."

"Fuck you." Fondly.

"Fuck you too." Affectionately.

"OH! Your revenant was looking for you."

"THE SEXY RED HOOD WAS LOOKING FOR ME?!"

It was an entire week of silence. Of Wraith not doing anything at all. Even the rogues felt apprehensive to act on anything after Wraith's new subordinates started popping up to pester them. The reports were the same. Distorted footage, meta-human abilities, and a ridiculous amount of chaos.

Apparently, Two face has waged war on one of them, named Ember. Riddler was also ready to throw hands with Specter. And then Harley and Ivy were hunting down a couple names Kitty and Johnny 13. Why they were named that, none of them knew. But considering Wraith and Phantom's titles, the entire group was Ghost themed. The majority of Gotham have taken to calling them the Ghosts.

But then...

"Bruce... Get a look at this." Barbara's voice shook, horrified as she stared at the screen. Majority of the family was already in the cave, preparing to patrol once more. But their eyes were drawn to the screen. They all froze, struggling to fathom what the fuck was it they were looking.

"Holy shit."

Everyone was frozen, staring at the clear, untampered screen.

Bruce sucked in a deep breath, reading the bloody message written on the wall of... He couldn't recognize it properly. "Farewell to the Court of Owls that once watched from their shadowy perch. Their talons covered in the blood of children they once purge. Farewell to their judge, the parliament says goodbye. To Talons, to owls, the ghosts says hi."

And right beside the message was the hanging body of what Bruce recognized was the Judge of the Court of Owls.

The Court of was in ruins.

"Holy shit. HOLY SHIT!" Tim screeched, almost stumbling as he stared at the morbid message. "The Wraith and his ghosts took out the fucking court."

There was a loud rev of an engine, momentarily dragging their attention to Jason who was hurriedly getting of his bike and taking of his helmet. "Fuck, you've already seen it."

"You saw it in real life?! Where the fuck is that? The location is distorted but the entire thing is being broadcasted to the entirety of Gotham."

"There are two of 'em. That one's on the clocktower."

Barbara snapped her head towards him, "MY clocktower?!"

"Sorry 'bour that Barbie. But it got the job done for them, all of Gotham know about the court now."

Bruce grimaced, "And the other location?"

"Arkham... The Talon is the one being hanged up there. The message is shorter: Bye-Bye owls. Shouldn't have messed with the dead." Jason clicked his tongue, "That's either about the fact that the court has been messing with the dead or it's cause Wraith's group is called the Ghosts."

Jason shook his head, knowing for the fact that he'd have to track down Phantom soon. His eyes turned towards Dick, who stared at the screen as if a burden was just freed from him. Jason thinks it has.

They had found out about the Court a little while ago, then found out about Dick's situation with them. How the circus he grew up in was one of the facilities that groomed Talons. How Dick was supposed to be recruited as one when his parents died.

"Dick?" Jason murmured, gently taking Dick's hand. The other man jolted, his domino mask hiding whatever emotions there was in his eyes.

"Little Wing..."

"C'mon. Let's go grab some of Alfred's cookies. The rest of the family can deal with this." Jason quickly hurried his older brother out the cave, urging him to change our of his suit.

Dick, once again, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders, struggled to understand that his nightmare that was the Court was finally dead. Most likely slaughtered by the hands of a new crime lord, a rogue that seemed desperate to keep children safe. He held the tea tightly, closing his eyes as Jason sat opposite to him.

The court was dead.

Talon was dead.

"I'm gonna go look for Phantom in a bit." Jason hummed, trying to appear comforting to Dick.

And the image of the Judge of the court's body hanging from the clocktower flashes in his head again.

"Jason." Dick whispered, "Get me a meeting with Wraith."

"What?" Jason blinked, "Dickie, no. Wraith might seem like a pretty nice guy with how he's protecting the kids, but he's still..." He paused, "He's still like me."

"I need to meet him, Jaybird. I need to confirm that the Court is gone for good. He's the only one who can do that for me."

"Why would Phantom even let you meet him?"

Dick frowned, sucking in a deep breath before taking Jason's hands.

"Tell him that Nightwing was supposed to be a Talon."

Part 4 | Masterpost

#Gotham's newest Crime Lord #danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #danny fenton #jason todd #nightwing #dick grayson #Dan found out that kids were being weaponized and almost repeated what he did in the last world #man is about to throw hands and fire at anyone #don't mind the inaccuracies to parts pf the plot #dick is on the verge of a mental breakdown because #one; the guy he was very disturbed by has just freed him from the legacy of rhe talon #two; he's kinda similar to his baby bro but moee willing to blow up a government #danny is stressed being king and is forcing Constantine to dismantle the GIW while he helps his brothee destroy a secret society #jason is a good bro

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iydiamartinx · 27 days ago

Text

MORAL MIDDLE GROUND

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 986 synopsis: He wants answers. You want a little fun. But when kids are in the line of fire, the games stop and you drop the mask. a/n: Had this sitting in my drafts, don't ask me what exactly Sionis is up to cause I don't know, I just made some shit up that sounded cool and didn't bother to edit it to make sense.

The room was dimly lit, its only illumination coming from a flickering overhead bulb that cast long shadows across cracked walls and peeling paint. Rain tapped steadily against broken windowpanes, and beneath the musty scent of mildew and gunpowder, you could still make out the copper tang of old blood.

Jason stood opposite you—arms crossed, helmet discarded on the table beside him, jaw clenched tight. The Red Hood persona radiated off him even without the gear, all tightly coiled rage and ruthless control. His voice was low and sharp, slicing through the silence like a blade.

“Tell me what you know about Black Mask’s new operation.”

You sat comfortably, legs crossed.Your left hand toyed lazily with a lock of hair while your right held a cigarette, the ember glowing faintly as it hovered near your lips. A drying cut traced your cheekbone, your bottom lip was split and tender from the earlier scuffle you had with him. You took a slow drag, exhaling smoke with a small sigh, perfectly at ease despite the sting in your jaw and the man in the Red Hood pacing just a few feet away.

“You’re no fun tonight,” you pouted, groaning. “No witty banter? No threats? Not even handcuffs? Tsk. You’ve gone soft, Hood.”

Jason didn’t flinch. “You’re stalling.”

“Obviously.” You smirked, taking another drag. “Because you haven’t even said please. Or better yet, gotten down on one knee. A girl likes a little effort and action.”

He stepped forward, shadows casting over the red mask as he loomed over you. “Cut the act. I know you’ve been tailing Sionis. You were at the docks last Tuesday. You broke into Crane’s lab before that. You know something.”

You leaned in, closing the distance between you with a playful tilt of your head. “I always know something. It’s what makes me so charming.”

The mask he wore gave nothing away—no expression, no tells—but you didn’t need to see his face to know he was agitated. It was in the subtle things. The way his index finger tapped against the metal table with increasing tempo, and how his shoulders stayed bunched, tight beneath the weight of his jacket like he was holding himself back from lunging across the space between you.

The truth was, you wanted no part in this mess. If Sionis found out you were the one who spilled, he’d flay you alive—and not metaphorically. You’d seen what he did to traitors. Heard their screams echo down warehouse corridors long after their mouths had gone silent. And you quite liked your skin exactly where it was.

But… everything was worth the risk for the right price.

You let the silence stretch before continuing, voice dropping to a sultry murmur. “But where’s the fun in giving away answers for free? Maybe I want something in return. A kiss, perhaps? A dance? A few hours alone with your bike and a set of keys?”

He didn’t blink. “He’s moving weapons into the Narrows. Street-level. Military-grade tech. There are shelters there. Schools. Kids. Word on the street is he’s planning to launch an attack at one.”

Your smile faltered.

Just a flicker. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But Jason caught it.

He pressed in. “Yeah. You like to play games, but you’ve got a line, don’t you? A red one you don’t cross. Kids get hurt, you suddenly lose your appetite for chaos.”

Your gaze sharpened, flirtation bleeding out of you like smoke in the wind.

Well, fuck.

You hadn’t known that little tidbit.

You groaned and threw your head back with a frustrated growl.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll tell you—but if Sionis finds out, he’s going to skin my ass alive.”

The words tumbled out in one breath, fast and sharp.

“Three shipments came in through the old sewer system under Blackgate. Ex-military tech—non-traceable, high-end. This isn’t another drug run. He’s building something. A control hub. Surveillance and weapons grid in one. Real-time targeting.”

Jason didn’t interrupt.

You continued. “It’s not about money this time. He’s trying to root himself into Gotham’s infrastructure. Digital chokehold. Every gang that signs on gets a piece of the network—and every civilian caught in the middle becomes leverage.”

“Drones,” Jason muttered.

You shrugged. Your fingers tapped once against the metal chair, then stilled. “He’s testing it in the Narrows. Wants to see how many people he can disappear without a headline.”

Jason’s fists clenched.

You exhaled slowly, the edge in your tone quiet but unmistakable. “Look, I don’t give a shit what he does to people like us—we chose this life. But you’re right. I draw the line the second he drags kids into it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You stared the red helmet covering the Hood’s face wondering what he was thinking.

Jason finally nodded. “Where’s the hub?”

You stamp out your cigarette.

“I’ll take you.”

“You sure?”

You stood, brushing imaginary dust from your thighs. “I might be a lot of things, Hood. A thief. A liar. Sometimes a bitch, depending on the day. But I’m not a coward. And I don’t look away when innocents bleed.”

He nodded. “Then let’s go take him down.”

You smirk, your playful personality returning. “I’d say you owe me dinner after this.”

“I’m not taking you to that dive you like,” he said dryly, strapping his gun into place. “You’ll probably flirt with the bartender just to piss me off.”

You smirked wider, trailing after him as he stalked toward the exit. “Don’t be jealous. I’d still let you walk me home.”

He didn’t reply—just pushed open the door and let the night air sweep in, rain misting against his armor. But as you stepped out behind him, he glanced at you again, voice low beneath the hum of the city.

“Survive tonight… and maybe I’ll even let you pick dessert.”

Your eyes glittered.

“Oh, baby,” you purred, “you are dessert.”

#jason todd fic #jason todd one shot #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood #red hood x y/n #redhood x reader #redhood x you

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chaptersleftunwritten · 11 months ago

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What a lie, what a lie, what a lie…

Blurb: During a smoke session Eddie is betted $100 that he won’t be able to sleep with you by the time summer rolls around. He proves them wrong.

Pairing: Dickish!Eddie Munson x Virgin!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Gambling, depictions of sexual content, mentions of drugs being taken, cursing, alcohol consumption, graphic descriptions, a lot of emotional damage in this one… Characters are 20+ college students.

Ethereal fairy lights doused you and Eddie in a golden hazy glow, both of your bodies glittering magically with sweat as your naked limbs entangled each other in an intimate embrace.

But something between you two was forever changed after that night of steamy heartfelt affection and you felt it like a knife twisting in your sternum as you listened to Eddie leave your dorm room without a goodbye. Not even a kiss as he pulled his ripped jeans over the skin of his still damp legs and ran.

You were never one to fuss. You never wanted to cause a scene or create an issue that never existed in the first place- you were ‘the cool girl’… but when your gut is unable to move on from something then you must investigate. You had to, why else would Eddie have left so suddenly if there was nothing wrong?

You gave yourself to him. You showed him not only your nude body, but you bore your soul to him. No one had ever gotten close enough to you to be as privileged as he was. No one had saw you so exposed. So vulnerable. Until him.

Unbeknownst to Eddie at the time, you had allowed him to take your virginity. You trusted him with your entire being and you believed that you truly loved him. You loved him enough to bleed for him- to hurt for him…

And after he fled that night, you laid on your crimson stained sheets and sobbed yourself to sleep. You can’t blame him for not knowing- but you also prayed for some tenderness from him. Even if you weren’t a virgin, sex is such a sacred act and aftercare should always be incorporated.

The following morning you awoke to an emptiness you’d never experienced before. Something had shifted and your innocence was gone. Girlhood was over and adulthood fucking sucked.

- Steve’s off campus apartment, 6 weeks prior -

The tip of the meaty blunt embers brightly with every drag Eddie takes, his eyes are almost a florescent shade of red and Steve is on his seventh beer of the night, “C’mon man, that shit would be so easy.” Steve laughs, his Adam’s apple bobs prominently as he tips his head back to down the rest of his alcoholic beverage.

“Nah, not interested.” Eddie passes the joint to Jonathan who has almost been swallowed up completely by the beanbag his body is submerged in.

Steve gasps mockingly as his hands clasp together to crush the empty can of beer before he tosses it across the room- aiming for the trash can which he has already missed the past seven times… “I didn’t peg you as a chicken, Munson.” His fingers snap open another can, “Are ya scared or somethin’?” Steve’s eyebrows wiggle at Eddie and Eddie proceeds to drag his hand down his face, already tired of the conversation… or maybe it was just the weed settling into his system.

“I’m not scared, Harrington. I’m lazy. There’s a difference. Besides, what do I get out of it instead of a possible cream pie?” Eddie huffs a laugh, accompanied by Jonathan and Steve’s eyes spark with relentless mischief.

“If you put it like that…” Steve stuffs his hand into his pocket, rummaging around inside of the fabric before pulling out an array of objects. They consisted of a stray button, a small foil packet containing a condom and two $50 bills. He picks up the crumpled currency, slamming it in front of Eddie with a cocky grin splayed handsomely across his face, “A hundred bucks if you manage to bang her before summer.”

Steve knew that if he wanted to convince Eddie to do anything, he had to pay up. Whether it be drugs, booze or money, he knew if those three things were involved Eddie could be easily persuaded to do most things. And unfortunately… Eddie agrees.

“Fuck it, why not.” His hand slaps into Steve’s hard, the noise quaking through the small room as they shake on the agreement. This wasn’t the first time that Eddie had partook in some stupid shit suggested to him by Steve and Jonathan. He had done some crazy things before; jumping off of a roof into a dumpster (breaking his arm in the process), setting fire to his clothes just so he could test the ‘stop, drop and roll theory’, taking ecstasy before a rave (which led to him having a severely horrible psychedelic reaction) and the list goes on and on.

But this… this was a whole new level of low for Eddie. He knew it was wrong, but he just couldn’t let Steve win. His stubbornness would be the absolute death of him. Or so he thought…

“By summer! That’s… what? 7 weeks? Think you can tap that by then, Munson? Or is that not enough time…?” Steve was too confident, he could see this whole shit show going up in flames and he rejoiced in the idea of Eddie being the one having to pay up by the time the weather was its warmest.

“You’re fucking on, Harrington.” The words leave Eddie’s mouth in the form of a venomous competitive bite.

And just like that, the bet was confirmed.

The news arrived in the flesh form of Nancy Wheeler. Jonathan could never keep anything from her- he was sick with love and the guilt of the whole ordeal was eating him alive. He knew he would get the end of Steve’s wrath but he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to confess. Your only wish was that Nancy had known sooner. Before the damage was already done.

Your world was spinning on a side way axle when Nancy told you, and it has been spinning upside down ever since, “I can’t believe how moronic they all are! I’m so sorry you had to find out this way…” Her voice is washed out by a ringing that has taken over all of your senses. You were good at disassociation when it came to protecting your feelings- and that’s what you were doing. Nancy had no idea that you had totally zoned out whilst she continued to rabble on about how Steve had changed and how disappointed she was in Jonathan. Your mind was completely numb to all emotions and information.

You hadn’t heard from Eddie since that night… and now you understood why. Your gut feeling was proven right once again- but you weren’t glad this time around. You weren’t relieved like you usually were; you were hurt.

And you were fucking angry.

Still with a week to spare Steve coughed up the money, making Eddie $100 richer- but that couldn’t amount to what he had lost. Eddie was a player, you knew that from the very start- but you stupidly thought that he was different when it came to you. That you could somehow change the way he thought about relationships.

It was clear to you now that you never stood a chance against Eddie Munson. You never did.

Your first initial instinct is to confront him and Steve face to face, but something was holding you back. Was it fear, rage, agony? You didn’t know, but what you did know was that they already thought you were a joke, why would they take you serious now? The answer is, they wouldn’t. They would chew you up and spit you right back out. Their punchlines would be thrown at you and each one would knock the air from your lungs— you were a laughing stock to them.

The thought alone makes red hot tears streak from your mascara painted eyes, the corners of your lips stealing a taste of the salty liquid as it fell. Nancy had long gone and you decide in that moment that you weren’t going to class today. You couldn’t stay on campus grounds, each passing second intensified the crumbling of the hole in your chest, now so big and gaping that you feel as though your heart may just fall from its cage and land on the ground in front of you. Unbeating. Dead.

You walked until your legs turned to jelly, causing you to collapse on a nearby sidewalk. You were in a unrecognisable neighbourhood. Some of the houses look pristine from the outside, freshly coated paint that was clearly done annually, fences held securely together with the best knuckles and bolts and on the other hand, some of the homes looked like they are over three decades old- gutters filled with rancid leaves, unwanted ivy climbing the walls, windows so dirty and murky you wouldn’t be able to see inside unless you were inside.

The setting sun litters the sky with flaming clouds coloured the brightest shades of orange, pink and purple. You smile up at the visual, momentarily forgetting about the inner turmoil that has caused you to drown your sorrows in straight vodka and cigarettes.

“Oh, Eddie.” You cry and toast to the sky, bringing the clear vodka bottle back up to your lips, throwing your head back and gulping down as much of the pungent liquid as you possibly could stomach. The strong taste momentarily numbing your mind. The only thought that was cartwheeling through your intoxicated brain was why?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Why you? What was so challenging and intriguing about sleeping with you? Why not some other girl? Anyone else. Anyone but you.

