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pierregazly · 1 month

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greedy ꨄ charles leclerc

charles leclerc x f!reader

warnings: smut (18+ only), public-sex, charles is horny [1.3k words]

request: 🌶 charles leclerc + prompt 9, please and thank youuu 🫶🏻🫶🏻 [9. “I’m feeling greedy.”]

note: charles gives off greedy vibes, so this checks out!! this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!

The gala was as elegant as it was elite. The men were in their best suits, the women pampered and wrapped in different variations of stunning fabric and colour. The chatter was infectious, everyone’s smiles and laughter vibrated the room.

Although your eyes surveyed your surroundings, Charles’ never strayed from you. He looked like a man starved, battling obsession in the most obvious of ways. He barely contained himself when you had walked out of your shared bathroom earlier, the dress you wore evoking such a strong reaction from the Monégasque.

He couldn’t take his hands off you, either. While standing, one ring-clad hand was always pressed gently against your lower back, just teetering on the curve of your behind. While sitting, he refused to remove his hand from your knee, even when you tried to push him to use it to eat.

Charles was content the way it was.

Until he wasn’t.

He couldn’t tear his eyes off the slit in your dress, the skin of your knee so soft against his wandering hand. Your plump lips looked like they were demanding he press his own against them. The small tease of the neckline of your dress practically begging for him to pull it down more to get a better view.

You could tell he was starting to have trouble containing himself, the occasional squeeze of your knee and the way his ears went red whenever you raised an eyebrow at him a clear indication. You had denied his attempts earlier, not wanting to ruin all the effort you had put into getting in the dress, and pampering yourself for the gala.

It was only a matter of time until he broke. Which of course, didn’t take long once you had finally noticed the obvious.

Leaning over to press his lips against the shell of your ear, you felt a shiver run through your body.

“Come with me quick, mon amour,” he said.

Barely giving you a second to react, his hand that had been previously pressed against your knee was lightly squeezing your shoulder. Following his lead, you took the outstretched hand he gave you, allowing him to pull you wherever he had decided to take you this time.

The restroom was not where you were expecting him to lead, warmth crawling up your neck as you tried to subtly peer around you to determine if anyone had followed the actions of Ferrari’s star driver. From what you could see, no one had.

In a quick motion of events, you were pulled into the restroom with the door being locked behind you. Charles was quick to peer around the bathroom, confirming that there were no other occupants in the small room.

Before you had time to react, Charles was pushing you up against the wall, his lips etching themselves against yours as a hand maneuvered its way down to your hip. Moaning into his lips at his actions, he lightly ran his tongue along the seam of your lips, begging for entrance as he began to gently grind his body into yours. The want and desire so obvious by the clothed hardness now pressing into your core.

Pulling back, his eyes were hooded and full of lust, a smirk prominent on his lips.

“Charlie… we really shouldn’t. Not here,” you said.

Pouting at you, Charles started to press gentle kisses along your neck towards the line of your dress, licking along the neckline as he got closer and closer to your bust.

“But mon amour, I’m feeling greedy. Please allow me a little taste, let me make you feel good. All I’ve wanted to do is get on my knees between these pretty legs of yours. You deserve it, looking so beautiful.”

He was slowly bunching up your dress with every word, featherlight touches up your thighs as he lowered his body to his knees. It was hard to deny him when he was looking up at you so prettily, basically begging for the chance to bring you pleasure.

“Just a little taste then, baby. Can’t have you being too greedy,” carding your hands through his hair, the quick tug you gave the strands was the only prompting he needed.

Charles was quick to push your dress up to your hips, grabbing your hand to hold the dress in place as he mouthed at your thighs. Pressing kisses, licking along the skin and blemishes, you couldn’t help the shiver that wracked through your body.

One finger began to run across your covered mound, only slightly pressing into where your body was eager to feel the press of his tongue, or his finger. You arched into his actions every time he ran a finger across your panty-covered clit, mewling and pouting down at him when he moved away.

He didn’t take long before he was hooking his fingers into the fabric, pulling them aside and running a finger through the wetness that had begun to accumulate there.

“So wet for me, mon amour. Such a naughty girl, pussy so soaked in a bathroom for me, grinding into my finger. How badly do you want this, baby?”

Groaning at his words, you glared down at him. Tugging at his hair once again, he simply smirked at you.

“I’m greedy, baby. I want to know what you want,” he said as he pressed a featherlight kiss to the hood of your clit, prompting a sigh to leave your lips.

“Charlie, please. I need your tongue and your fingers, please.”

It must’ve been satisfactory enough for him, as the next moment he was spreading your lips and pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit. A low moan left your lips, your hand slapping against your mouth to hide the sounds.

Charles knew exactly what you liked, not taking long to press two fingers against your entrance, gathering up the wetness there before pressing inside of you to work them in tandem with his tongue. The tongue, which was currently running up and down your clit like it was starved of you.

Swirling and curling his tongue against your bundle of nerves in unison with his fingers pushing in-and-out of you, you threw your head back against the wall, the hand that had been holding the dress moving to his hair to try and pull him in closer.

The way he was groaning against you as he sucked at your clit, prompted you to look down. His unoccupied hand was palming against his own cloth-covered cock, attempting to give himself some reprieve from the tight trousers that were stifling any pleasure.

Charles pulled his head back to look up at you, his fingers still pumping inside of you, pressing against the spot he knew made you whine when you were in bed.

“Do you want me to make you cum, mon amour? Or is the little taste I got, good enough? Hm?”

Shaking your head down at him, he mockingly pouted up at you as he pulled his fingers from your entrance.

“You need to use your words, baby. Be a good girl, for me.”

Tugging on his hair yet again, you glared down at him. The loss of his fingers and tongue prompting an emptiness inside of you that you needed satisfied, immediately.

“Charlie, if you don’t make me cum on your tongue, I’m going to make myself cum in front of you. And then when we get home, I’m going to wrap my lips around your pretty cock, but I’m going to tease you and not let you cum. How does that sound, hm?”

Your words were breathy as they came out, the part of his lips at your words the only indication of the effect they had on him. You couldn’t help the groan that fell from your lips as he stood up.

“So bratty. I’m going to fuck you right here, now. Make you cum all over my cock instead. Turn around.”