More tears, less salt in your body- water replaced with alcohol. Your mind fizzes with warmth and your body is slowly shutting down on the edge of the road. Luckily, it’s quiet at this time of night. Everyone is at home with their families, tucking into some home cooked goods. You wish you were at home- you wish you had never left state to go to that stupid fucking college in the first place. You could have avoided this. Avoided him.

Your fingers twirl in the holes of your laddered tights, pulling on the fabric and watching the tear travel from your thigh down to your knee- which you only now register is bleeding. You must have fallen earlier, scuffing the skin pretty badly… but you can’t remember.

Blank spots taking over your memory? You’re nearly there. You’re nearly free of him- free of this day and of this shell which you call a body.

You just need to keep drinking. Finish your second bottle.

“What the fuck?” The voice is nearly enough to pull you back from the darkness, but your vision is blurry as you focus on the misshapen figure hovering above you, “Jesus Christ! You’re a fucking mess- what are you doing? Where have you been?” Eddie has no right to be angry at you, he caused this, but you’re putting your well-being at risk and he is disappointed in you. He thought you were smarter than this- he would rather you attack him, scream at him and hurt him back. But not this…

You’re nearly paralytic.

He had been searching for you all day, surfing through crowds in the canteen, asking around classmates and even speaking to randomers in the street.

Then he found you here. Cold to the touch. Anyone could have found you in this state, if it hadn’t been him… he doesn’t even want to think about what could have happened to you.

“Can you stand?” He asks gentler now, worry lacing itself through his voice and choking his voice box slightly. You bury your face into your hands, finding comfort there you breathe out an inaudible ‘no.’ Your breath whiffs back into your face and your nose scrunches at the scent. Pure alcohol. It’s nearly flammable.

Eddie sighs before scooping your frail body up from the ground, your fingers loosen and you end up dropping your bottle. The glass shatters all over the concrete, “Shit!” Eddie snips but you don’t even flinch at the ringing sound of broken glass- you’re too far gone.

“Do you even recognise me?” Eddie holds your sleep stricken face in the palms of his hands, forcing your gaze onto his softened features. You hum happily at the feeling of his cold rings pressing against your warm face, you feel as though you’re sweltering but in reality.. you’re icy to Eddies touch. There’s a moment he contemplates taking you to the ER, “You’re freezing, love.”

“You d..did this!” You hiccup, your finger jabbing weakly at Eddies chest. Your fingertip may as well have been a knife because Eddie’s heart sinks to his stomach as he holds you upright, knowing he drove you to this is sickening to him. He almost vomits… but you beat him to it.

He holds your hair back from your shoulders, “Let it out, honey.” With Eddie’s free hand he rubs your spine, his words of encouragement echoing through your empty skull.

“I hate you.” The sobbing arrived suddenly, causing your entire body to tremble. You’re beginning to feel the temperatures of outside and Eddie knows that he has to get you home quickly- despite how hurtful your drunken words are.

“I know.. I know you do.” His deep voice is strangled with sadness as he guides you over to his van which is parked across the street from where you had nested on the sidewalk, “I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry.” You don’t respond, you just shake your head at him. Unable to bring up the words. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.

Eddie’s grip on your shoulders is strong as his fingers stab into skin. You keep stumbling over your own two feet, your face would be hitting the ground if it weren’t for Eddie’s strength.

Your palms slam against the metal of his van door, steadying yourself there before Eddie helps lug you inside. You want to kiss him as he reaches over your body and belts you into your seat but you don’t- not because you wouldn’t but because you couldn’t. You feel as though you’re now unable to move your body- your limbs weighted down as you puddle into the musty passenger seat that wreaks of stingy weed with a twang of old booze.

You wonder how many girls have been in here before you, how many others had him and Steve ruined? You close your eyes to stop more tears from escaping, you have cried a river tonight and you’d much rather be numb now.

Cascading light etches it’s way through the smudged glass of the van, illuminating the inside just enough for you to see Eddie’s eyebrows knitted together in what you can only assume is either frustration or concentration.

One of his hands is secured on the steering wheel whilst his other arm is draped over your idle body- his attempt to try and keep you sitting upright and not accidentally smashing your face into the dashboard. If you weren’t so angry at him you would mould into his touch, but nothing can fix what he has broken.

Nothing.

His voice vibrates through the stuffy air and you wish you could make out what he is saying but you can’t. Your tired eyes are heavily lidded and your ears have totally switched off as you slump further into your seat, your head tilting back slightly as you drift in and out of consciousness. Your body is aching for rest. You just need sleep- this will all be so much better in the morning…

You don’t understand how or why you wake up in Eddie’s Hellfire t-shirt but your investigative skills narrow it down to the taste of vomit in your mouth and the aspirin that has been left on Eddie’s bedside dresser alongside a tall glass of water.

‘Take this, I’ll be back soon. -Ed’s’ A note reads in sloppy handwriting, signed by Eddie. You would roll your eyes if your pounding headache wasn’t causing them to screw shut- why is it so fucking bright?

You blindly take the pills, the water cools the acidic tinge plaguing your throat and you gasp for air after chugging the entire glass, your cotton mouth leaving you still thirsty for more.

You’ve no idea what time it is or where your clothes are so you can get dressed and bolt before Eddie gets back. For some pitiful reason you’re not surprised that he went out and left you alone. It’s what he’s good at- making a mess and then running away.

Your exhausted body pushes itself up from the springy mattress. Every muscle in your body sore from laying in one solid position the entire night but thankfully the pain medication is starting to kick in for your headache.

Just as you manage to swing your legs off of the bed you hear a door slam shut, your body naturally jolting at the sound.

“It’s just me!” Eddie yells from a far off room and you feel panic begin to compress your chest, like a can being crushed until it’s flat. You’re too sober and hungover now to face him. You need to get out of here and as soon as humanly possible!

You contemplate taking on the window, but there’s no way you would be able to hold your own body weight right now. You would probably plummet to your death if you tried. So what do you do instead? You sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the bedroom door in horror and anticipation- awaiting your nearing fate. Which soon arrives in the form of a chocolate eyed man, his hair tied back messily into a ponytail and in his arms he holds a tray, “Good, you’re awake.”

You silently curse at the way your heart beats faster at the sound of his sweet voice.

Offering him nothing but a tight lipped smile your eyes fall curiously to the tray he is holding. Did he..?

“I made you something to eat,” he advances further into the room, stepping over loose t-shirts and clothes that have been discarded without a care onto the floor, “I know food is the last thing on your mind right now, but if you want to feel better you need to try and stomach something.” He places the tray next to your bare legs on the bed, his eyes flicking the the skin before back to your face.

He palms at the back of his neck nervously and you examine the dry toast on the plate, next to it is a blob of strawberry jelly and a chunk of butter, “I didn’t know if you’d like anything on it so I just kinda left it up to you.” He smiles at you and you nod in response, leaving the food untouched.

“You undressed me.” The thought makes you want to heave into his trash can. Unless he had done it with his eyes closed, which you doubt, that means he got to see your body again. Touch your skin again. He doesn’t deserve that.

“I.. uh.. you,” he coughs lightly to clear his throat, “You threw up everywhere. All over yourself… I didn’t have a choice.” A redness warms Eddie’s cheeks and you suck in an exaggerated breath, your lungs feel as though they are struggling to breathe.

“Right.” You nod, your eyes scan the room for any sign of your own clothes, which you’re unable to find. Eddie notices, “They are in the wash. Your clothes, I mean. If you’d like a pair of pants I can rummage around for you?” He walks over to his wardrobe and you can’t help but watch him. He is moving feverishly. He is anxious and he’s rambling.

“Your tights were pretty ripped up, you must have fell before I found you. I washed them anyways but I don’t know if they are salvageable.” You look to your knee, finding a massive bandaid stuck to the skin. You remember that part- you bleeding and falling. You don’t remember Eddie bandaging you up, though.

“Thanks.” Even in despair and rage, you remember your manners. This all only proves how much he is able to be a true gentleman- and how much he really must have gone out of his way to purposefully hurt you. It makes your eyes sting. If you hadn’t cried so much last night you probably would be able to muster some tears now- but you’re bone dry.

“Listen.. I.. I don’t know how to say this”, Eddie is cautious as he sits down next to you on the bed, ensuring to keep a good amount of separation between the two of you, “How I feel about you is real. Everything that came from our short time together is real, lovie… and.. and I’m a fucking idiot.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, his throat clearly parched, “I won’t stop apologising, I won’t stop hating myself for what we did- for what I did.” His fingers twitch with need as Eddie contemplates reaching for your hand, but he ultimately decides against it, “I’m sorry.”

Your thumbs twirl with one another, your nail coming to pick at the sensitive skin around the cuticle, “You’ve really hurt me, Eddie.” Just when you thought the tears wouldn’t come, they do, “I can’t believe you made a fucking bet over me. I.. I’m not just some toy you can play with and then throw away when you’re satisfied. I’m a human being! And I’m mad at you.. I’m so mad!” The words squeak out as you let yourself feel everything you’d bottled up over the last few days. The mountainous emotions that you’d let fester deep within exploded through the floodgates.

“You’re such a fucking dick, Munson! I hate you right now!” Your breathing hitches as you struggle to control your breath, “I hate you..” The words are meek and small but they have their desired effect as Eddie’s heart becomes like melted wax in his chest, and it hurt for him to even breathe.

You meet Eddie’s gaze, tears were swimming in his honey brown eyes, but his face was rigid with focus, “I need some time away from you. I can’t.. I don’t want to forgive you right away.” You sniffle hard, your hand coming to paw at your soaked eyes, “What if you’re lying to me again?”

Plump pink lips part on Eddie’s face and he stands up momentarily, only to drop to his knees in front of you, “Let me prove it to you then. Let me make it up to you, please.” He begs, his hands resting on your bare knees and his soft touch shouldn’t scorch you but it does, “I’ll do whatever it takes, sweetheart. Anything to earn your trust again.” He desperately searches your face and you feel your shoulders slump in defeat. It’s so fatiguing to be so upset, “Please.” He repeats, his voice is a light choke.

You nod with a sigh, your hand clasping over his, “Okay.” You breathe, your mind clearing as your tears dry, “But I need time.” You repeat, the venom in your voice dissolving with every second you look at him.

Eddie nods in approval, a teary smile finding his face which he tries to bite back, “Time. I can work with time.”

You smile half heartedly as Eddie presses his forehead to yours, nuzzling his nose gently to your own, “Anything for you, Princess. Anything for you.”

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #fluff #eddie x you #stranger things #eddie the freak munson #what a lie what a lie what a lie #angst with a happy ending #angst #fandom #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #fanfiction

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another-lost-mc · 7 months ago

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When it feels like he's constantly competing with everyone else for your attention, Solomon's not going to let a rare opportunity go to waste.

A Stroke of Luck || Solomon x gn!Reader

Content Warnings: NSFW. Soft smut. Corny holiday jokes, pet names, sixty-nine position, fingering and penetrative sex (top!Solomon). Word count: 3.1k.

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a long time but I'm happy to finally share it for the holiday season. Happy birthday to the magic man.

The sitting room of Purgatory Hall is bathed in the soft glow of the fireplace. Flames flicker and embers burn, filling the air with comforting heat and the crisp scent of firewood.

In the peaceful silence that's fallen over you like a blanket, Solomon nudges closer to you on the sofa. He mirrors your position and sits with a leg tucked underneath him. Your knees nearly touch while you chase away the night’s cool draft with each other’s company. Despite the chilly wind outside the comfort of Purgatory Hall that rattles the windows, you feel pleasantly warmed-through. There are two half-empty mugs of hot cocoa forgotten on the kitchen counter, and Solomon's sweetened breath fans gently over your face every time he leans in close to speak.

The dorm is surprisingly empty except for the two of you and there’s something profoundly intimate about conversing quietly long into the twilight hours without interruption. It’s a rare moment of privacy and you appreciate that none of your other friends are hovering nearby or demanding your attention for once.

Judging from Solomon’s rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly when his gaze drops and lingers on your mouth more than once in the past few minutes, it’s obvious that he’s taking advantage of this rare opportunity too.

“It’s getting late," Solomon says softly, even though you’re both perfectly aware of the late hour. "I suppose I should walk you back soon.” His voice isn’t much louder than a whisper, as if he's scared that speaking too loudly will shatter this perfect moment. He’s certainly not rushing to get you out the door, not when he scoots closer to you instead.

Still, he knows he has to offer and despite the false half-smile he offers, there's a tremor of remorse laced through his words that tugs at your heartstrings. He would never ask you outright to stay no matter how much he might want to, but his body betrays the request he can’t bring himself to admit outright.

Don’t go. Please, stay with me. Don’t leave, not yet.

If he's too worried about being greedy with your company, it’s time to reassure him that he’s not the only one hoping tonight won’t ever end.

“But…what if I want to stay here with you instead?”

The heart wants what the heart wants, after all. It’s easier to be honest about your own desires when it feels like you're both hiding together in this little sanctuary, watching as your shadows dance together along the walls while light from the fireplace casts you both in a soft glow.

In all the three realms and the cosmos beyond, the only place you want to be right now is here with him, and more than anything, you want him to know it.

Solomon's eyes brighten with delight even as he taps his chin and hums deep in his chest while he pretends to ponder your question, and he laughs when you swat lightly at his chest and whine his name at his teasing.

You’re so cute when you’re flustered, he thinks to himself with so much fondness as his heart swells to bursting.

“Oh, I suppose you can stay the night,” he concedes, but after a few moments, his cheshire grin softens into something more genuine. “I’ve missed you too much to want to let you go just yet.”

His eyes shimmer in the dim light like dark water underneath a full moon. You shiver softly when he reaches for your hand, the one resting in your lap. His fingers trace the seven small stars etched into your skin, back and forth so gently that it tickles, so he doesn't scratch you with his nails by accident.

“You know, the angels were called back to the Celestial Realm for their own celebrations this week.” His fingers circle your wrist and rub smoothly over your pulse point before he flattens his palm over your thigh and squeezes your leg. You can feel his fingertips through your pant leg like a searing-hot brand, as if there was no material there at all separating your bare skin from his. “We have the place to ourselves tonight,” he murmurs as he leans close, his voice grows thick and needy with the desire he’s kept under control until now.

A chocolatey kiss lingers at the corner of your mouth and he nuzzles his nose lightly against his cheek when he pulls back again to stare deep into your eyes. He smiles when he finds whatever it is he’s looking for in your expression. “We can do whatever we want.”

Your lips gloss over the edge of his smile when you return his kiss and delight at the faint pink blush dusting across his cheeks. “What exactly do you have in mind, hm?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things." He grasps the back of your neck and a soft whimper escapes him when he finally pulls you close for a proper kiss, and with a slight tilt of his head his mouth slots perfectly against yours. He moves his lips slowly at first but deeper and with more urgency with each breathy sound that escapes you, the soft sighs and whimpers that haunt his dreams on nights when he tosses and turns in his empty bed.

He wraps his arms around you and his open-mouthed kisses turn greedy, all-consuming, and his tongue dips inside your mouth and he nearly moans at the familiar taste of you that he adores so much. His head spins and his heart pounds deep in his chest, overwhelmed with love and lust in equal measure, and deep in his gut, something claws at his self-control like he’s starved and you’re the only thing that can sustain him.

He craves you.

Solomon pulls back long enough to mumble an incantation under his breath before he presses his mouth against yours again, hungrier and more desperate than before. It takes a few moments for you to notice the subtle ripple in the air, the familiar sensation of magic that tickles your skin and you make a questioning noise that he swallows down.

As greedy as Solomon is for you, your fingers weave through his hair and cling to his shirt because you want him just as badly. It’s been too long and you can feel the eagerness in his soft, slightly chapped lips, and in the way he says your name with a hushed sigh or whiny moan. When you pull back to catch your breath, he sucks lightly on your bottom lip and nips it gently between his teeth before letting go.

You can hear his sharp inhale when you palm the bulge in his pants. He sneaks a thigh between your legs before he’s on you again, kissing you senseless while his hands grip the backs of your thighs and encourages you to grind against him. You rut against him mindlessly, squeezing his cock through his clothes, marveling at how thick and heavy it feels and salivating at the thought of guiding it inside you instead.

Without warning, Solomon breaks the kiss and your eyes blink open slowly when he detangles himself from your embrace and drops down to the floor. Underneath him is a large pile of soft blankets and fluffy pillows spread across the floor, summoned from his bedroom with the bit of magic he cast earlier so you can be comfortable.

(He might be desperate to spread you out beneath him, pounding into you with everything he has, but he's not so out of control that he won't ensure your comfort first before he takes you.)

Solomon’s heated kisses, the cozy nest he’s made for you on the floor, the thought of making love in front of the fireplace - it’s so perfectly him, the way he uses magic to create these whimsical, romantic moments when he can finally have you to himself.

And who are you to deny him?

His half-lidded gaze falls to your naked chest when you pull off your shirt and toss it aside. He freezes for a moment like he’s stunned by the expanse of exposed skin suddenly on display for him, and his eyes flitter quickly over your chest and down the gentle slope of your belly.

You realize that he always looks at you like this, as if he’s utterly entranced by the sight of your naked body as though it were the first time.

You also realize that your dear sorcerer is still wearing far too many clothes.

He rushes to take his clothes off when you flick open the button at your waist, and once you’re both stripped down to your underwear, he pulls you down onto the makeshift bed he’s made and holds you in his lap. You’re warm and needy and he can’t resist the temptation to touch all the parts of you he adores without all those pesky clothes in the way. His fingers dance along your spine and trail down your sides. His fingers curl over your hips and he nuzzles against your chest, smearing your skin with wet, lazy kisses while he enjoys the sensation of your hands carding gently through his hair.

There’s so many ways he wants to touch you, so many places he wants to explore with his fingers or his mouth, and he considers all the possibilities until he finally makes up his mind.

He leans back against the plush blankets and blinks at you innocently when he smooths his hands over the swell of your ass and gives your cheeks a little squeeze. You nearly lose your balance when he pulls you on top of him.

He traces along the seam of your underwear and dips underneath the flimsy cotton. Arousal pools between your thighs and it sticks to his fingers as he strokes you.

You try to coax his hand closer to where you’re desperate for him to touch you with more purpose but he clicks his tongue at your impatience. You pout your lips, but when you glance down between your bodies, a strange splash of colour catches your attention.

“Sol, what are you wearing?”

Solomon stammers nervously when you pull away and sit back on your heels between his legs. He’s wearing the type of soft black boxer-briefs he likes, but this pair has a large sprig of mistletoe embroidered on the crotch. The shape is distorted by his erection that tents the fabric slightly.

You tilt your head as if to ask, “Really?”

“It’s only a little festive fun, my darling.” He looks a little bashful and he wonders if this was a misstep. It was meant to be a lighthearted joke, a more creative spin on the human world tradition he’d like to seduce you with. The last thing he wants is to make you feel pressured to do anything you don’t want to.

His breath hitches when you trace over the shape of mistletoe as if you’re considering what to do with him. His cock twitches underneath your fingers as you tease him through the fabric.

The room is startlingly quiet except for his panted breaths and a log cracking in the fireplace. There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue because he doesn’t want this night to be ruined by his own silliness, but Solomon’s mouth falls open with a surprised moan when you suddenly bend low and nuzzle your cheek against his cock through his boxers. You tug impatiently at the waistband of his boxers and he lifts his hips obediently so you can pull them down his legs. They join the pile of crumpled clothing nearby when you toss them over your shoulder.

“T’is the season and all,” you murmur as you settle between his legs, pushing his pale thighs apart to give you more space. “And I suppose if you want a kiss from me that badly…” Your voice trails away as you lower your head again.

The sight of you on your knees like this is nearly enough to undo him. Your fingers wrap gently around the base of his cock and your lips are plump and shiny from kissing. He can feel your soft exhale across his pelvis when you lower your head so you can suck him into your mouth.

“Wait,” Solomon breathes out suddenly. You glance at him in confusion and he fumbles clumsily at your arms and tries to pull you up. When you hesitate, he licks his lips and his dark eyes bore into yours. “Turn around darling, I want to taste you too.”

His request surprises you. It’s not the first time he’s wanted to do this, but there’s a certain amount of nervousness that pools in your gut when you think about putting your body on display like that for him. What settles your insecurity is the undeniable truth that you trust him, with your heart and your body and your love and your vulnerability and everything in between. He’s selfless with his pleasure because he wants to please you too. After a few moments you slowly nod your head and the smile that curls his lips is downright naughty.

It’s awkward to maneuver your body the way Solomon wants but he helps keep you steady while you settle into place. Your limbs tremble slightly, but you don’t know whether it's from excitement or nervousness or both. He distracts you with whispered sweet nothings under his breath, a stream of babbled, soft-spoken praise about how gorgeous you are and how badly he wants you. His hands run up and down your thighs soothingly when you’re finally in position above him.

His soft, snowy-white hair tickles your leg when he turns his head to kiss your thigh, then he grabs your hips and gently urges you down, down, down, closer to his mouth. He’s always so impatient, so eager to please you. He’s determined to make this worth your while.

His fingers spread you open wider for him, and when you finally kiss the tip of his cock and swipe your tongue lightly across the slit, his stuttered groan is lost between the apex of your thighs. The vibration shoots through you as his tongue laps greedily at your most sensitive spots, hot and wet and yearning for his touch.

The muffled sounds of your pleasure and his, growing in volume and frequency and desperation, are drowned out by the slick noises of lips against skin, a depraved symphony that he’s determined to coax from you over and over again.

His tongue flicks greedily at your entrance, teasing the tight rim with the slightest bit of stretch. His cock slips from your mouth when your lips fall open with a loud moan but he doesn’t mind - he wants to hear more of those sounds, and he pulls you down even more so you’re nearly smothering him with your body.

Solomon senses that you’re close when your hips start to move with the slow, grinding rhythm of his lips and tongue. There’s an endless stream of curses and pleas and whimpers tumbling from your mouth, punctuated by gasps and moans that rattle in your chest he pulls from you without mercy. It’s not long before a sharp gasp and a broken cry of his name when your body clenches around his tongue and your release spills across his fingers. He laves over the sticky mess between your legs and savors every delicious drop while he keeps you in place with an arm tucked over your thigh, and he doesn’t stop. Your body shakes above him when he pushes you towards that narrow ledge where pleasure and pain mingle together. Not enough slowly becomes too much and he lets you go when you squirm in his hold to break free from his grasp.

You settle on your back next to him with a soft sight that’s sweet and content, but without hesitation he follows you like being pressed side-to-side isn’t close enough for his liking. He rolls on top of you and he licks his lips with a wickedly satisfied hum before kissing you with all the pent-up desire that still thrums deep within him. His slick tongue pushes gently into your mouth where your scent and taste still cling to him most.

“I want you,” he murmurs against your lips, and though the words are muffled there’s no mistaking what he hopes for next. His erection is firm where it rests between your legs, smearing the faintest amount of stickiness on your skin as it bounces lightly with each twitch and subtle jerk of his hips.

“I want you, I want…can I? Please?” He breathes hotly against your ear as his raspy voice hitches, exhaling a shaky moan while he holds himself above you, waiting.

If you denied him this, you know he’d pull himself off you in an instant without complaint. His desire would ebb and fade away while he holds you quietly for the rest of the night, content with your company itself and any disappointment he feels is gone by morning.

His eyes are hungry and loving in equal measure and with him so close but not close enough, you realize how empty you are without him warming you with the weight of his body and filling you with everything he has. Words fail you but he doesn’t need to hear them, not when you kiss him back just as desperately while your hand reaches down between you and guides his cock inside. Trembling fingers dig into his sweat-slicked back as he moves, slipping over familiar pact marks as you hold him tight enough to bruise. His pace starts slowly at first but grows faster, each thrust filling you so perfectly, burying your cries against his shoulder and spurring him into a pace that loses its rhythm as the pleasure builds inside like a dam about to burst.

When he comes inside you for the first time that night (and certainly not the last), he whispers your name brokenly but with so much love that you can’t help but come too.

Later, much later, when you’re both limp with exhaustion and finally satisfied, Solomon curls protectively around you in a soft nest of bedding on the floor. His slow, rhythmic breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your ear lull you into a comfortable sleep. His body heat chases away the late night's cold even as the glowing embers of the fire nearby finally fade into darkness.

Read More: Obey Me Masterlist

#obey me #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #obey me x reader #obey me smut #solomon x reader #solomon smut #x reader #gn!reader

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aurumalatus · 9 months ago

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𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 2.5k

genre/warnings. pixelprincess!au (princess!reader x knight!kinich), one bed trope, princess is nervous to sleep alone with a man (who isn't)

summary.

after a long journey, kinich and the princess finally turn in for the night at an unfamiliar inn. the only problem? there's only one bed.

author's note. i'm finishing this at like 5am so if there's any errors i'll look over it/fix it when i wake up LOL. for now, please scream and cry about knight!kinich with me. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!!

𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s too warm.

As a princess born and raised in the land of Pyro, you’re accustomed to heat—thrive in it, even. It’s one of the reasons you dread trips like these so much. Foreign nations, even those with the mildest of temperatures, tend to feel a bit too chilly for your taste. Your father often jokes that you could withstand the heat of the Sacred Flame itself.

At the moment, though, you wouldn’t mind cracking open a window or two, even in the dead of winter.

The journey here had been difficult enough, boring as it was. Kinich had threatened to leave you alone in the woods a few times if you kept poking at him, but it was all you could do to not fall asleep. Attending foreign dinners always resulted in long journeys like these, though you know how important it is to maintain close relations with allied countries.

A few bumps in the road made this trek especially long, however—a number of bandits and blocked off paths added an irritating amount of time to your travel, until you and Kinich decided to rest for the night before heading home tomorrow. It had been difficult to even find a place—most inns had been full by this time, but you’d been fortunate to find one with a single open room.

A single, open room containing a single, solitary bed.

That aside, it’s a nice enough room, really. The dark mahogany furniture is carved with intricate nature-like patterns, flowers and leaves that crawl up the legs of the chairs and the foot of the bed. The whole place smells pleasantly of teakwood—a scent that, for better or worse, you tend to attribute to Kinich.

Your knight sits in front of the darkened fireplace, fiddling with a flint until it strikes with a small flame, then enkindles the rest of the wood. A flushing warmth instantly permeates the room. Usually, you would thank him for his efforts—he knows how cold you get—but now, you feel a thin sweat forming at your brow.

Kinich stands, brushing off his hands and admiring the firelight. The lighter strands of his hair glow in its radiance. “That should last us for a bit.”

He tugs at the clasp of his cloak, pulling the garment off and tossing it onto the chair in the corner of the room. It’s a thick fur with ornate green and gold trim; you’d given it to him as a gift during the Winter Festival a year ago. You let your eyes follow the motion, watching the dark cloth drape over the furniture—somehow, you feel too awkward to look at your companion right now. He glances at you, as if wondering what you’re doing just standing there, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Actually, I’m a bit warm,” you say, thumbing at the edges of your sleeves. Kinich raises a brow, genuinely concerned.

“...It’s wintertime,” he says, an obvious statement that seems to ask what the hell is wrong with you.

“Yeah, and I’m warm,” you retort, arms crossed. He looks at you, then looks at the fire, then looks at you again.

“Alright, but if you get cold later, don’t come crying to me,” he says, kneeling down again. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “though I have a feeling you will anyway.”

He toys with the kindling for a bit longer, until the raging flames die into smaller embers and the room cools down. As much as he gives you a hard time, he prioritizes your comfort as much as he possibly can.

With the temperature now taken care of, there is still one other source of discomfort in the room, you think, glancing back toward the bed. It looks temptingly comfortable, with thick sheets and fluffy pillows, but you can’t fathom sleeping in it at the moment.

“You realize that we can’t sleep here, right?” you say, staring down at your feet.

The dark-haired knight is busy rummaging through his rucksack, only half paying attention to what you’re saying.

“I don’t see why not. The bed is big enough.”

He’s right; it’s a king-size, and the two of you would have no problem fitting. Still, the thought of sleeping in a bed with him makes your face warm in a way that can’t be blamed on the fire.

“...There’s only one,” you manage.

Kinich looks up at you, deadpan. “An astute observation. Maybe you’ll be able to count to three by next year.”

“You little—”

The nervousness turns to irritation at his nonchalance—honestly, the thought of sharing a bed with a man you aren’t married to seems a bit inappropriate. And though you won’t admit it, you’re a bit offended that he doesn’t seem even slightly nervous to sleep with you. Kinich isn’t a nervous person by nature, that’s true; it takes quite a bit to get him to show any sort of strong emotion. But a small part of you is disappointed that he doesn’t seem to care about the situation at all.

“You realize it’s just us, right?” you say, urging him toward the root of the issue. Even just stating that fact makes an anxious lump form in your throat.

Kinich considers your words for a moment, pausing his ministrations, before meeting your gaze directly.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he says, raising a brow.

The implication makes your face heat up, and you find it almost worse that he had addressed the elephant in the room.

“It’s not that!” you argue hastily. Kinich seems unbothered by your protests, fiddling with the intricate straps of his armor and the laces of his boots. He works about removing them in a fashion that’s so robotic that you’re sure he must’ve done this millions of times.

“What is it then?” he retorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Do you snore?”

“I do not—”

“Sleep talk?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Sleepwalk?”

“No! But—”

“Great,” Kinich decides, clapping his hands together as if to end the discussion. Rising to his feet, he gestures to the bed, even going so far as to pull the blankets back invitingly. “Then sleep.”

It’s hard for you to win against him, especially at times like these—truth be told, you actually are quite tired. With a huff, you begrudgingly climb into bed, nearly hanging off the edge with the ample space you leave.

Kinich doesn’t join you yet; he’s still fixing his clothes and tidying his other belongings. He takes good care of his things, you’ve noticed, almost neat to a fault. There’s a strict routine he follows during the night; before bed, he always takes special care to maintain his weapon.

You watch as he oils and sharpens his blade, brow furrowed in concentration. He’s always been very particular about the thing, as if it was an extension of himself, as long as you've known him. His movements are notably precise and intricate, and overwhelmingly gentle. Lost in watching him, you just about jump out of your skin when his eyes suddenly flicker to you.

“You know, most people rest with their eyes closed,” he hums, amused at having caught you in the act.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble, sinking deeper into the pillows to hide your embarrassment.

He shakes his head. “And you’re supposed to be sleeping. So I guess no one’s happy.”

You pull the blanket up until it brushes your chin. You don’t need it; your skin feels like it’s on fire, but somehow it feels too vulnerable to be uncovered right now.

“You’re telling me you don’t feel weird about this? At all?”

He sets the sword aside and finally removes the last of his armor, simply left in his training tunic and loose pants. The shirt is tighter than you remember, you think briefly. You force yourself to look away.

“Should I?” he asks, brushing off his clothes. “Are you going to do something to me?”

The corner of his lip twitches, and you nearly roll your eyes—he amuses himself way too much.

“No!”

“Then we’ll make a deal. I won’t do anything to you if you don’t do anything to me. Then, we’ll both peacefully sleep so that I don’t have to deal with your crankiness in the morning.”

Irritatingly, he’s right about that too. The two of you will have to head out early if you want to make it home for your lessons, as well as Kinich’s other guard duties. And, truthfully, you don’t tend to be a morning person—it’s all Kinich can do to even wake you up on time.

You huff, shutting your eyes. “Fine.”

“Oh?” You can hear the mirth in his voice, and it only makes your irritation grow. “So you were planning on doing somethin—”

“I wasn’t!”

Kinich doesn’t say anything more, likely sensing that you’re on the precipice of genuine frustration—he always knows your exact limits, even when you don’t say so.

For a few minutes, you really do try to sleep. But your heart is still pounding, and as much as you try to ignore it, it threatens to burst out of your chest. You reason that you would feel this way no matter who you were sharing a bed with—it’s just not a feeling that you’re used to. It’s certainly not because it’s Kinich.

You imagine him sleeping beside you, and your fists tighten until your nails form crescent-shaped imprints in your palms.

Definitely not because it’s Kinich.

Your stomach turns as you listen to your companion move around the room, organizing his things. Everything about him is so calm and quiet, including his footsteps—they’re barely a whisper across the floor. The anticipation nearly swallows you whole, and you wait for something to happen—the blankets to pull back, or even a dip in the mattress.

For several long, torturous minutes, nothing happens at all. In fact, you can’t even hear Kinich anymore, not even a single breath.

Did he leave the room?

Gathering your courage, you silently will yourself to open your eyes, afraid of what you’ll see. It takes you a bit, too absorbed in the awkwardness, and three silent mental countdowns later, your eyes finally snap open. Instantly, you discover two things:

Kinich is not in bed with you.

Kinich is nowhere near you at all.

Instead, the knight is sitting across the room, back against the door, head leaned back and both eyes shut. His greatsword lays across his lap, fingers already curled around the grip—he’s always ready, as usual.

“What the hell?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so loud or so aggressive, but your hand is too late to clamp over your mouth.

Kinich cracks one eye open, fixing you with a lazy stare.

“I thought you said you don’t sleep talk,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

“I don’t—forget it, what are you doing over there?”

He sighs, pulling a knee to his chest and resting his chin on top. He looks much softer like this, in training clothes and lacking his headband—the curtain of his hair parts a bit as he leans over, and you catch a glimpse of the scar there. It’s thin and silver, barely peeking from his forehead.

“Unless I was mistaken, you seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing a bed with me. I may not have been raised a prince, but even I wouldn’t force something like that on a lady.”

Your teeth sink into your lip. The explanation makes you feel stupid and guilty at the same time. Stupid, because you’re really not sure what you’re even afraid of if Kinich climbs into bed with you. Guilty, because you’d been so argumentative with him, even when he was trying to respect your wishes.

There’s three beats of silence.

“I changed my mind,” you manage to squeak out.

“You don’t have to,” he says, tracing the blade of his sword. An expected answer. “I’m fine sleeping here, really.”

And you know he really would be—he’s certainly slept in worse places. But something about him sleeping there while you warm up under thick blankets leaves a rotten taste in your mouth.

“Well, I’m cold now,” you say, shifting under the covers, “so can you come sleep?”

He looks unconvinced by your plea, head tilted. “Weren’t you the one who said it was too warm?”

You pout in reply. “I changed my mi—”

“—changed your mind, yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Kinich rises to his feet, slow and steady. He seems more tired than he lets on, likely the result of the events from earlier—he had been the one to deal with the bandits, after all. You merely watch as he strides toward you.

“Just remember, you’re the one who offered,” he warns, crossing to the other side of the bed. “So don’t kick me in your sleep.”

You don’t say anything at all, firmly fixated on staring at the wall—you don’t think you could stand to look at him right now. When the sheets get pulled back, you suck in a breath.

To your embarrassment, something warm draws up from your quick-beating heart as Kinich lies down behind you. You chalk it up to natural human reaction—you’ve never shared a bed with someone like this, after all. He’s gentle as he lays down, the mattress barely reacting to his movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as he adjusts, shifting the blankets and pillows, hoping he won’t sense your overwhelming nervousness.

“This okay?”

You chance a look in his direction. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with sleep, but they seem to pierce right through you. He’s being very particular about the distance between you—close enough that you can feel a bit of his warmth, but far enough that none of your limbs are touching.