So greedy, indeed.

i haven't written smut in SO long, so i hope this is okay!!! thank y'all so much for participating in the celebration, and feel free to keep submitting 🫶🏻

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc one shot #smut #pierregazly's 1.5k celebration

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euroclad · 2 years

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sincerelyrki · 2 months

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MINI SKIRT

↳ fourteen : MAN FUCK SONG KANG!

warnings : sunwoo is kinda sad

wc : 1.4k (1431)

previous | masterlist | next

Dread filled your body the second you opened your apartment door, eyes narrowing at the familiar pair of shoes situated right beside your designated spot. The shoes were your first hint.

In the center top row was a pair of low-rise Amiri sneakers, the pearly white hue standing out against your collection of darker shoes.

Sunwoo was the only person you knew who wore Amiri, his devotion for the brand evident through his dozens of pairs sat along the walls of his closet.

The second hint that Sunwoo actually came over was your mom's loud voice, her giggles a little too high-pitched to be directed toward anyone else. The tone was one she only used around two people, and he just happened to be one of them.

You tried to keep your presence a secret, light on your feet as you deftly tiptoed through the entrance, sock-clad feet almost gliding against the ground.

You stopped as you reached the corner, fingers gently holding against the wall as you attempted to peak around the corner.

Sunwoo stood with his back facing you, his lower body resting against the counter as he leaned over it and towards your mom.

His leather jacket was discarded on the seat behind him, hung in a specific way that allowed you to make out the design. In the center, there was a singular bear, the sunglasses standing out against its white fur. It was the exact bear you designed in high school, the same one that was stitched across all your older designs.

The jacket was the first piece of clothing that you’ve ever made for someone else, gifting it to Sunwoo as a graduation gift.

Since the day he received it, Sunwoo had claimed that it was his favourite thing he had ever owned, the proof of his words sitting bright under the overhead lights.

Without any purpose you walked towards him, body gravitating towards the jacket Sunwoo had attached to his hip. It hurt to see it, it always did.

It felt like a reminder of everything everyone’s been telling you for years, a reminder that Sunwoo was completely in love with you. As the seasons passed and the sunsets faded, Sunwoo changed.

His eonion change would remain unending but his devotion to you was the only thing that he couldn’t seem to escape. He wasn’t naive, just foolishly wishful.

But he stood no chance against kismet. He was destined to meet you, but never to be with you. His longing blurred between the lines of the story you began writing without him, his love getting caught in the seams of the pages that began to flip before he could finish the previous ones.

The words eventually overwrote his vows, his desperation seeping out in waves of forced separation. The harder he pulled, the more you pushed. And in the moments where you feel further than ever, he did what he thought he had to do.

He knew it was dramatic to call your parents, but he also knew what their presence would bring. They pulled you together, red yarn weaving between your fingers as they attempted to tie the two of you together.

If calling your parents over the smallest things, over things he forced himself to worry about, brought you back into his arms then he would do it forever. He would call them every day, lips spilling nonsense as the red yarn on his finger turned to ash.

But he still wasn’t naive, he knew what he was doing.

“Sunwoo?” It didn’t come as a shock when he stood unwavering at your voice, he knew exactly how this would play out. And so he tilted his head towards you, a small smirk on his face as your eyes connected.

Even with the anger so visually obvious, he couldn’t stop his heart from melting. It rushed down his veins, throbbing as it bloomed across his face in a sudden burst.

His pink cheeks housed his now genuine smile, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a way that only you could create. “Hey, sweets” He ignored your mom’s audible swooning, his eyes never leaving yours as his entire body reacted to your presence.

“Why are you here?” His favourite song played in his head as you walked even closer to him, stopping as you reached the chair behind him.

Your fingers gently traced along the prominent stitch around the shoulder area of his jacket, nails barely ghosting it. You looked up after a moment of silence, his words never leaving his pith as he stared at you with a familiar look.

“You shouldn’t be here” It was easy to read Sunwoo, but the way he reacted to your words was in a way that you’ve never seen before.

You’ve never seen him freeze like that, seen the way his eyes widened to an unfamiliar extent. “What?” Sunwoo tried not to panic, hoping that your unforeseen dialogue wouldn’t change the entire interaction.

“I mean, we haven’t talked in like two or three days?” He had to bite his tongue to not scream out the exact time, the hours ticking in his mind as he watched the clock tick in his mind.

“I needed to talk to you and I clearly couldn’t do it on text” He tried his best to keep up his front, ignoring the way his heart stopped beating the second you sheepishly scratched your cheek.

“Yeah…” You trailed off not knowing how to respond, lips curling into each other as you stared at a general spot on the wall behind him.

“Yn, what did I tell you about blocking people?” Your mom's stern voice caused you to jump, the remembrance of her presence causing you to soften your exterior.

“It’s rude, imagine how Sunwoo feels after being blocked by you for like half the year” Your mom reached up towards the taller boy, her hands squishing his cheeks together as he pulled his head to rest on her shoulder.

Without auguring, Sunwoo allowed her to manhandle him, bending his body as she pulled him against her.

As mad as you were at Sunwoo, you couldn’t stop the giggle from leaving your lips at the sight. Your mom was fairly short, reaching a height of barely over five feet. It was amusing to see her controlling a man much taller than her, her strong arms working in her favour.

“You feel hurt, don’t you?” She more stated than questioned, using her own hands to nod his head up and down. She gasped in fake shock, turning her glaring eyes towards you.

“See? Apologize, right now!” Her glare transferred through you, reflecting in your mirrored eyes as you directed it toward Sunwoo this time.

“Mom, he was mean to me first?”

You all went into a cycle of blaming each other before ultimately apologizing to each other, one more genuine than the other.

“Oh also, Who’s Jake? I remember Sunwoo mentioning his name to me a few days ago”

The betrayed look in your eyes was nothing compared to your response, Sunwoo’s throat clogging as the room stilled.

“He’s a friend, a real friend. Don’t worry too much about it, we just began talking a few days ago.”

a real friend. Sunwoo wasn’t sure if there was a double meaning behind your words, but after today's turn of events he wouldn’t trust his own judgment too much.

“Is he cute?” Your mom squealed out loud as you nodded your heart, her body racing towards yours as she linked her arm around yours. “He’s really cute, you’d love him”

Your phone loudly vibrated in your back pocket, the sound unknown to your mom as she animatedly blabbered about your “unknown man”.

Sunwoo watched over your shoulder as you tapped the screen to life, an unfamiliar contact lighting up your screen. He wanted nothing more than to break down the second he saw the bright smile that overwhelmed your face as you read the text.