This is fine, you think to yourself, drawing in a long, slow breath. This is totally fine.

You nod meekly, and Kinich sighs, shuffling into a more comfortable position as you turn away.

“Good,” he murmurs, warm breath pooling at the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, somehow both relaxed and on-edge, even as he curls slightly closer to you. “Go to sleep then, Princess.”

He’ll be awake for a while, you know. He never goes to sleep before you do—even once you do, it’ll probably be another half an hour before he follows suit. The thought leaves you hyper-aware of his every breath.

So, for the next fifteen minutes, you lie awake, hopelessly thinking of the man laying next to you. And, for the next fifteen minutes, he lies awake too. Your mind grows foggy, begging for rest, but you still feel something tugging at your chest. You wonder if Kinich feels the same way.

“Kinich?” you finally whisper.

There’s a pause, like he’s deciding whether to reply seriously or to scold you for not sleeping. His voice comes out hoarse, a deep rumble from his chest.

“Yes, Princess?”

A yawn crawls out of your throat.

“...are you warm enough too…?”

Your voice trails off as you finally succumb to the clutches of sleep. Kinich listens as your breathing turns to an even rhythm, calm and serene. For once, he’s glad that you’re not looking at him—if you did, you would see the way his skin is flushed a deep red, from his ears to his neck.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I am.”

#genshin impact x reader #kinich x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact #kinich #kinich x you #pixelprincess!au #adeptus ink

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himbodruid · 6 months ago

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Desperation in Yearning

Taking a break from Sylus fics to give yall some Zayne!

Zayne x Reader

Intended for 18+ readers. MINORS DNI.

Desperate -:- clothed sex -:- angst -:- possessive Zayne (kinda) -:- Zayne loses control (but not of his evol)

Fic Master List

.𖥔˖⋆ ˚❆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ⋆⁺₊❅. .𖥔 ݁ ˖⋆ ˚❆. ݁₊ ⊹ ݁

There was a certain excitement that came with danger, an addictive rush of adrenaline. Maybe that was why you kept throwing yourself into missions that could end in your death. Or maybe it was some sort of misguided sense of survivor’s guilt, seeing as you’d been quite literally throwing yourself into your work for the last 14 years. Since the explosion. Since your world came raining down in a rain of ash and embers.

Your bags were almost packed, even though the shuttle wasn’t leaving for another several days. Captain Jenna had given you and the rest of the deployment team a few days off in order to prepare for the arduous journey, but you felt unsettled. You needed to move. To do something other than hurry up and wait.

Cooking was a nice way to distract yourself, even if you weren’t very good at it. What you made was edible at least, if not very creative.

A hurried knock on your door returned you to reality on that first night, and you looked up with brows drawn down. You weren’t expecting any visitors, and the stirfry you’d been disassociating over was almost done (note: probably burnt actually). Shaking your head, you removed the pan from the heat and killed the stove so you wouldn’t start a fire in your distraction.

Zayne was there on the other side of the door. He was out of breath, as if he’d run straight from Akso Hospital. He also looked…angry, and you ushered him inside.

“Doctor Zayne? What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

He took a moment to compose himself. It was almost disturbing to see the usually unflappable Doctor Zayne in such a state, and you feared the worst.

“When were you going to tell me,” he demanded. His usually even voice held the slightest of tremors, and you didn’t understand why. His eyes held an intensity to them that made you look anywhere but his face.

“What do you mean? Tell you about what?” He sat heavily in a stool at your breakfast bar and you put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under your touch.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re leaving?”

“Oh. That.” You still didn’t understand why it was such a big deal to him. It was just like any other away mission before. You always texted him when you were heading out and he wished you a safe return. And then when you returned, the two of you would go out to dinner together. You always celebrated your wins with him, mourned the losses with him.

“Were you just going to send me some off-hand text again? Letting me know you’d be leaving and then leave me in radio silence for weeks on end? Leave me wondering if everything was going okay, if you were safe- alive, even?”

He stood and punctuated his words by crowding you against the counter. His hazel eyes held a predatory glint to them, a look you were so unused to in his regularly smooth expression. He wasn’t one to wear his emotions easily, and you always struggled to read him. Even now, when he had you pinned at your counter, you couldn’t figure out what he was so upset over.

“Doctor Zayne, it’s fine. I do stuff like this all the time, it’s part of my job.”

His hand slammed down on the counter, making you jump. “Purposefully throwing yourself in harm’s way is not part of the job, not when you constantly do it to the point of self-destruction!”

You stared up at him, eyes wide in wonder. His face was flush and you thought you could read despair in his expression. This was a man that was always calm, cool, and collected, and yet here he was losing his temper at you.

“I…didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say to him, trying to appease him so he would relax. But your words only seemed to fuel his frustration even more.

“That’s the problem. You never seem to think,” he whispered, the tremble in his voice more prominent now.

“Zayne,” you say, dropping his title in favour of your friendship. “What’s all this about? I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this. Please, help me understand.”

He blew out a shaky breath and let his head drop to your shoulder. You froze. It’s not that you didn’t see Zayne as a man, it’s that you always thought he never saw you as a woman. You thought maybe he only ever saw you as a trouble-making younger sibling, seeing as you had been friends with him since childhood. But here he was, face buried in your neck while he struggled to maintain his composure.

“I’m tired of watching the woman I love run head-long into danger,” he said quietly. “And not knowing if you’re safe is a special kind of torture I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

You felt your heart shudder at his admission. Oh how you’ve been so stupid, so blind to his true feelings. The only credit you could give yourself is that Zayne wasn’t the best at portraying what he felt, and you were even worse at picking up social cues.

Your mind dug through all of your memories with him. How he would always seem to hug you a little longer than necessary when you came home. How he would always use one excuse or another to call and check up on you. How his demeanor went from cold and distant to warm and welcoming as time passed. The clues were there all along, you just never picked up on them. Or you assumed they were just a natural progression of friendship.

“Zayne, I-“ you didn’t know what to say. How to finish that sentence. You felt like you were in shock and you didn’t know what to do. He lifted his head from your shoulder slowly, bringing those damnably beautiful eyes up to bore into your very soul.

“I hate not knowing if you’ll survive the next mission that takes you away from me. I hate not being able to clear my schedule fast enough to go alongside you as a medic. And I hate the very idea of losing you to your own stubbornness.”

With that, he leaned forward and his lips captured yours. It was hesitant at first, testing, but the last remnants of his control snapped when you returned the kiss in equal measure. He coaxed your mouth open with ease and plunged his tongue in to tangle with yours. He poured all his desperation into you in that single point of contact, his hand coming up to grasp the back of your head to hold you in place.

When he finally broke away to let you have some air, his face was flush with all that was left unsaid. His eyes pleaded with you, his breath mingled with yours. He searched you for the same kind of yearning he bore to you. And when your gaze flicked to his mouth and back to his eyes with a soft sigh, he knew he had his answer.

He hauled you up against him, holding you as close as he possibly could as if that act alone could prevent you from leaving him. As if that alone would keep you by his side and out of danger forever. But it was that threat of danger that made desperation all the more prominent, all the more sweeter.

Zayne carried you to your bedroom without hesitation and without trouble, as though you weighed nothing more than the pen he carried in his lab coat every day at work. Your legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his broad shoulders on instinct, hiking up the skirt you wore and exposing yourself to his chill touch. He plopped down on the corner of your mattress with you straddling his lap, not even taking a moment to break the kiss. You rocked your hips against him, lost to his every touch that drove you deeper into a needy mess.

You hated admitting it, but you knew that this is what you’ve been craving for so long. The realization that you were waiting for him to make a move so that your passion wouldn’t scare the normally reserved doctor away. Zayne was letting go of all those reservations and it was the single most attractive thing you ever experienced.

He devoured you. Touched you. The noises he made shot right to your core and your own noises rose to respond to him. The chill of his hands sent shivers dancing through you. You could feel the length of him hardening beneath you, responding resolutely to the grind of your core against him. One of his large hands found your thigh, smoothing along your skin until he was at your hip and his thumb ran along the edge of your underwear. You were subconsciously glad you wore lace, but it didn’t really matter when you were lost to him. And, gods, the cold metal of his watch pressing into your hot skin did something unspeakable to you.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, making lazy circles as his tongue continued to battle with yours. You couldn’t stop the moan you released into his mouth, but the noise only seemed to goad him further. He absorbed the sounds you made and became drunk off you.

And then you were suddenly pinned underneath him. One hand held your wrists above your head while those elegant fingers of the other dipped into your slicked folds. When he found you wet and wanting, he groaned into your neck. He curled those fingers inside you, eliciting a gasp as he put pressure in the perfect place. You bucked your hips against his hand, chasing the release he was so graciously gifting you.

And when you fell over the edge, you breathed his name into the air like a chanting prayer. Your body arched into him involuntarily and your hands grasped at whatever they could while still restrained.

But Zayne wasn’t done with you. He was far from it.

He removed his fingers from you, bringing them up to inspect the result of your climax still slicked between them. And then he looked you in the eye, muttering ‘beautiful’ before he stuck those fingers in his mouth and savored the taste of you with a moan. And something about that damn watch on his wrist while he did it.

And, fuck, he still wasn’t done torturing you.

The buckle of his belt was loosened and his cock freed from his pants with hardly an effort. He did it all with one hand while still pinning your wrists together above your head. You wanted so badly to touch him, but all you could do was wrap your legs around his hips as his narrow hips nestled between your thighs. And then your underwear was brushed aside and his cock slicked against your folds, a gentle, testing nudge at first. Then pushing further at your moaned pleas.

You all but begged him to fuck you roughly like you wanted, and still he took the time to make sure your petite body could accommodate his size without hurting you. And, oh how he filled you. It was more than you could have ever dreamed, and still he remained infuriatingly still inside you while his mouth worked at yours with promises of what was to come.

You flexed your walls on him in silent revenge, and he hissed a moan into your mouth with an involuntary forward jerk of his hips. And that’s all it took for the dam to break on his control.

Before you knew it, he was slamming into you with reckless abandon, so hard you swore you could feel yourself being moved across your bed. His hand finally released yours and all you could do was cling to him while he basically folded you in half, trying to somehow get even deeper than he already was. His grunts, moans, whimpers were diffused by him burying his face in your neck. You chanted his name into the open air, punctuating it by kisses and bites against whatever skin of his neck and chest you could access.

He hooked his arms underneath your knees, giving himself the most access he could while he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. Every thrust slammed against that sweet spot in your core and you came undone around him more times than you could count before he’d even gotten close to his end. Each climax that swept through you was more intense than the last until you were all but screaming his name.

“So damn…good,” he grunted, his pace increasing as his own orgasm finally neared. His sounds were no longer muffled by your neck or mouth. He let his own pleasured cries rise with yours as he continued making a mess of the both of you. His words became incoherent as he lost himself to the rapture.

Zayne slammed so, so impossibly deep into you with a sound that came out like a mix between a shout and a moan. His climax steamrolled through him so thoroughly that all he could do was jerk his hips while trembling in your hold. Your walls quivered around his cock once more, milking him as he flooded you with his cum.

Zayne collapsed atop you, a sweating panting mess. You realized that the both of you were still fully clothed, so caught up in your frenzied coupling that you didn’t even take time to undress. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the madness that’d taken over the both of you. Especially when he was still shifting his hips in micro-thrusts that made you realize that he was still hard inside you.

Everything about this encounter sent a thrill through you, and it was something you would never forget. Though, your mind went blank when he suddenly rode you through overstimulation only to jolt you both through an unexpected mutual orgasm. His cock twitched and pulsed inside you as another deluge of cum filled you. And your body was all too eager to take him in. If it weren’t the sensations of his cock inside you, you were almost certain the sounds he was making would have sent you over the edge again. Or even the contrast of his cold hands on your heated skin.

It felt all too soon, but he pulled from you with a long moan. He kissed you and put his forehead against yours in an action so tender that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to you with an embarrassed smile. “That’s not exactly how I imagined that would go.”

“Yeah?” You chuckled. “How was it supposed to go?”

“Slow and sweet. Definitely not horny and wild while clothed,” he grumbled. You couldn't help but look down and grinned when you saw the mess the both of you had made against his nice black trousers.

“Why not show me how it was meant to be?” You ventured. That soft smile of his played across his face as he leaned in and kissed you.

He proceeded to demonstrate what his first idea had been. Soft, slow, and sweet, bringing the both of you to climax over and over. He worshipped your body in a multitude of ways and you were grateful, then, for the days off that Jenna had given you. Because, aside from going home for a change of clothes and picking up some take out, Zayne hardly left your bed until it was time for you to go.

He walked you to the shuttle while trying to stoically hide the devastation in his eyes. Other hunters were already boarding the vehicle, but you turned to face him while your luggage was loaded, drawing him into a tight hug.

“I promise to be more mindful of missions in the future,” you say to him. You lean up in his embrace and kiss him in full view of anyone that cared to look. You knew there would be relentless teasing from Tara, but you didn’t care.

“After all, I have someone at home to look forward to now.”

#zayne smut #zayne x you #doctor zayne #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #dr zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #lads fic #lads #lads smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace

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stargrltara · 6 months ago

Text

Kinda Outa Luck II

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

summary: based off of the song "Kinda Outa Luck by lana del rey. 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩. Reader is kinda inspired by catwoman in the batman, she works in a club, and on the low she's gothams most wanted female thief. She is gorgeous, and she uses it to her advantage.Oh, did i mention she has a thing for the Red Hood? And, honesty, he does too, though he is pretty shit at hiding it. PT 1 PT 2 PT 3 ?

warnings: 18+ MDNI, it’s quite long im sorry, mentions of clubs, tying up, begging, mentions of sexual natures and strippers, slapping, unprotected sex, p in v, teasing, some fluff and angst, enemies with benefits??

a/n: guys this is part 2!! wow this is longgggg long. it was originally meant to be all in 1 part but i couldn’t be arsed and thought it would b easier like this xoxo. and sorry for the wait i’m so unbothered bye

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“ before i get bad

i gotta get drunk

so get over here

pour me a cold one „

Sliding on your skimpy, silver dress, you began to contemplate which hairstyle you desired for tonight’s shift. The sequins reflected a soft hue against the moonlit sky and the rain trickled down the windows softly. Brushing through your locks, light specs of gold and white stardust lingered on your fingertips as remains from doing your makeup not too long ago.

As you arrived to the Iceburg Lounge at roughly 9PM, you immediately strutted past the countless amount of people. Aromas of cheap and expensive cologne covered your nostrils like a blanket while you shoved your way past and behind the bar, eager to make yourself a drink before getting started tonight.

Pouring a shot of tequila through the glass, taking an easy swig and tapping it back onto the cool slate; a content sigh escaped your lips.

After a few hours of working, cleaning tables and serving drinks, a man walks up to you. His attire classy, a black suit along with a silver tie. His hair slicked back, sophisticated. “ The Penguin wants you in his office. “ The man grumbled sternly. Nodding, you hesitatingly set the bottle of vodka down and walked towards the Penguins office.

Thoughts corrupted your mind into a clueless haze. Of course, you were his favourite worker, but why did he randomly want to see you at this time? Sheepishly, you knocked on the door before intertwining and fiddling with the nails of your thumbs, sighing under your breath and waiting for what felt like an enternity under the gates of Penguins Office doors.

Finally, a muscular sihlouette opened the door before you. Taking in the unwelcoming sight, your brows curved into a disconnected frown after you noticed the scarlett steel layered on the mans face; orbs painted in a bleached clad. You refrained from widening your eyes too much from the illusion displayed upon you, blinking rapidly as you believed your eyes discieved you; attempting to hide the sceptism through your aurburn soul.

Does he know who you are? And all of a sudden you felt as if you weren't the bravest seductress in Gotham, instead, a neusiating ember arose from the heart of your chest, catching fire to your limbs and your delicate spirit. Suffocated with undervalue and engulfed under the weight of the Red Hood, he moved out of the way for another man to stand infront of him.

" Ah— finally, youre here ! " Penguin grinned at you as you lingered around his office while he communicated with the Red Hood. " So.. I.. Uh— Anything you need, sir?" Your voice shuddered, a hint of reluctance in your voice in front of the powerful image. You couldn’t help but dally your gaze every few minutes onto the rugged frame beside him. “Pour me a drink, will ‘ya? I know you make the best, honey. “ The New York accented man spoke, a wink left his eye before he carried on his conversation with Red Hood; never looking back at you.

Complying to his orders, you made your finest cocktail, which happened to be his favourite before handing it to him. A small nod in validation he gave you before going back to his conversation. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t eavesdropping. 3 words stood out to you. “Guns.” “Illegal.” “Shipment.” Your brow raised each time familiar word like those itched your ears, and all you wanted to do was to interfere with Penguins Illegal Gun Shipment. You were eager to hear more of this, hence the reason you were spending longer than needed to clean and put away the glasses.

You were also taking longer than usual because you were attempting to catch longer glances at Red Hood. He’s massive; his toned abs trapped beneath his suit. The back of his shoulders massive, you could tell by the way he sometimes clenches it. And his thighs? They’re plump, but they also look solid, like you’ll be crushed between them if you ever try to suck—

You were getting ahead of yourself, your mind corrupted with arousing thoughts between you and Red Hood. What was it? The way he grabbed your mouth to cover the sound of your voice, and the raspiness of his filling the misty atmosphere? Maybe it was how he trapped you underneath his body against the cold bricks, and the contrasting temperatures between the breeze and his body warmth.

God the things you would do just to taste that man. Just to pin him down, put him at your mercy for once; get him on his knees and beg. Though, you also wanted to beg. Beg for his erotic touch, electrifying against your skin and sparks clinging to your skin.