Sunwoo has never hated someone more. But he’s also never wanted to be someone else as much as he did now.

a/n : i’ve been so busy for the last like three days 😭 easter messed up my entire schedule. anywaysss, i’ve been addicted to song kang lately (hence his recent mentions) i just finished my demon a few days ago and omg…. ALSO THESE BOOPS ?? i’m obsessed they’re so cute

SYNOPSIS ⮕ You know Jake Sim and you love Prada, it was already a perfect combination. You just happened to always be in the same place as him, at the same time. And that place just happened to be the Prada store. It’s not your fault that your Prada collection expands as your interactions grow. Especially not considering that Jake couldn’t stop himself from fawning over you (and your mini skirts).

taglist is OPEN ! send an ask or comment to be added xoxo

taglist one (1) : @vousty @iheartjayke @kgneptun @woninluv @memooooca @rosas-in-the-garden @thea-herondale @letters2won @certified-ni-ki-lover @wonpoem @eunbiland @hae-luvr @t00miee @bbangricz @tytrackfebreze @cafeyuns @aerivrs @seunnimg @enhytan @enhaz1 @neocockthotology @jiawji @miumiuestmoi @sophi-ee @cha0thicpisces @manooffline @glassesyunjin @rinahch @jaklvbucb @rikizm @ilyjxdz @mnxnii @n1k1mura @hhoonsbaby @xiaoderrrr @artstaeh @nikisuar @who-tf-soddhi @jakeslvt @hohohobo @natsukee @fakeuwus @ramenoil @aeminju @lanapaz @seunghancore @heartswonn @jakeyverse @l1lyanah @sunpov @yoitsrach @jessicadacollest @h4918ymc @jeongintwt @oldjws @herebyaccident0 @kyrojackson @haechansbbg | bold = can’t tag

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rowniebow · 2 years

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mercy | newt scamander x male reader

Summary: You and Newt have been put in a sticky situation. Newt has been the hot commodity lately, but you were all too ready to bargain.

Warnings: Angst

Reader: Male, muggle

Parining(s): Newt Scamander x Male Reader

Word Count: 1.9k+

masterlist

Your eyes focused on the cold cement ground you sat upon. Your knees were pulled to your chest. Your head was pounding from all the stress and commotion. You couldn’t help but wonder where you would be as of right now if you had denied the strange British man and stayed working at your nine-to-five factory job. Would you still reside in your pathetic, run down apartment across from Gerda who shared her butter and you shared your eggs with? Would Jerry still be belittling you about how lazy you are at your job? Yes. Most likely Jerry would still be an asshole.

But, most of all, would Newt be in this situation if it weren’t for you? You can’t help but think he would be sitting at home taking care of his creatures if it weren’t for you agreeing to join him. That, at least, is what you said to convince yourself you were okay with what was all happening. Convincing yourself you were at fault for the bad things so your “solution” to the issue - this decision you were making for the both of them - wouldn’t be as painful.

What were you to do, though? When someone shares their most vulnerable feelings with you, and you share your own, are you really supposed to just watch them up and leave without you when their hand is extended as Newt’s was? When they’re offering you an out of your miserable life, and instead an invitation to what you assumed would be a nice quiet life with someone you loved and doing things you loved with them? Are you supposed to say no to joining the person you have grown to care the most about?

You were yanked out of your thoughts as the loud metal doors were peeled open by two large, muscular men clad in armor and wands out ready to strike if you made even one off move. You couldn’t help but wonder if all that was truly necessary for you: a small man with no capacity to fight back. Good lord, you couldn’t even get rid of spiders. All you could do was ignore them and wish them on their merry way.

You stood, the shackles hung off of your wrists and ankles. The rusted chain clattered against the cement floors, scratching against your already pounding head. You trudged with the two large men trailing close behind you. They poked at your back every once in a while when you were dragging from exhaustion.

You three arrived at the large wooden double doors. They creaked as the men opened it to reveal you to the man that hasn’t left your mind in years.

You took in every aspect of Newt with a gasp. His arms were limp and pale from all the hours they had been hung up against the wall. He was on his knees, but his ankles, bloody and bruised, sat chained to the wall just as his wrists were. Blood drained out of them, you were sure they were tingling with discomfort. He didn’t look up, leaving you to look at his knotted, messy hair. Strands flew everywhere, it didn’t even have its usual shape and part. His dozens of layers of clothes had been removed. He stood limply in his tousled white button down and brown straight legged pants. Both clothing items were ripped at the seams and ruffled beyond the familiarity of Newt’s well-dressed and ironed appearance.

“Oh, Newtie,” You groaned at the sight of him. Rage filled your veins. You suddenly began to rethink your bargain, wondering if these awful people who had already done this to him would keep their part and let him go after all this.

Newt looked up with wide eyes at the sound of your voice echoing off of the brick walls. His eyes were swollen and red. His cheeks were patterned in purple and red. Hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes. He struggled at the chains, trying to stand up and move towards you but, of course, he was to no avail. “Y/N,” he called out hoarsely, tears threatening his eyes. You ran towards him, the guards obviously wanting to stop you but they let it happen knowing what was to come.

“Newt, goodness, my sweet,” You cooed, lightly rubbing your hand over his wounded cheeks as you examined him. He winced slightly as you grazed the open skin but overall he refused to look away from you, shocked to see you in front of him. “Are you okay? Lord- obviously you’re not. It’s okay, alright? I-It’s gonna be over soon, okay?” You hushed your tone, wanting to save all your words for him and only him.

His bloodied wrists caught your eye, “Can we- Can we please get this bullshit off of him? God,” You hollered out into the echoed room. The chains released themselves, magically, of course, and Newt fell into your arms. He struggled to snake his own limp limbs around your waist. You felt his shaking body and breath and nearly broke down.

You continued to hold him close, a hand keeping his head in the crook of your neck and another keeping him upright in your arms. “I’m so sorry,” you continuously whispered into his hair that was still soft as ever despite it all. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

“Now,” A voice boomed from behind you. “Would you like to break the news to him, dearest? Or, shall I?”

You ignored the threatening voice - the voice from the man who’s at fault for the crimes committed against the two. You only continued whispering your hushed apologies. You reassured Newt, in between quiet sniffs, that he was going to be okay and that it would all be over soon. That he wouldn’t have to worry anymore and he could continue to forget this.

Newt, listening to your every word and absorbing it (grateful that he gets to hear it again at all), peaked over your shoulder at the presence who had walked in. Neither of the two had seen the man’s face. He stayed hidden under his black, hooded cloak. A mask sat over his face, keeping anyone from seeing him.

Newt watched the man, blurred from his tears, take several steps in the room. After hours and hours of the torturing done to him by this man, he couldn’t even find the strength in him to do much more than look and groan. He happily let you rock yourselves back and forth as you chanted comforting phrases into his ear for only him to hear, and ran your fingers through his hair, and left your warm heavy hand in the middle of his back and rubbed it in small circles.

“I suppose I’ll take that as a plea for me to tell him.” The voice boomed out once more.

Your eyes couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. You quietly sobbed, muttering, “Please, don’t be mad. I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

“The little muggle has offered himself in exchange for your peace. For your freedom.” You could hear a smile in the man’s voice as he spoke of your bargain. You could also very clearly hear a sharp gasp from Newt, as he began to moan in disagreement. “Yes, we haven’t decided what to do with him, yet, but-! I am a generous man, myself, so I have decided to make the deal with him.”

Newt struggled but managed to push himself away from your loving hold. “No, I-I don’t agree with this.” He managed to squeak out. His ragged voice from all the screaming you had heard him do from down the corridor shook and let a cold shake travel through your spine.

“Yes, well,” The man with the booming voice behind you turned and made his way out of the door. “I thought I’d be kind and let you say goodbye. We’ll be back for you soon enough.” His uncaring voice sent rage through Newt. His fist clenched but he was too weak to do much of anything.

The door slammed shut leaving you two alone with one another. “No,” Newt began but you wouldn’t let him finish.

“Love, I can’t let them hurt you anymore than they already have. Or the creatures. You get to leave with them, I made sure of that.”

“N-No, but,” He gulped, doing his best to soothe his scratchy throat. “I-I don’t get to leave with you,”

“That’s okay-,”

“No! It’s n-not okay.” His eyelids fluttered and his mouth twitched at the ends.

“Yes, it is,” You moved your hands to hold his cheeks. His head struggled to stay up with the weight of gods pushing him down. “You’re gonna be okay and the creatures are going to be okay and that’s what matters.”

“No! I-I-I won’t be okay!” He let out a pained sob. The waterfalls escaped his green eyes.

“You will. And you’ll live a nice quiet life like you said you would.” The smile that graced your lips was filled with nothing but pain and Newt saw right through that.

He stayed silent for a moment. “I don’t want to be okay without you. I don’t want to live a ‘nice quiet life’ without you. That-That is just no life at all, one without you.”

Salty drops of water streamed down your face at his words. What could you even say to that? You’ve been telling yourself you are doing this for him but it’s not as if you would be anything less than angry if he were doing the same for you.

“There-There must be a-another way.” Newt shook his head, refusing to believe this was the reality he was going to have to accept. He kept his eyes trained on you the whole time as he took in every detail, anxious this was going to be the last time he saw your face. He absorbed your skin and where it wrinkled. He memorized every divet in your imperfect perfect complexion. How your eyes were swollen and red from rubbing them all day. The way the light reflected off of your mesmerizing eyes. How insanely beautiful you looked in every way all of the time. He couldn’t believe he scored someone as gorgeous as you, inside and out. Fully and completely beautiful.

“Newt,” You whispered his name, afraid if you said it any louder then the name would escape the two of you and run off somewhere it shouldn't be. “I love you. You are going to be okay. You are resilient and stubborn - I know you can do it.”

“I-I don’t want to, Y/N.” He sighed taking you in.

“I know, I’m sorry.” You whispered as the doors burst open again with a slam. You rushed back into his arms for one final moment where you could feel safe.

“Please, don’t leave me. Don’t do this to me,”

“I love you so much, Newtie. To the moon and back.”

“I-I love you, too.”

The hushed words exchanged between the two were cut short as the big men came to pry you and Newt off of each other. You continued to fight to reach him, but your strength was nothing in comparison and you were only left reaching your hand out as the space between you two grew. Newt continued to scream and holler, even gathering the will to stand and jog after them. But, of course, he was overpowered by yet another unnecessarily strong guard.

The last thing you saw of Newt was him on his knees, screaming your name and pleas for mercy.

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neonblessing · 6 months

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10.

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT! ⚠️ Click here to read Neon Blessing from the beginning!

Club RED was a labor of love. A cyclopean eye of neon tubes stared down at the street from the facade of a beautiful temple to excess, bathing the darkening street in bloodred light which played through the mist kicked up by a nearby waterfall. The building was dark glass and darker stone, three stories tall and culminating in a domed roof. It wasn’t even 5 pm, but the line was pouring out the door and onto the sidewalk, foreign raincoats and umbrellas standing side by side with wet-haired Diluvian partygoers.

Shiv had never entered a nightclub through the front before. There’d been one club, the Magpie, that she’d frequented with her friends, but the owner was one of Ornarch’s devout and always let them skip the lines. Huh. She hadn’t been to the Magpie in years. She wasn’t even sure if it was still in business.

The line moved quickly, and before long, she was at the door. “Let’s see some ID.” There were two bouncers, identically dour and militaristic-looking men who loomed over her like a pair of sunglasses-clad statues, their suits custom-made to fit over the bulky structure of a mil-spec exocloak. Thin seams in the skin of their faces suggested the presence of subdermal armor plating to protect what the mechanized armor didn’t. One of them handled a scanner with the practiced care of a guy whose grip could crush a human skull.

Shiv showed them the card. “Kooler sent me.” The one with the scanner stared her down while the other barked a few quick words into a headset. If shit went south, the only viable exit was ducking the rope to the left, but Headset would make a grab for her and if those huge hands got a grip it was over. She’d need to distract him first, maybe blind him. Throw her coat in his face? She started to shrug it off her shoulder, just in case. Scanner continued to glower at her in a prolific display of disdain. He should be too far away to do anything, but just in case-

Headset spoke, snapping her out of her planning.

“Hm?” She’d missed what he’d actually said.

“Go on in. The boss is on the second floor.” Shiv pulled her coat back over her shoulder and brushed past the bouncers and into the club. She pushed her way past a heavy curtain of soundproof fabric and replaced the endless roar of the streets with the endless roar of Club RED’s speakers.

Water poured down gilded fountain walls and colored lights arced and scattered through thick smoke, produced by a mix of sweet-scented cigarettes and industrial fog machines. Waiters and waitresses wearing practically nothing served a very peculiar clientele: half of the patrons were exactly what she’d expected, the sort of wealthy-looking folks willing to spend fifteen credits on a can of beer; and the other half were all grizzled paramilitary types. The burning coal glow of their cybernetic eyes stared out at her through the fog, automatically seeking out her vital organs before flicking back to their drinks.