Maybe you were staring and dreaming for too long, lost in your daze before reality hit.

It was happening tonight. And there was no way you were going to miss it. You could sell those guns, you could make so much money.

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“ is it wrong wrong

that i think it’s kinda fun

when i hit you in the back of the head with a gun? „

You were ready, at the sight. Hopping out of your truck and inching closer to it. There was a lot of shipment men, and a lot of guards at the gates of the scene. And then something else caught your gaze. Red Hood. It’s fine, you’ll be in and out, like no one was ever here. You’ll be sly, like a serpent. He won’t even notice you.

Swiftly making your way past everyone, through the shadows, which sounds oddly familiar, you fall upon the specific gun crates which twinkle your vision. As one of the guards back is turned, you open the crate and take out 2 highly advanced guns, and bolted, grappling to a roof. Sighing in relief, you turned around, just to be greeted by the Red Hood, but he was clearly occupied with.. something.. arguing with one of the guards before the guard eventually gets fed up and struts of. Red hood just scoffs at the action.

You acted quickly, afraid he would take you down and turn you in. Hitting him in the back of the head with the gun, earning a small grunt, and for him to fall unconscious beneath you. Fuck. You couldn’t deny the shot of ecstasy that ran through you, the feeling of sinning but with a spec of thrill.

Your apartment was a few blocks down. Perhaps, you could carry him drag him to your truck, and then up the stairs to your apartment? You know, to avoid him from finding you and beating your ass.

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“ my daddies in the trunk

of his brand new truck „

The drive back to your apartment was quiet, but your mind wasn’t. What if he woke up in the trunk? After dragging him into your apartment and avoiding the weird stares from your neighbours, you locked the doors and tied him to your chair with a whip-like rope. Though, the situation was quite ironic since it’s usually him capturing and interrogating criminals like this, you couldn’t help but smirk eagerly to see his helpless reaction.

As he awoke, he glanced around, still in a haze from the sudden attack. “ You…” He muttered, a little muffled from his helmet, which you kept on as you planned to do something soon. A giggle escaped your mouth as you watched him glare up, avoiding the embarrassing position; small grunts leaving his mask as he struggled against the rope.

Red Hood let out a low guttural growl as he watched you stand so proudly, proud to have captured someone so much stronger than you; the sound of pain reverberating through his body. You aimed a gun at the base of his helmet, a threat but you both knew you’d never pull the trigger. A flash of surprise crossed his face. Despite the situation, he chuckled through the pain, clearly entertained by your resistance.

"That.. was a dirty move, doll face." He grunted, before you shook your head. “Stop—“ You order him, authority radiating off of you as you slowly inch closer, the gun still aimed at his head, and you place the metal right onto his helmet. “i’m talking now.”

He raised his hands up as much as he could in surrender, amusement still clear on his face under his mask. The supremacy in your voice and your unwavering stance had caught him off guard, and the sight of you prowling towards him with a gun in hand was more attractive than he cared to admit.

"Alright, alright." He said calmly, a smirk still on his lips. "I'm not speaking. Satisfied?" Even the way he man-spreaded was hot; it took everything in you to not pounce over onto him and suck the soul right out of him. Your cheeks fluttered a soft pink at the thought. He even noticed the way you were peering down at his crotch, and his thighs. Honestly, you didn’t really have much of a plan. You weren’t sure what to do with this tank at your mercy in the middle of your living room.

“I—“ You stammered, thinking of what to say. He just raised a brow at you, you’ve done this before but not to anyone like him. You could never take him in a fight, you could never try and overpower him even if you tried.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” His voice filled with snark and impatience. He had things to do, he was a busy man, and you were stalling him. “I said shut up.” You repeated sternly before preparing your finger on the trigger. You think of something quick, and in that time, your consciousness decides to untie him, the rope falling to the floor but he remained seated, glaring up at you waiting for your next command.

“Get.. Get on your knees. “ You spoke quick, reluctance and hesitation behind your vocals, and you licked your lips in anticipation. His smirk faltered briefly as you ordered him to get on his knees. The thought of actually submitting to you filled him with a mix of irritation and reluctant curiosity. There was something about you in this dominant state that he couldn't quite place, and it made him wonder what you were up to.

Slowly, he begrudgingly obliged, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his eyes still fixed on your face, studying your movements and your shy remarks. He knew you weren’t an amateur in this region, but he you both knew how he could easily pick you up and throw you against the wall if he wanted. You wouldn’t even realise a swift movement that he would do, as he could easily tackle you.

Your heart was beating out of your chest with anticipation. “Now..” Your voice trailed off slyly. “Take that pretty helmet off ‘f me.” He gritted his teeth as you shoved the gun against his skull. The feeling of the cold metal against his helmet sent a jolt through him, adding to the mixture of anger and mild attraction he was feeling. He knew he should be fighting back, but something about your commanding attitude was making him hesitate.

“Absolutely not.” He huffed, even now it was obvious that he had some sort of authority. You just sighed in annoyance, he was supposed to be fearful right now, except he barely even took this situation seriously. “I’m not asking, Red.” You spat through gritted teeth, warning him. His eyes narrowed as you bit your lip, an action that made him feel a mix of annoyance, and something else he couldn't quite place. He could feel himself getting riled up and it was only making things more complicated. He could also sense your impatience and the determination in your voice, but he stood firm on his refusal. “—and i’m not listening.” Stubborn.

You scoffed. “Jesus— i’ll just do it myself.” You mummer little nothings as you were pissed off, before inching closer, forgetting that his hands are free just behind his back as you kneel down enough to be alighed with his mask and you search for the way to take it off. “You seriously can’t be that bad under there, honey.” a soft whisper — Red Hood couldn't help but let out a low rumble of annoyance as you approached him, attempting to remove his mask. Your ignorance to the fact that his hands were free behind his back only added to his irritation, and ignited the burn in his eyes as you bent in front of him, feeling around for a way to undo the mask, he couldn’t help but revel in your naivety.

Unfortunately, he saw this as a chance. And with a swift power move, he tackled you to the rough of the ground, a loud gasp laced with pain left the pale of your lips. He straddled your body, pinning you down with his weight. His hands grabbed your wrists and held them firmly down above your head. His eyes darkened in anger as he stared down at you, breathing heavily. “Pretty things like you never learn." He growled so close to your ear that his breath was fanning onto your fair skin, an almost animalistic roar through his helmet as he was full of rage, and a slight hint of lust.

Soft groans of agony escaped you as you struggled and squirmed beneath him, weighing you down and ruining your chance to be free. Your body rubbed against his as you grunted. He let out a dry scoff as he felt your struggle beneath him. You were feisty and strong, but he was stronger and had been in this exact position plenty of times before. He tightened his grip on your wrists, pinning them harder against the ground as he leaned down closer to your face. “—What's wrong, doll? ..Not used to being the one on the bottom?” He teased, his voice low and raspy, and a little disoriented from his helmet.

“—you wouldn’t be able to handle me on top.” You muttered between sharp inhales as his weight on you took some air out of your lungs. You voice having a snarky edge but also a hint of a cunning tease to it as you narrowed your hazel eyes at him, lashes fluttering. He chuckled again, this time it was different. Your snarky comment making him more amused than annoyed, and ironically creating heat to pool in his stomach. He liked your fire, your determination to keep fighting, even when he had you completely immobilized beneath him.

“Is that so? ” He purred, his face only inches from yours. Despite your situation, your words had only fueled his desire to put you in your place even more. You just hummed at his words as you could barely form words of your own out of your mouth; your chest rising and falling from each hitch. He shifted his weight above you, trying to hide the raging hard-on you were giving him, and he just gazed at your stunned face.

And in that moment, you both felt it — the volt of electricity that ran down your body and through your ultraviolet veins. — Both of your bodies warmth and laced with lust and arousal. You gave into the feeling of need and desire as you melted beneath his touch as he ran a glove-clad hand down your abdomen, the buzz seeping through your latex suit and causing the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck to rise. His hand stopped right at your thigh, edging you onto feeling an ache, the ember igniting in your chest causing gasps to leave your mouth as you accepted the way he leaned in, inhaling your scent.

You were so lost in the moment that you didn’t realise the way he picked you up and carried you to your bedroom before tossing you onto the bed, the mattress bouncing onto your back as you waited. He turned the lights off, so all that lingered was the soft dim of the billboards and the lighting that struck down as rain trickles onto the glass of your windows.

He must’ve stripped after he turned off the lights because you felt a heavy sink in the bed when he laid on top of you, and the clank of his helmet onto your carpet. You ran your hands down his toned chest. Of course, he felt heavenly, you drew your fingertips and traced the way of each perfect muscle, but just as you were done, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. He tightened his grip and you winced slightly, though that shot of pain wasn’t from your wrist but from how eager you were to fuck him.

“..I ain’t gonna play nice.” He warned, his real, ragged voice soaking into the air; you took the opportunity of his bare face to interlock your fingers into his locks, earning a small grunt in approval from him. “I’m used to fighting dirty.” You breathed before you pulled him up by his hair, and latched your lips onto his. He tasted different than you expected, sweet and his lips soft, although the hot kiss was aggressive and passionate, eating at eachother’s mouths. He deepened it, sliding his tongue against yours and a light moan flowed from your mouth to inside his, coating his tongue in your hot, shuddering breaths.

You pulled away, filling air into your lungs but just before you could prepare, he leaned in, cupping your chin with his free hand before he wrapped his lips around yours again, this time your teeth colliding and as he pulled away slowly, a string of saliva connected between each of your lips.

After moments of heavy making out, he traced small patterns on your suit, feeling for the zipper before zipping it down. You lifted your stomach up as he sat in between your opened legs, right in between your core as he stripped you bare. You remained in your lace bra and panties and it was unfortunate that he couldn’t see such a sight and you can’t see his true features.

It felt like heaven was having a bubble bath in your stomach as he planted small, open mouth kisses around your neck, each leaving a trail of his saliva. He licked a long stripe from your neck to your ear, nibbling on your delicate skin. “..you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting to do this..” he muttered into your skin, gaining a soft moan in agreement, as you admit, you also wanted to do things to him.

His touch felt like it originated from Eden’s garden, his lips creeping down your stomach, sucking and licking at your flesh, knowing there’ll be marks by the morning; the vision sending a jolt down through your body. A sudden fire ignited in your veins and in your limbs, a shot of ecstasy. He could feel the way your body shook and jolted at each touch he laid upon your skin. It only fuelled him.

He reached at your panties, and he pulled it down slowly, slow enough that it made you grunt in impatience. “please..” a low whisper escaped from you, you didn’t even realise what you said, you were lost in the moment. “ patience, baby ” was all he spoke before he spread your thighs wider, his fingers gripping onto your flesh, marking his fingerprints and leaving a surprise for the morning. The scratching of your skin against your blankets filled the air along with the soft grumble of rain hitting against the glass.

A thick finger glided across your puffy folds and a hiss left your mouth in return. You were unethically wet; the slick noises painting the atmosphere. His now wet fingers slithered up your stomach, and through the bridge of your chest, coated in your arousal. He plunged them into your mouth and a “hmmgh..” left your lips.

You willingly allowed the intrusion, fluttering your eyes closed and sliding your tongue around the two thick digits. Cladding them in your saliva, you bobbed your head up and down on them. “ good girl.. yea— get ‘em nice ‘n wet ‘f me..” he trailed off, everything sounding a haze as you continued to suck on his fingers. He pulled them out and ran them up your folds again, before shoving them into your hole unexpectedly.

An erotic gasp echoed through your bedroom walls, and your aching hole squeezed around his fingers, trapping them as soft moans rumbled from the midst of your throat. He continued to plunge his fingers in and out of your pussy, the slick noises and your moans fuelling his admiration. “ love those noises you make..” he breathed into your ear before licking the burning flesh, his tongue tasting the electricity beneath your blood.

You felt yourself reaching your peak when he curled his fingers just right, a bolt of heat shooting out of your lungs. “ mm.. right there..! right there ! “ feeling so surreal, his thick digits fit inside of you like a puzzle; you moaned before he ripped his fingers out, not allowing you to have your release and your orgasm. All you wanted was to paint your bedsheets white, stain them with the mix of both of your juices, all you wanted was for him to have the hottest orgasm of your life. “ wha…?” you breathed when you felt him take his fingers out of you, you felt empty, and you found yourself craving more.

He brung himself up to your lips, so close you could feel his murky hair ticking your forehead, “ not yet, doll. not until you take my cock “ he grunted before he dragged you to the edge of the bed, earning a loud gasp and you to be very confused. He leaned down, and spat a string of saliva onto your folds; the wet sticking to your skin and charging your arousal.

You felt it, it was big. He filled you up so much, you could barely breathe after he aligned himself with your hole and rammed into it without mercy. Euphoric moans from you, and vicious growls and grunts from him arose from his chest, grumbling out of his throat. Tightening his grip on your waist and sliding it down to your thighs. Hearing a man like this was beautiful. His firm grip tightened, squeezing your skin as he felt himself get deeper and deeper, until he bottomed out. Your puffy hole taking him so nice as you felt him sink inside.

He pulled your legs over his shoulders to get a better angle as he thrusted in and out of you, the bulge from his fat cock inside of your stomach visible and his cock hitting places you never knew existed inside of you. Slamming and shooting arousal to form inside of your body.

Re-arranging your insides, he deepened and quickened his pace and your nails scratching at his shoulders and his back, leaving your mark. Your skin slapping against his pelvis and his right hand paved its way to your breast; fiddling with your bra to pull it down before he leaned in to suck and flick at your nipple. As he leaned down, his cock deepened inside of you and another sharp moan existed your throat. “ do ‘ya feel how deep I am inside ‘f you? “ he was so deep and abusing your tight core. he cooed into the skin of your breast, still lapping at the hardened bud and bringing his other hand up to wrap around your throat. You could only nod as you felt his grip around your neck tighten, the feeling was so euphoric. All you wanted was to be chocked by him, to have your airways cut off by this heaven-sent man.

“ f..fuck.. so— so close..” was all you could let out as the figure inside of you bullied himself around your guts. Between sharp breathes, you could hear that he was close. “—You gonna cum for me, baby? Do it. Cum on my cock, doll. “ His mushroom tip twitching inside of you and his teeth scraping onto your skin. That nickname has never sounded sexier as he emphasised how eager he is for you to release yourself on his shaft. He leaned up, to glare at you from below as he watched your face as you painted his cock white, spilling yourself on him soaking the sheets below as he lightly slapped your cheek before holding your chin to glance at him as you release your juices onto the girth of his cock. “ that’s it, baby..”

Your jaw slacked open as the filfiest moan escaped, this had to be your best orgasm as it hit you hard. Even leaving after shocks, your body was jolting, and your breaths have never felt heavier. He wasn’t far behind as he came right inside of you, water colouring your walls with his seed as he gazed at your face when thunder struck outside the windows, a light flare of your facial features on display. And you could quite make out his piercing emerald orbs, along with his coal hair.

A pornographic groan of pleasure exited his lips and his head fell onto your neck, laying lazy kisses and inhaling your raw scent. All you could do was trace your nails on his neck, drawing small circles and shapes as he lifted you up against the headboard, laying between your things and cherishing your chest and collarbones. The soft gesture was contrasting with how he acted a few seconds ago, ruining your hole, and also with his whole Red Hood persona. This was someone different.

Your fingers lingered on the back of his neck, and slowly slithered down to his broad shoulders and you feel where you left scratches and marks. A small giggle erupting from your throat. “ what’s so funny there, doll-face ? “ he sounded so worn out, and exhausted from how he let go all inside of you. “ oh..nothing, baby,” you chuckled as you played with his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and you could hear the soft almost purr like noises he was making, a smirk creeping onto your lips. “ you’re pretty hot.” you admit, earning an eyebrow raise from him. “ ..that so?” he breathed, unimpressed before he was tackled around, now he was laying on the bed and you were straddling him, pinning his arms beside his head by interlocking your fingers.

Normally, he would be annoyed at such a lack of dominance he holds. But he’s in such vulnerable state, coming down from his high so he just parts his lips, unable to form the snarky words he desired. “—uh oh.. cat caught your tongue?” you don’t know what has gotten into you, you could tell he was completely lost in the situation, but you were feeling more energetic and eager for a round 2. You were grinding bare skin on skin against his, stroking your clit against his lower stomach, right above his pelvis, and you could feel his dick getting hard beneath you. Snaking a long patch of your mixed juices, you leaned in to plant a warm kiss on his chest, and you traced a heart against his fragile skin.

His hips jolted lightly before a low murmur arose from his chest. “..you know how this’ll end baby.” you hummed in response. “ i could easily flip you over right now, and take you again. and again. and again. until your neighbours recognise every slap of our skin, and memorise our moans by heart. “ he growled, though it was low, it was powerful, and it was hot. You felt a not so foreign heat pool inside your stomach again, and it only encouraged you to keep going, to keep rilling him up again.

“..but you won’t.” you ordered before licking a stripe up from his neck to his throat. ironic. and a rugged moan departed from him, which made you ache to make him feel real good. You ached to do everything you imagined in Penguins office, to him. You lowered yourself, kissing above his belly button and tracing his abs with the wet of your tongue. You nestled between his thighs, pecking sweetly at his happy trail, short gasps from him.

It was surprising to know how hot it was to have so much dominance over a man like Red Hood, especially in a state like this. You continued down until you felt the hard base of his shaft, bringing your hand up to it and slowly rubbing it, and taking your lips to press a tiny kiss on the tip. “..stop playin’ games ‘w me “ he groans lightly when he feels the tease of your lips against his fragile tip; feeling impatient as you took your time to pleasure him.