Shiv scaled the stairs to the second floor, taking a moment to look out on the dance floor from the balcony. The band’s frontwoman was more work of art than human, her limbs all formed from sweeping lines of carbon fiber and steel. Her guitar plugged into a port on the back of her neck, her quicksilver fingers dancing over the strings with surreal grace. She had a voice like an angel with a smoking habit.

“She’s quite something, ain’t she?” A woman’s voice came from behind Shiv. She turned to see Kurtz, for who else could it be? The owner of Club RED was maybe forty years old, a little shorter than Shiv, and built like a brick. Her head was clean-shaven, revealing dozens of tally mark tattoos, in sets of five, spreading from near her temple and across half of her head. Unlike everyone else, she was dressed simply and practically, in sturdy black pants and a tank top, and unlike everyone else, she had a gun at her hip, an antique revolver. Both of her eyes were red: one eye was flesh, with an iris that had either been dyed or transplanted. The other eye was metal, the iris glowing the exact same shade as the vast eye on the front of the building. She carried herself with an easy confidence, bordering on arrogance. “Are you the one Kooler mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Joan Kurtz, owner of Club RED and REDEYE PMSC. What brings you to my door?”

First Page – Previous Page – Next Page

#neon blessing #10 #shiv #kurtz #xuria

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pyronicpathogen · 2 years

Text

Sleepless fixings

Villain wasn’t paid nearly enough for this. Papers lined their desk, some even fell to the floor from the number of files occupying the small space. Supervillain had stolen these from Hero Corp. and tasked Villain with reading through them all for information that could be used against the heroes. They scribbled down more notes from the file and pulled up the next crime report.

They blinked and glanced at the clock hanging on their wall. 2:04 am. Supervillain wanted a full report by tomorrow morning and Villain was tearing up at the seams just to get this done. They were going to pass out at Supervillain’s feet with the report in hand at this rate.

That’s if Supervillain would let them sleep at all.

They were in the middle fantasizing about stabbing Supervillain to death when their window slid open across the room. Villain spun around to see Hero frozen midstep through the window. Hero plastered on a smile, starting to climb back out to the fire escape. “I thought you were asleep.“

“I wish I was asleep right now.” The villain admitted as they stood. Crossing the room, they grabbed Hero’s arm and pulled them back into the room. “That doesn’t mean you are going anywhere.” They fought on pulling Hero into the room, Hero reaching forward and slapping the Villain to no benefit. Hero yelped as they were pulled into the room and the window slammed shut. So much for a stealth mission.

Villain pinned the Hero to the floor with their bunny slippered foot which squeaked. “Now tell me why you were here in my home?” Villain paused. “How did you find my home?” They grabbed a fly swatter from their window sill and pointed it at the hero.

Hero held up their hands in defeat and looked up to the sheep pajama clad criminal. It was difficult to take them seriously like this, even when Villain’s eyes stared death down at the hero. “I— what do you think a fly swatter is goin-“ Hero felt the bitter bite of the flyswatter across their face, splattering bug guts across their cheek.

“How did you find my home?”

Hero frowned and looked off to the side. “I followed you home from your day job at the uh, the uh..”

“Wendy’s?” Villain looked unenthused. That was the worst job of their life. Fast food had hallowed their soul more than villainy ever could.

“Yeah, that.”

Villain contemplated quitting their job and living off of bank robbing more times than Hero had beat them down. Exhausted out of their wits, they lowered the flyswatter and returned to their desk with a deep sigh. “What are you doing here at this time of night anyways?”

Hero stood and wiped the bug splatter from their face. Sitting on the bed’s strewn sheets, they turned to Villain. “I should be asking you the same thing,” they gestured to the papers the villain picked up once more.

“Can’t sleep.” Villain scribbled something down on a post it note.

“That’s not what I meant.” Hero crossed their arms.

“I know.” Villain didn’t particularly care to answer Hero’s true question, and they didn’t have time to deal with Hero’s antics. Villain turned around to face the hero and nearly jumped out of their skin. They hadn’t heard Hero approach and stand just behind them. They steeled their nerves and turned back around. They were too tired to tell Hero to back off.

Hero scanned the documents and tsked. “Stealing confidential documents?” They shook their head in mock disdain.

“I didn’t do it. Go complain to Supervillain about it if you’re upset.” Villain was reading another paper when hands were on their shoulders. Villain froze up as strong fingers massaged at the tense muscle. Villain brushed the hands off of their shoulders, only to have them reappear drawing circles into their shoulder blades. Villain felt goosebumps rise from their skin.

“What are you doing?” Villain was going to turn, but Hero turned their swivel chair back towards the desk. Hero didn’t answer, only tracing gentle lines into Villain’s clothed back. “I asked you what you’re doing.”

“Can’t sleep, huh?” Oh god, was this what this was? Villain rolled their eyes and crushed their back to the chair. “Come on now. Lighten up a little bit.” Hero gently urged them forward and ran their fingertips down their spine. Their heart fluttered, heat creeping up their face.

Villain yawned before they could stop themself.

“What was that? Hm?” Hero leaned in and Villain shoved them away. They should get up right now and push the hero back out of that window.

“Nothing, leave me alone.” Villain was gathering up the documents when Hero had scooped them up into a bridal carry. Villain struggled from the foreign hold, kicking in the air and punching Hero’s jaw. Bruises and welts would form within the next few minutes.

Dropping Villain on the bed, Hero shoved them down onto their back and began to tuck them in. “You need to sleep.”

“You can’t make me! I have a paper to write and-“ Villain was going to explain when the hero had reached down and began to massage Villain’s shoulders. Villain shuddered at the touch and tried to pull the blanket over themself in an attempt to hide from the Hero. It worked. For only a moment however.

The bed dipped as Hero climbed into bed with them. Hero pulled Villain close and rolled them onto their side so they could card their fingers through the villain's hair. Villain opened their mouth to complain when Hero hushed them. “Are you going to tell me to stop? You smile so nicely when I do this.” Villain buried their face into the hero’s chest when Hero combed their hair with their fingers.

Villain yawned again. Curse Hero for their sweet words and their warm embrace and the magic fingers luring them to sleep. They would never admit Hero was having an effect on them, though they were sure the other already knew. They couldn’t fight forever as droopy eyelids dropped and bone deep exhaustion caught up with them.