He glared down at you, and although the scene was dark, he could slightly make out the way you both stared at each other before he nodded in approval. You wanted to take his whole dick into your mouth, but before that, you wanted to tease him a little. So, you took the base of his cock and stroked slow strokes before spitting down onto it, saliva rolling down and seeping into his cock and landing on his balls.

Your ears weren’t deceiving you when you heard soft moans and whimpers come out of him and you scoffed at how ironic this was, and how vulnerable he could be when getting his dick sucked; the warmth of your breath sending chills down his skin. Your hand played with the soft of his balls, massaging them as his head flew back, moulding into the pillows under him and you finally took his dick down your throat. He placed his hands upon your head, making a makeshift ponytail out of your hair before slamming your head down onto his cock and guiding you. Unable to beneath, your noise colliding with his pelvis and rough chokes left your mouth.

His cock was girthy, thick and long. Though you couldn’t properly see it, you could feel the single vein that ran along the side. He pulled your head back, landing a slap to your cheek and a tight grip on your chin while he allowed you to breathe; both of your sharp breathes ricocheted through the air. The pouring rain outside added to the chaotic harmony and you leaned down to lick a stripe along the vein of his bulging cock, earning sighs in pleasure.

Without warning, he shoved your head back down onto his cock and you bobbed your head up and down,feeling the bulge in your throat while his was chest rising and falling with each thrust of your lips. Your lips wrapped around it, sucking the soul out of his spirit as an ember of arousal burned through your eyes. Picking up the pace, you could tell he was close by the way he jolted and shuddered, stammering nothings into the room. “..that’s it— keep— keep goin’..” “jus’ take it, all ‘f it. “ whilst you choked on his girth; spit collecting at the side of your mouth and dripping onto his thighs.

You used your hands to stroke what you couldn’t reach, and he let you up for air before slamming you down again, and again, and again, until eventually the wire in him snapped and a pathetic whimper left him, you glared up, allowing him to see the mess he made inside of your mouth and on your face. All of his juices milked onto you, and you took your fingers to wipe yourself and your mouth before licking them clean with your tongue.

“..what was that about being on top, honey ?” you teased, referring to your comment earlier, and how he couldn’t handle you being on top, clearly from his pathetic moans he was unleashing when you sucked the spirit right out of him. “—Shut.. up..” he grumbled, attempting to assert but it came out shaken, the opposite of what he wanted. You chuckled in response and found yourself laying on him, and he was engulfed in your scent.

Your sweaty skins sticking together, but you sort of felt at peace. Resting your face into his neck, both of your eyes fluttered shut, and you wrapped your arms around his body, his around your waist, pulling you closer, trapping you in the erotic heat.

You two were only like this for a few minutes before he got up, leaving you on the bed glaring up at the figure who was putting his clothes back on. “ You leavin’? “ you asked in a huff, but he didn’t respond. “ Red..?”

“..yea. I think— I should go. ” his voice had a hint of reluctance as you heard the sound of clothes being put on, and his helmet shoved onto his head. “okay..” you nodded, sounding a little on edge by his sudden urge to leave, knowing you two were enemies and leaving you sitting on the bed and feeling a need to push the duvet up to cover yourself. you knew he was a busy man, but in this moment, you wanted nothing more than to hold him tight in your arms, listening to the soothing patterns of his breaths as you two fell asleep together. “.. i didn’t.. see your face if that’s what you’re worried about.” you called out as you could see the figure disappear into the shadow, opening the door and standing in the doorframe.

Your lips parted as you heard the thuds of his boots to your front door, and the slam of it closing. Shit.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆˚｡⋆

Part 3 ?? ☺️

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mariasont · 1 year ago

Text

My Assistant - A.H

a/n: im a little addicted to bimbo reader rn if you can't tell lmao

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you can't reach a book so hotch helps you out

warnings: none? fluff, reader climbing a fucking book shelf and for what

wc: 0.8k

"Oh, biscuits!"

It was a ridiculous thing to say, but frankly you didn't care. You were on your tiptoes, chest flush against a bookshelf. Spencer had asked for a book for the case they were working, and naturally, it was nestled on the top shelf.

Balancing precariously on your stilettos, you stretched as tall as you possibly could, your fingers skimming the spine that was an inch too far away.

You shifted your weight back onto your heels, planting your hands firmly on your hips as you considered the stubborn object just out of reach. Sure, Spencer would grab the book without hesitation if asked, and he'd do so with a smile, but you really liked feeling useful.

For over a year, you've been the one at Mr. Hotchner's beck and call--fetching coffee, filing papers, and attending to, basically, his every need (not the one you wanted though). To others, it might seem trivial, but you really liked it. Well, you really liked him.

At first, you were intimidated--how could you not? He had a reputation. You heard the stories--a man who never smiled, his ever-serious nature, and Penelope's not so family friendly description of his sternness was enough to unsettle anyone.

But you considered his reputed severity to just be part of his charm, he was far from the figure others painted him as. He was a good boss, always fair, never once raising his voice at you or demanding too much. In your eyes, he was perfect. You might be biased.

The idea of climbing the shelf was a gamble, especially in these shoes, and it seemed almost certain to end with a less-than-elegant fall. Still, you couldn't resist the challenge and hoisted yourself up anyway, the shelf wobbling perilously as you did so.

You pressed on, climbing higher, the wood's groans of protest falling on deaf ears. If this was how you were going down, so be it.

"Almost there," you muttered to yourself, straining every muscle in your arm, you were sure.

And just as you almost had the book, your balance faltered and then found new footing, the sensation of falling dissipating. In its place, you found your ass delicately perched, nearly seated on someone's broad shoulder.

You honestly didn't even need to look to know who it was--embarrassingly enough--you had basically memorized the feeling of Hotch's hands. Though they had never been wrapped around your legs like they were now. His grip was warm and strong, sparking a wave of electricity that rippled through your whole body.

"Got it!" you cried out, your victory fist pump nearly launching you from Hotch's shoulder. But his hold on your thighs clamped tighter, securing you in place. "Thanks, sir."

You angled your head downward, locking gazes with Hotch--his eyes a rich blend of ember and molten chocolate that you really liked looking at.

His eyebrows were arched in a silent question on his well-defined face as if he really couldn't believe what you were doing.

"Careful," Hotch murmured, his hands lowering you to the ground. There was a fleeting brush against your ass, surely accidental, yet it sparked a flurry of butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach. "In the future, just ask. I wouldn't want you hurt over something as trivial as a book."

"Oh, don't you worry about me, sir. I'm like, practically a pro at rock climbing when I'm not here." you said, letting out a bubbly giggle.

He regarded you with a look that was equal parts amusement and disbelief, clearly not convinced.

"Okay, not really, but wouldn't that be cool?"

"Well, rock climber or not, let's keep those feet on the ground, please," Hotch remarked, the slightest quirk of his mouth suggesting a suppressed smile. "It's less of a fall from there."

"Sure thing, sir!" you beamed, popping off a silly salute, noting his struggle not to roll his eyes. "But I did get the book, so it all worked out in the end, right?"

With a gentle nudge on your lower back, Hotch directed you towards the conference room.

"Yes, it did, but for future reference, Spencer's height makes him more capable of reaching those books himself."

You couldn't help the blush that colored your face, and you managed a flustered smile.

"Well, I mean, it is what I get paid to do, sir."

"No, you get paid to do my bidding, not Spencer's," he teases, giving a gentle squeeze to your side.

Your laughter rang out, a bit too high, a bit too bright, as his touch sent a delightful vertigo spiraling through you.

"Well, yeah, okay, that's fair. But it's been pretty light on the to-do list from you today."

"And you're complaining about that?"

With the conference room in sight, you pretended to lock your lips and throw away the key.

A rare laugh rumbled through his chest, and you felt your knees buckle, you were sure you could have melted into a puddle right there and then. It was such a beautiful sound, and you desperately wanted to become familiar with it.

Spencer emerged from the conference room, his eyes landing on the book in your hands. "Is that The Selfish Gene?"

Hotch took the book from you, handing it to Spencer with a firm look. "Reid, I'd appreciate it if you didn't recruit my assistant for your library runs."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #aaron hotchner x assistant reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotchner #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x bau reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #Spotify

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! I love your Yan fics, can I request a Yan!Fem!Reader with Phainon looking like the Kevin Kaslana she used to love? (It would be better if Yan!Reader's love for Phainon/Kevin was like Jyahnar's love for Kiana in ggz.) Please, I just love them so much, these two Samoyeds are something😭😭😭

Yan!Fem!Reader x Phainon

The first time you saw him, your heart stopped.

The market square was loud, buzzing with the energy of traders and travelers, but all of it faded into nothing the moment your eyes landed on him. White hair, blue eyes, a strong, battle-worn physique—he looked just like him. The one you had lost.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

But the longer you watched, the harder it was to tell yourself otherwise. He moved so effortlessly, carrying a heavy bag of supplies over one shoulder, his posture relaxed yet powerful. His laugh rang out—bright, unguarded, the sound of someone who had never known true loss.

No, he wasn’t him.

But that didn’t matter.

A person could be shaped. Molded.

Phainon was a wandering warrior, traveling from city to city, taking on work as a hired fighter. Not quite a mercenary, he wasn’t the type to kill for money, but a warrior for those who could afford his skill. He was strong, fast, and trained in both traditional weapons and modern enhancements. But he wasn’t untouchable. He wasn’t careful. Most importantly, he was kind. And that was what would ruin him.

A connection, set in place long before you arrived. A man you had helped months ago, one who now owed you a favor, introduced you at a local gathering.

“Phainon, this is Y/N. She's new in town.”

You gave a polite smile.

“Nice to meet you.” His eyes met yours, and for the briefest moment, something stirred in your chest—something yearning.

You pushed it down. For now, you would be patient. You would slip into his life, step by step, until he couldn’t imagine a world without you. And then—when the time was right—you would take him.

The mission had been a success, but you barely thought about it. Your mind was elsewhere, pulled by an invisible thread—toward him. The moment you saw the campfire in the distance, your steps slowed. Phainon sat by the fire, leaning back against a crate, his sword resting within arm’s reach. He looked up as you approached, his face lighting up with recognition.

“Well, if it isn’t Y/N” he said, grinning. “Back already?”

You gave a small nod, watching as he gestured toward the empty spot beside him.

“Come on, sit. You must be starving.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted the invitation, but because the way he said it. It was too familiar. Too much like him. But you went anyway, settling beside him as the fire crackled between you.

Phainon stretched, rolling his shoulders before glancing at you. “Got anything to eat? I’d offer, but I kinda ran through my rations.”

You reached into your bag, fingers closing around a familiar plastic cup. As you pulled it out, peeling the lid back slightly, steam rose from the broth inside. Instant noodles.

Phainon blinked. Then, to your surprise, his face lit up.

“No way—you eat those too?” He let out a laugh, eyes shining with something almost nostalgic. “Man, I haven’t had these in ages.”

Your fingers curled slightly around the cup.

He liked them.

Just like Kevin did.

You handed the cup over, watching as Phainon took it eagerly, chopsticks in hand. The first bite made him pause, eyes closing briefly as he let out a satisfied sigh.

“Damn, that’s good” he muttered. “Simple, but hits the spot.”

You had known, of course. You had seen the similarities, traced them over and over in your mind. But seeing it now, so natural, so real— It was fate. It had to be.

“You sure you don’t want any?”

You smiled. “I don’t mind.”

Because just watching him—watching Kevin—was enough.

The night air was cool, the fire reduced to glowing embers. Phainon sat beside you, his usual energy dimmed by the quiet peace of the moment. The warmth of the meal, the weight of exhaustion settling into your bones—it all made your eyelids grow heavy.

“You should get some sleep” Phainon murmured, voice softer than usual.

You shifted slightly, resting your arms against your knees. “I’m fine.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, sure.”

Suddenly, he tilted his head toward you, offering his shoulder.

“Here. You look dead on your feet.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to—but because it was too familiar. But in the end, you let yourself lean in. His body was warm, solid, steady. A presence that should have belonged to someone else. Your eyes slipped shut. And then the past came rushing back.

It was cold. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones, that turned breath to mist and blood to ice. Kevin stood before you, blade in hand, his expression unreadable. Behind him, the battlefield stretched endlessly—flames licking at broken metal, bodies crumpled in the snow.

You reached for him. “Kevin—”

He didn’t move. And then, without warning, the world cracked apart. Blood bloomed across his chest, staining his uniform. You screamed. He didn’t fall. Not at first. He turned to you, lips parting as if to say something, but then his knees buckled. His body hit the ground. The snow swallowed him whole. You ran. You clawed at the frozen earth, hands shaking as you tried to pull him back, tried to stop the blood from spilling out.

You woke with a gasp, your body jerking upright. The campfire flickered in the dark, but all you could see was red. A strong arm wrapped around you.

“Hey, hey—breathe,” Phainon’s voice murmured, still thick with sleep. His warmth surrounded you, grounding you, pulling you back. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt. For a moment, you almost called him Kevin. But then Phainon pulled you closer, his hand resting gently against your back, and the name died on your tongue. He wasn’t Kevin. But that didn’t matter. Because in his arms, you could almost pretend.

It had been weeks since you last saw him. You told yourself it didn’t matter. Phainon was a wandering warrior, it was natural for your paths to split. You would always find him again.

The city was lively, you moved through the crowd, heading toward the bounty office when a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“—Not bad, huh? Almost too easy.”

You stopped. Phainon stood near the entrance of a tavern, laughing with a group of fighters. His silver-white hair caught the light, his expression open and carefree.

He looked the same. He always looked the same. But something was off. The people around him. They weren’t you.

One of them, a cocky-looking guy with a scar across his jaw, noticed you first.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

You ignored him, stepping toward Phainon. Before you could speak, the guy slung an arm around Phainon’s shoulder, grinning. “Hey, Phainon, is this an old flame or something?”

Your expression didn’t change, but something cold settled in your stomach.

Phainon blinked, glancing between you and the man.

“Huh? No, this is—”

The guy cut him off with a laugh. “Come on, don’t tell me you let this one slip away.”

His grin widened, eyes flicking over you in a way you did not like. “Though, I guess if you’re free now—”

Your knife was at his throat before he could finish. Silence fell over the group. The man froze, his smirk twisting into something nervous.

“I’d suggest you shut up” you murmured. “Before you lose something important.”

A drop of sweat rolled down his temple. He lifted his hands in surrender, stepping back carefully.

“Alright, alright. No need to get violent.”

You lowered the knife. Without another word, you turned and walked away.

Phainon cursed under his breath before jogging after you. “Wait—Y/N!”

You didn’t stop, but he caught up easily, falling into step beside you.

“You know, scaring the hell out of people isn’t the best way to make friends.”

“I wasn’t trying to make friends.”

Phainon laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I figured.” He glanced at you. “Still… sorry about that guy. He’s an idiot.”

You said nothing.

He nudged your arm. “You okay?”

You exhaled slowly, forcing down the lingering irritation. It wasn’t his fault.

“…I’m fine.”

Phainon studied you for a moment, then smiled. “Well, since you’re here, want to help me out with a mission? It’s nothing too crazy, but an extra set of hands wouldn’t hurt.”

You met his gaze. A chance to stay close. A chance to remind him that no one knew him like you did. You nodded.

“Great. Let’s go.”

And just like that, you were by his side again. Right where you belonged.

The mission was straightforward—escort a merchant’s cargo through a stretch of rough terrain. Phainon handled the front, chatting with the merchant, while you kept watch from the back.

It should have been easy. But your mind wasn’t on the job. You watched Phainon’s movements, the way he carried himself, the way his shoulders shifted with each step.

It was so much like Kevin.

And yet, it wasn’t.

You clenched your fists. He wasn’t Kevin. The realization struck harder than expected, like a thread snapping loose in your mind. You had known, of course.

And yet… The thought crept back in, slow and insidious. Kevin had walked ahead of you once, too. Just like this. Always leading, always making sure you weren’t far behind. And when you trailed off, lost in thought, he had always—

“Y/N!”

Phainon was in front of you now, tilting his head. “You good?”

For a moment, you didn’t answer. You just stared at him, seeing him and not seeing him at the same time.

“…Yeah,” you finally murmured.

He didn’t look convinced but let it go. The mission ended smoothly. You parted ways with the merchant at a guild outpost, collecting your cut of the payment before heading off on your own.

You needed space.

The forest just outside the outpost was quiet, the distant hum of city life fading into the rustling leaves. You leaned against a tree, exhaling slowly. You had been too careless. Too caught up in the idea of him.

Phainon wasn’t Kevin. But it was hard to let go.

“Did I do something?”

Your eyes snapped open. Phainon stood a few feet away, arms crossed, expression light but questioning.

“…Why are you here?”

He shrugged. “Saw you leave. Thought you might need company.”

Of course. Of course he would follow. Just like Kevin had.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I just needed some air.”

Phainon hummed. “Well, I won’t bother you too much, then.” He paused, then added, “Did you hear about the guy who fell into a well?”

You frowned. “What?”

“He couldn’t see that well.”

You stared at him. A beat of silence. Then— A laugh slipped out before you could stop it. It was small, barely more than a chuckle, but it was real. Phainon grinned like he had won something, rocking back on his heels.

“There it is,” he said.

You shook your head, exhaling. “That was awful.”

“I know.”

And just like that, the weight in your chest lessened.

He wasn’t Kevin. But maybe… that was okay.

Phainon never stayed in one place for too long, never tied himself down. But you were patient. And patience always paid off.

You didn’t force your presence into his life. Instead, you became a constant—a familiar face in his ever-changing world.

When he stopped by a town, you were already there.

When he took on a job, you happened to be on a similar one.