The hero smiled at their now sleeping villain. They leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to their forehead. “Next time, don’t push yourself too hard.” They would most certainly need to speak with Supervillain, possibly exchange fists rather than words. For now, they watched the villain softly slumber.

When the villain woke the next morning, they found Hero missing from their bed, and the report and files all missing from their desk. “Fuck.”

Tags: @annablogsposts

#heroes and villains #villains and heroes #hero #villain #villain x hero #hero x villain #pyros writing

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spaghettiddy · 2 years

Text

Working hard

♡ mechanic!Eddie Munson x f!reader ♡

Summary: It’s time to see what Eddie has been up to almost all summer, so you surprise him at work. Except when you get there a little surprise is waiting for you.

Contents/warnings (18+ MINORS DNI!): smut, f!reader (no use of y/n, semi-public (no one sees them and they don’t go all the way yk?), nudity

Word count: 642

A/N: I’ve read this headcanon around and loved it, then i saw this picture on pinterest and immediately wrote this instead of studying for my latin exam :). Also the hair bun makes an appearance!

♡

Summer is almost over. The temperatures in Indiana are starting to lower, so today’s your last chance to wear the short denim skirt Eddie paid for on your last shopping spree. Since the end of the school year Eddie has been working in the garage of one of his uncle’s acquaintances.

Sure, he got paid and the dates you had were proper dates, in restaurants, with flowers, gifts. But this also meant Eddie was busier and you could see him less, which is why you’re on your way to surprise him at work.

When you walk in the garage what you presume is the man in charge of the place is sleeping in what should be an office, despite Dio blasting from a beat-up stereo on a tool cart. You follow the music looking around.

Naked calendars and nude magazine spreads are hung up on the walls, nothing unusual for a place like this. Except for the polaroid stuck in a corner.

Your cheeks grow warmer, and your heart beats faster for a moment, when you recognize the image. It’s a picture of you, from the lips down, specifically of your boobs, with Eddie’s ring clad fingers acting as a bra.

Your demeanor changes as you walk towards the car Eddie was working on. You’re carried by a mix of embarrassment, for having your chest on display for everyone that walked in, and pride, because instead of a random half naked model he chose a picture of you.

Eddie’s laying under a car on one of those rollers, tinkering with tools and performing a falsetto version of Holy diver. The singing stops when he feels you standing above him, feet planted on either side of his legs.

He slowly rolls out from under the car, until his face is aligned with your feet.

“Hi Eddie.”

From this perspective he can see everything. You feel the tickling sensation of his gaze, travelling up, up, up from your ankles to the apex of your thighs, where the warmth from your chest has moved.

“Hi sweetheart,”. He’s smiling from ear to ear and doesn't look away to grab the rag to clean his hands. “Nice skirt.”

“Working hard?” His hair is tied away from his face in a low loose bun. Of his usual outfit, only the collar of a band shirt peeks out from the mechanic suit. It's dark blue and dirty, with “Eddie” written in sharpie on a patch he probably sewed on.

He would actually loose his mind if you told actually told him what you were thinking of him right now: he lookes straight out of a mechanic roleplay porn tape.

“Very hard,” and talks like he’s in one too apparently. He places a hand on your ankle, rubbing circles on the soft skin with his thumb.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask smugly. The hand moves to squeeze your calf. Maybe today you could play the part of the naïve girl in desperate need of expert hands. For your car obviously.

“Yeah. I really need a break”. He’s tickling the delicate skin at the back of your knee. He doesn’t miss the way you try to hide a shiver, that’s definitely caused by the cold.

“Do your breaks usually involve polaroids?” Now he’s reached your upper thigh. His eyes flicking between yours and the destination of his hands.

“Oh, you saw it.” His hand slips under the hem of you skirt. “Sometimes they do, yes”

“Mhm?” Without breaking eye contact, he runs the pad of his thumb along the seam of your pussy through the material of your underwear. You've been trying to act unfazed until now, but you can’t help but whimper when he hooks a finger on the fabric and exposes you.

“Yes. Maybe we could take new ones.”

Or maybe, you think, it’s time for an upgrade to tapes.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic

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omniblades-and-stars · 7 months

Text

The Last Time (A Game of Cat and Mouse)

Read on AO3

"Bancroft Exports and Logistics Headquarters" read the sign carved from impeccably polished wood, no doubt from Earth. It was mounted on the wall next to a door made of frosted glass and featuring antique bronze hinges and a matching bronze doorknob, shaped humorously like one of Earth's large felines, a lion, if he remembered correctly. He always did. As he reached for the door knob with a green-scaled hand, Thane Krios noted it as something to ask Mr. Bancroft about. It was obviously meant as a statement, the expense of retrofitting a Nos Astra office building for an ancient human door alone meant that it was not simply a design choice.

He straightened the front panel of his expensive suit jacket as he strolled into the lobby. There was a reception desk with a high counter wrapped around the front, topped in the same dark polished wood that the sign at the door was. There was another office door directly to the right of the reception desk, and a cart against the wall with porcelain tea cups hanging from metal hooks. One was missing.

The receptionist was not at their post, it seemed. There was, however, a small sign that read "Press Button for Assistance". He was surprised when there was no audible tone when his carefully filed talon depressed the cool metallic button.

After several seconds of empty silence, a booming, "I don't pay you to stand around and look pretty! Go see who it is, damn it," reverberated from the office behind the door. A feminine voice answered back, the words of her quiet reply were lost to the barrier provided by thick walls. Thane clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently to be greeted by someone. He was going to enjoy killing Mr. Bancroft later.

The door cracked open and the first thing out of it was a slender, human, woman's foot. It was clad in a precarious, ruby red high-heeled shoe, a thin strap buckled around a delicately arched ankle. Her legs, shapely and well-toned, were covered by sheer black stockings. A pronounced seam ran up the length of her calf, disappearing behind her knee and beneath the hem of a charcoal gray skirt so tight, it could have been a second skin.

His eyes traveled up her body, taking in the receptionist as she pushed sideways out of the door. She held a silver tea tray in her delicate, gloved hands, and despite her unreasonably high heels, she moved with well-practiced grace and fluidity.

A pristine cream colored blouse covered a supple chest, the promising curve of soft flesh hidden beneath whisper thin fabric. A collar buttoned high on her slender throat with dainty, round pearls, covered a scar he knew was there. He was surprised to see her here. She was supposed to be dead.