And when he thought he was alone, he would find himself thinking about you.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, Phainon collapsed into a seat at a guild tavern, rolling his shoulder with a tired sigh. His new companions were loud, sharing drinks, but he felt… detached. Like something was missing. And then— A familiar presence slid into the seat beside him.

“You look like hell.”

His head snapped toward you, surprised—then relieved. “Y/N!”

is grin came easy, like he had been expecting you all along. “You got a habit of showing up at the right time, huh?”

You smiled, resting your chin on your hand. “Or maybe you’ve just started noticing.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

He didn’t realize it yet, but he was already caught. Because now, when you weren’t around, he felt your absence. And that was exactly what you wanted.

---

The air was thick with the scent of blood and scorched earth. Phainon stood amidst the wreckage—broken weapons, shattered armor, and bodies strewn across the battlefield. But none of it made sense. Because you were the one who did this.

His party had been strong. They should have been able to handle a monster attack, but instead, they were lying unconscious at your feet, their bodies bearing wounds too precise, too lethal to be anything but intentional. And there you stood, a wicked glint in your eyes, your blade gleaming under the artificial moonlight cast by the neon panels embedded into the sky.

The world was a strange mix of past and future, but here and now, only one thing mattered—your bloodstained hands and the way you were looking at him. Not as a stranger. But as him.

“Kevin…” You breathed his name like a prayer, like a curse.

Phainon tensed. Kevin?

The monster that had been terrorizing travelers was nowhere to be seen, but he knew what had happened now. You’d fallen under its control—trapped in an illusion, haunted by the past.

Your movements were deadly, practiced. Years of battle had honed you into something nearly untouchable, something even his team had failed to stand against. But Phainon wasn’t them. He had fought wars alone, walked through death and back, and he wouldn’t fall so easily.

“Kevin,” you called again, this time with something aching in your voice, something raw. “Why did you leave me?”

Phainon barely dodged as you lunged, your blade slicing through the air where his throat had been a moment before. He didn’t answer. There was no point. You weren’t here. You were somewhere else.

You fought like a demon possessed, each strike laced with fury, grief, and longing. Phainon could see it in your eyes—the war between past and present, the way you weren’t truly seeing him. You didn’t hesitate. Because in your mind, you were fighting to keep Kevin from slipping away again. A cruel trick of the mind.

Phainon gritted his teeth, raising his sword to block another vicious strike. He had to end this—quickly. You were powerful, but the real enemy was the one who had twisted your memories, poisoned your mind.

And then he saw it. A shadow lurking behind you, monstrous and ancient, its form flickering in and out of existence. The true beast. You weren’t the enemy. It was. With a swift, calculated movement, Phainon feinted, dodging your next strike just enough to get into position. Then, with one fluid motion, he shifted his grip— And slayed the monster in a single, precise strike.

The moment its body hit the ground, the illusion shattered. The haze in your eyes flickered, confusion replacing the madness. Your knees buckled, and Phainon caught you before you could collapse entirely.

“Phainon…?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Not Kevin.

His grip tightened around you, but his expression remained unreadable. “It’s over.”

The weight of what had just happened pressed down on you, suffocating, but before you could fall any further, Phainon moved.

Without a word, he lifted you into his arms and began walking. Away from the battlefield. Away from the carnage, to the nearest inn.

The room at the inn was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the old-fashioned lantern hanging on the wall. Outside, the distant hum of machinery mixed with the sound of rain tapping against the window—modern and ancient, colliding in a world that never quite made sense. But none of it mattered. Not when he was here.

Phainon sat at the edge of the bed, tending to the shallow cuts on his arm. The battle had been over for hours, but you could still feel the phantom weight of your blade in your hands, still hear the way you had called him Kevin with such desperation.

But that wasn’t what made your stomach twist. It was the way he had looked at you afterward. Distant. Like he was leaving you behind. Your fingers curled into the sheets, your breath slow and measured as you watched him from across the room.

Your voice came out softer than you intended. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Phainon didn’t look up. “Thinking about what?”

“Leaving me.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—annoyance? Amusement? It was always so hard to tell with him. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” You pushed yourself up, the sheets pooling around you as you crawled closer. “You’re afraid of me now.”

He finally met your gaze, “No. But I know you, and I know what you’re thinking.”

You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head. “Do you?”

Your hands moved before he could react, grabbing his wrist, fingers pressing into the faint scars that mapped his skin. He stilled, not out of fear, but because he knew. Knew that something had shifted inside you, something that had always been there but had finally cracked open, spilling over.

“You tried to take him from me” you whispered, tightening your grip. “Tried to remind me he’s gone.”

Phainon didn’t respond.

“You killed the monster” you continued, “but do you think that means I’ll forget? That I’ll let go?”

“I’m not him.”

“I know.” Your nails pressed into his skin. “That’s why you’re mine.”

Kevin had been taken from you, ripped away by a cruel world that had never cared for love or loyalty. But Phainon… Phainon was here. And you wouldn’t lose him.

“You belong to me” you murmured, inching closer, close enough to feel his breath, to drown in his eyes. “So don’t even think about leaving, Phainon.”

Phainon didn’t speak, but he didn’t push you away either.

You straddled him, fingers wrapped around his wrists, pressing them into the mattress. His silver hair fanned across the sheets, his expression unreadable beneath you. The lantern’s glow flickered against his skin, casting shadows over the sharp lines of his face.

“You’re not trying to stop me” you whispered, leaning down until your noses nearly touched. “Why?”

Still, he said nothing. But his body—his silence—spoke volumes. You traced your fingers along the veins of his forearm, feeling the strength beneath them. He could throw you off if he truly wanted to. He could fight back. But he didn’t. A shiver of delight ran through you.

“You act like you don’t care” you murmured, shifting slightly, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath you, “but you do, don’t you?”

You watched his expression, waiting, daring him to deny it. But there was no sharp retort, no scoff, no effort to escape. Only silence. Your hands released his wrists, fingers trailing down his arms, across his chest.

“You won’t leave me” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “I won’t let you.”

His eyes softened, just slightly.

“You’re mine” you breathed against his lips, feeling the warmth of him beneath you, the quiet surrender he refused to put into words.

His steady breath fanning against your lips as you hovered over him, waiting, daring him to push you away. His wrists were free now, your hands resting lightly on his chest, feeling the slow, controlled rhythm of his heartbeat.

Then, he moved. It was subtle, almost hesitant—the way his head tilted up ever so slightly, the way his breath caught just before his lips brushed yours. Your own breath hitched, a rush of warmth flooding your veins.

So, he finally understands?

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, your grip tightening. Just as his lips were about to meet yours, you caught his chin between your fingers, stopping him just short.

“Ah” you whispered, tilting his head back just enough to assert your hold, “so you do want me.”

He didn’t deny it. You leaned in, lips ghosting over his, savoring the way his breath shuddered ever so slightly, the way he was letting you control the moment.

“I knew you would come around” you murmured, letting your fingers trail up to cup his jaw.

Then, with agonizing slowness, you leaned down, claiming what had always belonged to you.

#yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere reader #phainon honkai star rail #phainon hsr #phainon x reader #hsr phainon #phainon

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meadowfics · 3 months ago

Text

smoking gives you wings

kang dae ho x smoker!reader

your best-friend convinces you to stop smoking

warnings: MDNI!!! smut. 18+. oral (daeho receiving). oral fixation. friends to lovers. smoking. mentions of addiction.

the city stretches before you like a living painting, the lights flickering against the dark sky, a neon pulse to seoul’s never-ending heartbeat.

you take a drag, the cigarette resting easy between your fingers, the burn at the tip glowing against the night. you're on top of a rooftop, and seoul looks better this way.

dae-ho leans against the edge of the rooftop beside you, his gaze steady, like he’s waiting for something.

“what?” you mumble, the cigarette still between your lips.

he chuckles, shaking his head.

“you know i don’t like when you do that.”

you exhale, the smoke curling into the air between you.

“why should i care what you think?”

dae-ho jaw tightens, his eyes flickering with something unreadable before he steps closer, the space between you shrinking.

“because smoking will kill you.”

you shrug, acting indifferent, but there’s something in his tone, something that makes your fingers tighten around the cigarette instinctively.

dae-ho doesn’t stop moving, his body close enough now that you can feel his warmth even through the cool wind that whips through the rooftop.

“i don’t want you to have health problems early,” he murmurs, voice softer now, almost hesitant. then, without another word, he reaches up, plucks the cigarette from your mouth, and flicks it onto the ground.

the ember crushes beneath his boot, the last wisp of smoke curling into the air before vanishing entirely.

you stare at him, your pulse unsteady, “why do you care so much?”

dae-ho’s fingers find your face before he even answers. his touch is warm against your chilled skin, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone.

“because…” he breathes in, hesitant for the first time, “i want you to stay healthy in case you want to move to busan with me.”

your breath catches. everything stills. the cigarette, the rooftop, the whole damn city...it all fades into the background. you swallow, your lips parting, but nothing comes out.

dae-ho doesn’t wait for you to find the words. your man's hands cup your face fully now, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your jaw as he leans in. the ex-marine's lips brush against yours...tentative, testing, like he’s giving you the space to pull away if you want to.

you don’t.

so he presses in further, the softness of his lips melting into yours, his hands keeping you in place like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

the rooftop air is cold, but the heat that coils between you is undeniable, burning hotter than any cigarette ever could.

you sigh against his mouth, and it’s like a switch flips. the kiss deepens, his hands sliding back, fingers threading into your hair as he tilts your head for better access.

daeho's lips move with purpose now, slow but hungry, tasting you like he’s waited forever to do this. the man's tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, and your body presses closer to his instinctively, needing more, needing everything.

dae-ho exhales sharply, almost a groan, his grip tightening as his lips move against yours with more urgency. your breath has the taste of mint with the hint of smoke.

your hands find their way to his jacket, gripping the fabric, grounding yourself in the reality of this moment. daeoh's breath is warm against your skin, his presence overwhelming in the best way.

the wind howls around you, but neither of you notice anymore.

your lips started to trail away from his lips, like a magnet pulling you down towards the bulge in-between his legs. the thing underneath his black cargo pants. your soft lips kiss along dae-ho’s jawline, patience running thin as your mouth now sucks on his adam’s apple.

“fuck.” dae-ho mumbles to himself, his left hand holding your waist and his right gripping a good handful of your ass.

again, you were losing patience. you pulled yourself away from his face and got down on your knees, the rooftop’s pavement uncomfortable on your bones but you would be alright.

you could’ve drooled right there, looking up at him processing what was happening as you took his pants zipper in your hands, pulling it down to reveal his big bulge. which was desperate for your mouth.

“you don’t have to if you do not want to, sweetheart.” dae-ho mumbles, looking up towards the seoul city before looking back down at you.

“i want this, love.” you start to kiss on his clothed bulge. the man groaned feeling your soft lips through his boxers. you pulled away, smirking up at him as your hands went to his waistband.

the way you yanked dae-ho’s pants and boxers down just screamed desperate.

"now that i am thinking about it… I just needed to find a new oral fixation, babe" you say, looking up as your tongue meets his tip.

dae ho holds onto your hair gently, close to whimpering while you took one kitten lick at his pink tip. you kept eye contact with your best friend, looking at him with a smirk.

you backed your head up for a second, looking at the seoul city line that is giving daeho’s face the prettiest glow, while you took his length in your hands… slowly pumping it up and down before giving pepper kisses and kitty licks to the pink tip again.

dae-ho slowly wrapped your hair into a loose ponytail while you wrapped your lips around his head, pushing your head down and taking his fat length whole. you’ve thought about doing this for a long time, and now here is your moment.

your hand wrapped around the parts of dae-ho’s cock that your mouth could not push down on. at this point, your clit was throbbing. you wanted to play with yourself, but maybe later when you take dae-ho home. or maybe right here in front of the city view.

however, you decided that you’d just have to suffer with the pool leaking through your panties, staining your jeans so slightly.

as you took dae-ho deeper in your throat, you started to notice dae-ho pushing your head down a little more. that's it. you teased him by forcing your head off of his length. the man groaned in protest before you started to lick at his balls. dae-ho lets out a breathy moan before grabbing your hair and moving your head back onto his shaft himself.

fuck, you like it when your sweet bestfriend is rough with you.

“you’re doing so good, m'love, fuc– that’s it, just a few more for me…” he mumbled, gazing lovingly at your watering eyes while you look up at him.

you felt his shaft twitch inside of your throat, at the same time he released the harsh grip on your hair, only for him to come undone all inside of your throat, the sweet substance being something that you crave even more now.

dae-ho smacks himself along your lips and chin a few times before pulling away. the ache in your knees hurts so good as you stand up from the hard rooftop.

“maybe i’d give up cigarettes if you let me suck your dick more, dae-ho.”

you smirked, standing in front of him as he pulled his cargo pants up. you helped him, zipping up his pants and giving his bulge a few soft pats.

“are you sure? or are you saying that knowing that you’d do both..?”

dae-ho asked.

you didn’t respond for a few seconds..

“lets see what happens when we move to busan together, baby.”

masterlist

#kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #player 388 #player 388 x reader #meadowfics

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villainsoftheweek · 11 days ago

Text

the devil can't have you.

chapter one.

explicit. 18+ only. - 4.3k+ - Alastor x f!reader

content: rivalry: Lucifer vs. Alastor, possessive behavior, obsession, jealousy, smut, blood, voyeurism / implied eavesdropping, marking / claiming, non-ACE Alastor

you laughed at the Morningstar’s joke — and Alastor made sure you screamed his name loud enough for all of Hell to hear.

The ballroom glittered like the throat of a dying star—opulent, suffocating, gilded in corruption. Every inch of Lucifer’s palace was polished decadence, from the stained-glass chandeliers dripping with ruby light to the polished obsidian floors that mirrored a thousand wicked smiles. The air smelled of perfumed sin and sweet rot, heavy with incense and the faintest burn of ozone, as if even the architecture held its breath in reverence or restraint.

Tonight’s gala was no mere display of infernal wealth. It pulsed with tension—something theatrical, electric, and cruel. There was music, yes: a haunting string quartet playing in minor thirds, the notes winding like serpents between whispered conversation and brittle laughter. But beneath it all thrummed something darker. The walls seemed to lean in. The candles danced too high. This wasn’t celebration. It was spectacle.

It was amusement.

You stood near the edge of the marble dais, your posture poised, the stem of your wineglass cool and delicate between your fingers. The liquid inside swirled like blood caught in a spell, darker than crimson, deeper than ruby. Your dress clung to you like shadow and flame — midnight velvet with glimmers of ember thread, its low back baring you to the flickering light and every covetous gaze it drew. You were made to be watched, and tonight, you were on full display.

Alastor was beside you, tall and composed, one gloved hand resting lightly — possessively — on the small of your back. His grin gleamed like a razor, his eyes narrow slits of broadcast gleam. Every inch of him radiated static elegance, the illusion of effortless charm sharpened into something dangerous. He murmured small barbs and flatteries to passing guests with his usual cordial sadism, but never once did his hand leave your body. Not for a second. Not until you sweely requested he fill your drink again — and even then it was full of reluctance.

And yet, across the room, Lucifer watched you with the patience of a god denied tribute.

He stood elevated on his own dais, surrounded by sycophants in gold-threaded attire and velvet cloaks. And still, his gaze never wavered from you. It bored through satin and skin and bone, so warm it was cold. He looked at you not like prey, nor prize — but as if he were the one holding your leash, and Alastor had dared to borrow it.

When he approached, the crowd parted without question. His presence rolled forward like a tide, calm and inevitable, drowning all conversation in his wake. He smiled as he reached you — slow, radiant, too white.

“Tell me, darling,” he purred, voice silk stretched over a blade, “how does one enchant a man like him?”

You blinked, not because you didn’t understand, but because your brain refused to answer fast enough.

“Pardon?”

Lucifer’s laugh was soft and lilting, like the final chord of a church hymn as it echoes off ancient stone — too beautiful to be trusted. “Alastor,” he said, as though tasting the name. “He’s been circling you like a predator since the moment you arrived. Unusual, for him. I was beginning to think his appetites had gone entirely stale.”

The thought of his appetites going stale pulled a soft giggle from you, the crinkles at the edges of your eyes that Alastor had grown so fond of kissing forming briefly. He, unfortunately, took it as an invitation to press his luck.

His gaze dropped to your wrist, where his fingers brushed lightly, as though testing the pulse. The touch burned, not hot but divine — an echo of Heaven still lingering in the devil's skin. His thumb stroked once, just enough to make your breath catch.

“Do you even know the power you hold?”

It wasn’t a compliment. It was a warning. A mirror held up too close. A reflection through him you didn’t want to see.

Before you could shape a reply, the atmosphere shifted like a radio dial snapping to a new frequency. Alastor reappeared, his shadow preceding him in sharp angles. His smile didn’t change, but the air around him did — cooler, crackling faintly, as if the entire ballroom had drifted into a broadcast lull.

“Ah, Lucifer,” he said sweetly, his voice honey-glazed static, a dangerous edge threatening beneath the cracks. “Always the charmer. But let’s not flatter my dear too much — she might begin to think she belongs to someone else!”

He tilted his head just slightly toward you, his grin tightening at the edges.

Lucifer’s grin widened in turn, all teeth and sacrilege.

“Oh?” he asked, gaze flickering lazily between the two of you. “Tell me — do you love her, or do you simply hate the idea that I could?”

Alastor’s fingers, still nestled against your spine, pressed in harder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to speak. Mine. He didn’t feel it necessary to answer a question with such an obvious answer.

The moment hung there like a held breath, thick with the scent of ancient rivalry and something far more primal. Lucifer’s eyes gleamed. Alastor’s grip flexed. And you — caught between divinity and distortion — felt your own blood begin to sing.