He killed her.

Bare skin burns hot, pressed and writhing beneath him. A soft moan turns to a surprised gasp and her fingers dig sharp into the muscles of his arms. Silken lips parted against his in a silent plea. Breaths ragged from exertion and the effects of the venom still coursing in her veins. Crimson rivulets wash down the cold metal of his blade. Tears bead at the edges of her clouded, disbelieving eyes, pupils wide, surprised by the betrayal she knew would inevitably come. "Why?" She mouths, unable to speak.

"We can't keep doing this. This is the last time," he whispers, and tenderly brushes wisps of dark hair from her sweat-dewed cheek. Tears that are not hers fall, mingling with the ones sliding over her skin and into the hair tangled on the pillow below her. Her grip on his arms falters as she grows weak. He leaves her alone to die in a Presidium hotel room, disquieted and regretful.

It had been too difficult to stay. He should have known she would pull through. She was stubborn, tenacious.

Beautiful, precious.

And above all, a devious, deadly viper.

But why was it relief that he felt to see her again?

Familiar honey-colored eyes glared at him as she turned to greet him. She drew the plush flesh of her burgundy lip in between her teeth, seductive and no doubt a sign of the anger she felt at the sight of him.

The anger burning in her wide, clear eyes disappeared in a flash, as though it had never existed. A wide smile took its place, creasing the corners of her eyes, and she broke her silence by proclaiming, "Oh, you must be the security consultant here to meet with the board. I am so sorry, how do you pronounce your name, Mister…" Her voice was soft, dripping with syrupy cheer. Her head cocked slightly to the side quizzically, a convincing charade played out for no one but the two of them.

"Tuek. Rumi Tuek. It is a pleasure to meet you. Though, I am afraid that I do not know your name," he said in reply. In this, he told no lie. No living person knew her true name. Her names shifted like the crashing tides of the sea.

"Julia Tophana," she answered cheerfully and bravely turned her back on him to set the tray on top of the cart. "When I first saw your name on the appointment list this week, I assumed it must have been a salarian name," she lied easily, putting on a breathy, airy voice that he knew very well was an act. She continued putting the pieces of the tea service away with gloved hands as she filled the silence with trite chatter. "I thought, 'Surely it couldn't be a drell name, there are so few to be seen away from Kahje.' But what do I know? Mr. Bancroft always says, 'I didn't hire you for your brains, Jules.'"

How long had she been working as the man’s secretary just to murder him?

She loved the long game.

Julia turned and flashed a charming smile at him, holding a stained tea cup in her left hand. "He underestimates me. They always pay for underestimating me. Don't they?" Thane's hand ghosted over his abdomen, where the memory of her blade made itself known. She started this destructive little game of theirs.

She cries out for help as his target tries to pull her into a filthy alley, one of so many on this part of Omega. He runs to help this stranger, a young, human woman out for a jog. A gunshot echoes out of the alley, and the woman's screams stop.

Too late, he fears. But as he turns around the abandoned building at the entrance to the alley, he sees her standing hunched over a body, hands gripping the pistol like iron. She holds it like it is both her only lifeline and the most terrifying thing in the galaxy. Like she has never fired it before.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I … I … was so scared! I didn't … oh God, what did I do?" Her cries are shrill, panicked, she is nearly hyperventilating. Her hands shake and tears streak over the gentle curve of her cheeks. She looks up at him with large, pleading, amber eyes, and drops the pistol on the ground right before she heaves and vomits all over her lavender running shoes.

"Please, let me help you get cleaned up," he offers quietly as he approaches. She clutches his hands with her own trembling fingers and allows him to lead her away. She tells him her name is Artemis, tells him about how she ended up on Omega, and how lonely it is living on that horrible station.

It's hours later and they are still together, she's pressed against him, hot and needy. Her kisses taste like peppermint toothpaste. "It was so easy. This is the last time you'll see me, see anything," she whispers against his lips. Cold metal bites into his skin, just below his lung and it twists as she pushes him harder against the wall. Her strength is surprising. Too late he realizes that she is not just an innocent woman out for an evening run. The pain forces a groan coursing up his throat. He can feel the blade scraping through his ribs, feel it pierce through the other side. "I don't do competition," she explains and strokes his cheek with a soft hand, now coated in emerald blood. She simply walks away after, leaving her blade, and him, pinned to the wall. It is the kind of folding blade engineered by and for killers, expensive and easily hidden.

The truth of the matter was that she was a small, beautiful woman blessed with large, doe eyes, and perfect, bow shaped lips. Traits that she carefully wielded to her advantage at every available opportunity. Including here, in this moment, where he was her only audience. She was like the sirens of Earth’s ancient mythology, and he too often found himself ensnared by her song.

Arashu protect me, Amonkira guide me, and Kalahira, please take this damnable woman to the darkest, coldest depths of your oceans.

She brought the cup down onto the hard surface of the desk, shattering it with purpose. "Oops! How clumsy of me!" She brushed the shards into the trash can, and in a smooth motion removed the gloves from her hands and deposited them into the receptacle after, careful not to touch the outside material with her bare fingers.

The gloves must have cost a fortune. They appeared to be made of real animal skin, unlike the synthetic leather worn by most. Even in their line of work.

She'd always been one for flair, even if only for her own sake.

His eyes followed the dexterous lines of slender fingers, recalling the feeling of them tracing tender lines over the ridges of his scales, the feel as they dug into his flesh as she tried to tear his grip from her throat. With a raised brow, he started to ask, “Mr. Bancroft, is he-”

“Dead? He is, but he doesn’t know it yet,” The Shepherd responded while she checked the watch set into a dainty silver band around her wrist. “He will have a “sudden” stroke in approximately four hours.”

Of course, poison.

One of her favorite methods. She had always been one for a more personal approach. She liked to get in close, get to know the target. She loved to play games, like a cat toying with a mouse that didn't know her claws were already piercing its skin. Until it was much, much too late.

She always played games.

Thane's lips curled into a disapproving grimace. He despised that she got to Bancroft first.

He despised that she waited until she knew he would be here to do it. This entire charade, this whole show was for his benefit alone.

It was payback. It was his turn to be the mouse, it seemed. It was probably no less than he deserved.

Deserved or not, he would not let her win.