Lucifer took one slow step back, the smirk never leaving his lips. His gaze flicked lazily from Alastor’s clawed hand at your spine to your parted lips, your breath caught like prey between them.

Then he chuckled — low, intimate, the sound of stained-glass cracking under pressure.

“Careful, Alastor. Keep clutching her like that, and someone might think you’re afraid she’ll stray.”

His eyes slid back to yours, warm and unhurried.

“You do wear danger beautifully, little one,” he murmured, voice curling around you like smoke. “Try not to let him smother the shine.”

And with that, Lucifer turned — not retreating, but receding, like the tide before a storm — and vanished into the gala’s gilded gloom.

Your lips parted to speak again, but Alastor was already circling. Not like a man — like something older, coiling. The air grew tight with invisible threads, radio static weaving into the edges of your hearing. A thousand distant voices whispered nonsense beneath it all, like channels caught between stations.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he murmured behind you, his breath ghosting your ear. “He always did enjoy watching the stars burn out. There’s something exquisite about the moment right before collapse. So bright. So final.”

One gloved hand slid around your waist, fingers splaying possessively over your stomach. The other crept higher — up your spine, between your shoulder blades, guiding you subtly back against his chest.

“I’ve seen it,” he continued, voice low and rich with static. “He did it to kings. To angels. Even to his own daughter.”

You stiffened.

He smiled against your neck, lips not quite touching. His grip tightened — subtly, not painfully, but with intent. Anchoring. Binding.

“But tonight…tonight he didn’t watch them.” His mouth brushed your temple, your cheek. “He watched you.”

His hand at your waist slid downward, palm flattening against your hip, holding you still.

“Not just a glance. Not just curiosity.” His voice dipped lower, static wrapping the words like barbed wire in velvet. “He watched you the way a man watches a feast he’s been fasting for. The way a hunter watches a wounded fawn stumble.”

You turned your head slightly, but his grip didn't allow escape — he followed, pressing in.

“And you glowed for him,” Alastor hissed, his grin faltering at the edges. “He made you shine. You laughed, and the sound caught in his throat like a hook.”

His hand moved again, this time gliding up your chest, fingers brushing the base of your throat.

“Do you know what it’s like to hear that?” he whispered. “To feel it — on every station, across every thread of static — your laugh lighting up for him?”

He leaned in closer, cheek to cheek, his smile now a trembling thing, stretched too wide.

“I should cut his ears off for listening.”

You inhaled sharply.

Alastor laughed, soft and terrible. “But I won’t. No…no, he deserves to hear what comes next.”

He bent, lips grazing the skin below your jaw.

“Because you’re mine,” he purred, tongue flicking against your pulse like a metronome. “And I’m going to make sure he never forgets what that sounds like.”

His voice was dipped in that awful sweetness again — like sugared poison. He took a step closer. Then another. Until the hem of his coat brushed your knees and the air between you crackled like a live wire.

You swallowed, every nerve on edge.

“…Are you angry?” you asked at last, voice small beneath the weight of him.

Alastor stilled.

Then: a low, velvet laugh.

“No, no, my dear. Anger is so uncouth,” he cooed, almost lovingly. “This?” His fingers slid higher, curling just under your chin, tilting your face toward him. “This is inspiration.”

His grin returned, terrible and sharp.

“I’ve never been so motivated to compose.”

“Why does it matter then?” you asked, quieter than you meant. “You said you weren’t angry.”

“I’m not,” he cooed, tilting his head. “I’m simply jealous.”

He leaned in then, almost nose to nose, his smile feral. “Because I know exactly what he saw in you. And I know he wants to take it for himself.”

His gloved fingers finally touched your chin — gentle, guiding, lifting.

“But he won’t,” Alastor murmured. “Because I saw it first. I tuned into your frequency before he even knew you existed.”

A flash of something darker flared behind his eyes. “You’re already mine, sweetheart. The dial’s been set.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip.

“And I’d rather ruin you than share.”

You didn’t move at first. Neither did he.

Alastor’s fingers lingered at your chin, still poised like a conductor holding the final note of a symphony. His grin had not faltered, but it no longer reached his eyes — it hung there, brittle and bloodless, as though carved from porcelain.

For a moment, the room felt like a coffin. Velvet-lined. Airless.

Then, just as suddenly as the pressure had risen, it fell away.

He stepped back.

Composed himself.

Adjusted his cuffs.

And offered you his arm like nothing had happened.

“Shall we?”

You hesitated. But your hand slid into the crook of his elbow nonetheless.

The hall outside was quieter than it should have been. Even the shadows along the walls seemed to draw back, afraid of proximity. Alastor hummed a pleasant tune softly as you descended the grand staircase — an old jazz refrain about heartbreak and hellfire, off-key in places, like he was letting it rot on purpose.

No one dared look at you.

No one dared stop him.

You felt the weight of it trailing behind you, not your dress, not your heels, but the gaze of a devil you hadn’t known you’d tempted.

You didn’t speak much on the way home.

Alastor was all old-world elegance: arm hooked through yours, his gait measured, his smile serene, a quiet hum trailing from his lips like a lullaby soaked in formaldehyde. He offered pleasantries to passersby, nodded to the shadows that bowed at his presence. But something about him felt too precise — too measured. Every movement laced with tension so tightly wound it became indistinguishable from grace. Like a ballroom dancer spun too many times, the mask barely clinging.

Like a marionette waiting for the strings to snap.

The cold outside clung to your skin even as you entered the Hazbin Hotel, the warmth inside doing little to ease the chill crawling up your spine. Red velvet and flickering neon cast the familiar halls in their usual infernal glow, but it felt different now — uncomfortably close. Like the walls had heard something they shouldn’t.

He said nothing as you climbed the stairs.

When you reached your suite and pushed the door open, he followed without being asked. Still humming that same, saccharine tune — something old, something half-forgotten, a warbled relic from a phonograph long broken. The notes trailed him like fog.

He didn’t speak. Not even when the door clicked shut behind you.

Then came the lock.

Then the seal.

The faint, ghostly whisper of enchanted wards slithered over the frame. Sigils shimmered on the wood for a breath before vanishing, replaced by a low hum, like a radio tuned just slightly off-station. The air turned viscous. The corners of the room dimmed. A single bulb flickered once, then stilled.

Your back straightened. Instinctively. Your fingers tightened around the hem of your dress.

“Alastor— ”

“Do you know,” he interrupted, voice level and unblinking, “how many frequencies he listens to?”

His silhouette stretched across the floor in the dim light, casting his grin longer than his body. He took a step forward, still smiling.

“How many walls his voice passes through? How many rooms it reaches — even when he isn't there?”

You turned to face him fully now, your heart climbing its way up your throat. “Alastor, it was just —”

“He heard you laugh.” His tone remained calm, almost conversational. But his eyes gleamed with something serrated beneath the static. “He saw your eyes shine for him. For Lucifer.”

His name hung in the air like sulfur. Like a challenge.

You opened your mouth, breath catching on the rise of protest, but Alastor was already moving. Not quickly. Slowly. Casually. Like the inevitable walk of a storm toward your doorstep.

“Alastor, I didn’t —”

“Oh, darling.” The word curdled sweet in his mouth. His grin split wider, crueler, almost joyous in its blade-edge clarity. “I insist that I’m not angry.”

Another step.

“I’m inspired.”

His shadow swallowed the distance between you. One gloved hand reached up — not to strike, not to grab — but to gently brush a strand of hair from your cheek. Tender. Reverent. Terrifying.

“You let him see the shine in you,” Alastor murmured, his voice a velvet snarl. “But let me show you what it reflects when it’s truly mine.”

The room buzzed louder. The hum was inside your teeth now.

And the strings — those invisible, buried strings — tightened.

The air was thick with tension, and magic, and something darker still — possessive hunger coiled just beneath the surface of civility. The hum in the room wasn’t just static anymore. It was a low, electric throb, like a tuning fork buried in your bones, responding to the fury behind Alastor’s calm.

He stepped closer. One step. Then another. Until your spine met the wall with a soft thud, and you realized — too late — that the exit was no longer an option.

Not that you’d ever exit his stage.

He leaned in, not with menace, but with dreadful control. His hand rose, slow as smoke curling through a cathedral, and brushed another lock of hair from your face. The motion was gentle — loving, almost. But his fingers lingered too long. Pressed too deliberately behind your ear, like he could tune you if he tried.

“You laughed for him,” he said again, voice like syrup left too long on the burner.

“I laughed at a joke —”

“You touched his arm.”

“He reached out first —”

“You let him look at you.”

That silenced you.

Because he was right.

You hadn’t stopped Lucifer. Hadn’t looked away.

Alastor’s smile cooled like a dead flame, all polish, no warmth. Calculated. Cutting.

“That’s the thing about being mine,” he murmured, tilting his head just enough to let the light catch the sharp edge of his grin. “It’s not spoken — it’s proven.”

And then his mouth was on yours.

He didn’t wait for permission. He never did.

The kiss was a strike — not soft, not coaxing, but claiming. His lips crashed into yours, all sharp edges and static. You tasted iron and ozone and something sweeter beneath, like rot soaked in red wine. His teeth scraped your lower lip — not by accident. It was a warning. A mark.

His hands, gloved and sure, clamped at your waist, dragging you forward into him until there was no space left at all. Your body sparked under his touch, nerves alight, trembling. The hum of his power wrapped around you like radio cords, unseen but unmistakably there.

Then he turned you — suddenly, dizzyingly. The room spun. The world shifted.

You hit the bed, silk sheets hissing beneath your body like water on a hot pan. Before you could rise or even breathe, he was over you — on you — climbing your form like smoke, like wrath given form. His legs bracketed yours. His presence swallowed the light.

“Let’s make sure he hears everything,” Alastor said, and his voice had changed — lower, more primal, deliciously cruel. “Since he clearly so adores listening to you.”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

He smiled down at you like a showman stepping into the spotlight. Too wide. Too bright. Wrong.

“Oh, he’s listening,” he purred, gesturing toward the door. “I made sure of it.”

He leaned in close, his mouth at your ear. “Every moan. Every scream. Every time you beg for me instead of him.”

Your mouth opened, words faltering on the edge of protest or surrender — only to choke off into a gasp as he shoved your thighs apart, one knee slotting between them with sudden, merciless force. His hands gripped your flesh with bruising intent, not to hurt but to brand.

The look in his eyes was pure theatre — rapturous, commanding, entertained.

But the way his hands trembled just faintly said more: jealousy wasn't the root of this — it was the spark. Obsession was the fire.

And tonight, he was going to burn you down for the world to hear.

Clothes vanished in flashes of red and sound, torn away with the wild abandon of a storm breaking free. There was no ceremony here — no delicate unbuttoning or slow slide of fabric. His claws raked at the delicate weave of your dress, ripping straps and shredding silk until it hung in ragged shards, barely clinging to your skin. The remnants fell away like dying embers, pooling silently on the floor beneath you.

He left you bare. Vulnerable. Breathless.

The cold air kissed your exposed flesh, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him — the quiet storm of desire crackling in every measured breath, every tense muscle.

Alastor knelt between your thighs, the world narrowing to the curve of your hips and the sharp edges of his presence. For once, that maddening grin softened — dimmed — not from restraint or denial, but from a hunger so deep it was almost worship.

His pupils dilated, black and shimmering like twin voids pulling you in. His lips parted slightly, a breath caught between adoration and appetite.

“I’ll make you sing,” he whispered, voice low and rough as static sliding over wire. His tongue traced a deliberate path, slow and reverent, from the hollow just inside your knee, crawling upward over silken skin, inching toward the secret warmth of your inner thigh.

Every nerve in your body ignited.

His mouth descended next — a soft, searing touch that silenced all thought. The world ceased to exist beyond the exquisite, burning pressure of him against you.

The way his lips moved, slow and precise, was a language older than sin itself. He mapped you with whispered promises and silent commands, each kiss a note in a song only he could compose. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady even as your breath hitched and your heart hammered a wild tattoo against your ribs.

You moaned for him — such a pretty sound.

“Do you hear that?” he murmured between kisses, voice trembling with a fierce, beautiful madness. “That’s the sound of your surrender. And I will broadcast it — far and wide.”

Your body trembled beneath his worship, every touch a spark setting fire to long-dormant shadows inside you. You were caught in the tempest of his obsession — both captive and willing participant, lost to the primal, reverberating chorus of need and possession.

His tongue was ruthless — deliberate, skilled, cruel in its worship. Every flick, every press of flesh against flesh was a vow, a claim, a promise to unravel you piece by piece. He traced the most sensitive contours of your skin with the precision of a maestro conducting a symphony of ruin. Warm, wet, commanding, he explored you with a hunger that felt ancient, insatiable, as if he were tasting your very soul.

Your back arched involuntarily, spine bowing beneath the weight of his attention. Fingers clenched in his thick, unruly hair, tugging at the strands like lifelines. Every moan that ripped from your throat was a raw, ragged note — each one coaxed out of you by his expert ministrations, each one echoing in the charged silence around you.

The heat pooling deep inside you built faster than you could contain it, swelling until the edges blurred and your breath came in shallow gasps.

But he didn’t let you fall. Not yet.

His mouth pulled away just before the breaking point — leaving you suspended on the edge of madness, trembling, desperate. His grin was sharp and merciless, an artist pleased with his masterpiece unfinished.

“What’s the matter?” he purred, voice thick with amusement and something darker, possessive. “You don’t want to finish before our guest gets to the good part, do you?”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he flipped you onto your stomach, his movements fluid and forceful all at once. Your body hit the mattress with a soft thud, sheets sliding beneath you.

One hand pressed firmly to the small of your back, anchoring you. The other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise — pain and pleasure mingling into an intoxicating elixir. His fingers left a trail of fire where they pressed, marking you.

Then he thrust into you — deep, rough, primal.

The sudden fullness shattered your restraint. Your scream tore free, raw and ragged.

“Louder,” he snarled, voice warping with static, distorted and beautiful. “Let him hear how I fuck you.”

He drove into you with brutal rhythm, a relentless percussion of skin against skin that sent shockwaves through every nerve. Your muscles clenched around him, trembling with overstimulation and desperate need.

Alastor bit down on your shoulder — hard enough to draw blood. The sharp sting was quickly replaced by the slick warmth of his tongue, licking the wound clean with savage care. His grin was feral, a beast exulting in its prey.

“You’re mine,” he growled low in your ear, teeth grazing your skin. “Mine to break, mine to praise, mine to ruin.”

He shifted you again, dragging you up and turning you until you straddled his lap. The sudden change in angle sent new waves of fire through your core. His hands gripped your hips like iron handles on a machine, steadying you even as he thrust up to meet your movements, forcing you to ride him with fevered intensity.

Your mind unraveled — thoughts shattered, replaced by raw sensation. Breath came in ragged bursts, your body pushed beyond any limit you’d known before.

“Say my name,” he commanded, voice a velvet whip.

You obeyed. Again. And again.

“Alastor.”

“Louder.”

“Alastor!”

“Again!”

“Alastor!”

He claimed your mouth with a kiss then — deep, wild, a desperate worship that left you gasping for air. Again he shifted until he was atop you, driving into you with a renewed force you’d experienced before — he never lasted much longer like this. His hands tangled in your hair, holding you captive with fierce adoration in his violence.

He drove you to climax after shattering climax, holding you at the precipice of sensation until your sobs spilled freely, tears mingling with sweat and the sting of his teeth.

And then, finally, he came — moaning low and guttural, voice shuddering with release as his fingers bruised your skin in a final, possessive grasp. The room thrummed with his power, shadows twitching and pulsing like living things caught in the wake of his storm.

He collapsed on top of you, breath ragged, heat radiating in waves.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice soft now, almost tender. “Good, good girl.”

You shuddered beneath him, wrapped in his arms, coated in sweat and bite marks and the magic that lingered like a third skin.

In the quiet that followed, his lips brushed against your ear.

“I’ll send him a recording tomorrow.”

You almost laughed. Almost cried.

But instead, you whispered his name again. Just once.

He smiled.

And outside the suite, the faintest crackle of power flickered — like a wire gone hot, humming with dark intent.

Lucifer sat upon his throne — a monolith carved from shadow and regret, towering above the cavernous expanse of his palace. The crimson velvet beneath him was untouched, save for the faintest imprint where the glass of wine had sat, now cold and forgotten. His fingers curled around the armrests with a quiet intensity, knuckles blanching beneath the weight of unseen fury.

The vast hall was deathly silent, yet beneath the surface, something pulsed — a distant, persistent echo woven into the very stones. It was a tapestry of sound: screams strangled into whispers, gasps caught between fear and longing, murmurs heavy with devotion and pain. Among the chorus, one voice threaded through with uncanny clarity — Alastor’s, weaving like a dark melody, and yours, trembling, raw, fragmented.

Lucifer’s eyes closed, lashes brushing against pale skin as he breathed in the reverberations. The echo clawed at something deep within him — a spark of ancient hunger, twisted affection, and burning jealousy.

“Oh, Alastor,” he murmured into the empty hall, voice low, laced with something dangerously close to admiration and warning. “You are afraid.”

There was no smile in his words, no softness in his tone. Only a cold, deliberate edge — like the sharp blade of a blade just drawn.

Yet beneath that stillness, his fingers clenched tighter on the armrests, white and trembling. Behind his closed lids, the flames in his eyes flickered — alive, sentient, and cruel. They danced with shadows older than sin itself, reflecting a darkness that had long ago learned to wait, to watch, and to strike.

“Good.”

The single word hung in the silence like a promise. A threat.

A reckoning waiting to ignite.

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