Her clean up finished, The Shepherd picked up a datapad and waved for him to follow her into the curving hallway. “This way, Mr. Tuek. The board meets on the next floor up, accessible only by the interior elevator.” She strode in front of him, the long curve of her legs accented by the pointed heel of her shoe. Absently, she brushed a long dark lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, held together by shining metal sticks, behind her ear. It was much longer than their last meeting.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Ms. Tophana. It is a shame that I will kill you before I get to enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear as they walked past the office workers diligently working at their desks in the open office space nested behind the reception lobby.

“I like the piercings you have there on the ridge above your frill, those are new. I will take great pleasure in tearing them from your smug face right before I end you,” she retorted while looking straight ahead. Her mouth curled up, confidence hidden in the upturned corner of her lips. "This is the last time, Krios," she whispered hotly.

"You are sure of this? You have yet to kill me, Shepherd," he reminded her and placed a gentle, threatening hand at the small of her back. The silken fabric of her blouse slid pleasantly over his scales.

Their walk through the office came to a halt at the elevator, tucked into a hall filled with more office spaces. The Shepherd turned to face him as she pressed the call button for the lift. "It will either be me or you this time. To the death, once and for all. I'm not leaving this building without your life."

The elevator arrived with a chime, and the door slid open. "Then you will not leave this building," he answered emphatically and stepped into the elevator.

The Shepherd pressed her arm across the opening to prevent the door from sliding closed. She leaned in, passing the datapad to him, her lips ghosted dangerously close to his cheek, her breath hot on his skin, stirring heat deep within him. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle. It always smelled like honeysuckle. "You make mistakes when you underestimate me. Don't make it easy for me," she whispered. Suddenly, she pulled back, "You'll understand why I won't be joining you in the elevator. The boardroom is directly to your right, through the preposterous double doors. You can't miss it."

She had the audacity to wiggle her fingers at him as though she were waving goodbye to a friend as the door slid shut.

He looked down at the datapad and turned the screen on. Thane didn't know whether to be greatly amused or greatly irritated by the image that greeted him:

"A Game of Cat and Mouse" written out in the flowing script he knew to be hers, followed by a humorous drawing of a cat with human hair styled just like hers. And pinned beneath her feline paws, a mouse with green and black scales.

Hiding in an office suite after his meeting, now entirely pointless due to Bancroft's impending death, had concluded was a simple matter. It was easy enough to duck into the office of some executive who was almost certainly on vacation, and simply wait until everyone who was not The Shepherd left. By the time the work day drew to a close, he found himself pondering the pendulous motion of the Newton’s Cradle decorating the large wooden desk in his hiding office.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Cla-

“We’re alone now, Krios. You can come out of hiding,” she shouted down the hall from her roost in the lobby.

As he walked silently down the hall, he removed his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and cuffing his shirt sleeves at his forearms. When he rounded the hall into the lobby, she was standing with her back to him. Her arms were raised, the mass of her hair held tightly in her fist as she began to wrap it around her hand and tie it more suitably to the base of her skull. The two decorative sticks were laid on the counter, perfectly symmetrical to one another.

“That’s close enough, Thane. Rules first,” she said firmly without turning to him. She grabbed one of the sticks and popped the bottom tip off of it, revealing a very fine sharp point. She leaned to the side and pulled the hem of her skirt taut in her fingers. The Shepherd drove the point into the stretched fabric and then pulled it. The organic fibers parted noisily up the side of her leg, up to the leather belt fastened around her thigh, just above where her stockings came to an end, teasing him.

Thane drew his gaze back to her hair. Her hair was safe, it was drawn up messily in a simple elastic band, and was quite possibly the only part of this that wasn't a performance. “I am listening, Shepherd,” he confirmed. She paused, and almost imperceptibly shivered before leaning to tear the other side of her skirt.

Muscle and bone shifts beneath the tan skin of her back as she undulates. Her back is a star-chart, made up of tiny constellations of freckles and scars. Bruises blooming purple and blue prove the background of the galaxy mapped out between her shoulder blades and beyond. He props himself up on one hand before gently running a short talon over a long jagged scar just below her shoulder blade.

"This one?" He asks, breaking the silence. Her skin pebbles beneath his touch, goosebumps, she calls them. She shivers as his finger trails across her back.

"From the time I killed an elcor diplomat," she says through heavy, panting breaths. "Didn't think he'd be sneaky enough to hide a knife." She is lying, a preposterous lie at that. He has asked her about it before. The last time, it was from a krogan battlemaster's pet varren. He is fairly certain it is a scar from a turian's unfiled talon.

He moves again to sit up completely, and her back arches to accommodate him. His left hand circles around her body, tracing gentle lines over her skin, admiring the bumps that form in its wake, but only for a moment. He presses his other hand around the base of her throat, he can feel the tendons shift as she swallows and moves, and the beat of her heart, fast and strong. He can feel another line, just under her breast. "And what of this one?" He asks with his lips pressed against her neck, he can taste the salt of her sweat.

He knows the answer. He put it there.

They are moving in tandem, languid, and unhurried, savoring this beautiful charade, awash in blinding pleasures. This time, they started as enemies and ended as lovers. He much prefers it this way than the other. Tonight, she is sweet … by the gods is she sweet. Her hair smells of honeysuckle, and the softest sounds drip like nectar from her lips. And he is an addict for them. He can almost imagine that she isn't like a poison to him, or him a sharpened knife to her.

"I tripped and fell into that one. It was an accident, really," she says with a smile in her voice. "Dropped my guard, for the last time," she explains and lies and tells the truth all in the same sentence, through the same panting breaths. He can't explain why he finds these little, unnecessary lies so charming, so enrapturing, but he does.

He is caught in her web, and he climbs further in of his own volition.

"No guns, no poison, no omni-tools, and no warp fields. Agreed?" The Shepherd rolled her shoulders back and stretched her neck, the elongated curve of it far too tempting. The very edge of the silvering scar peaked over the edge of her collar.

"Agreed."

She stood on one leg and pulled her foot up behind her, stretching her leg and rolling her ankle. She was still wearing those impractical, ridiculous, attractive shoes. "Good, any additions you'd like to make?" She continued her stretching as though she were preparing to go on a run, and he was not a professional assassin ready to attack.

"I would appreciate it if you did not use your biotics to pull my central nervous system apart this time," he requested with a smile. One encounter with her biotics had left him twitching and blinking sporadically for weeks. "I believe that is a fair exchange in return for not using mine to rip you apart from the outside."

"Oh, I hate when you make a good point. Fine. Questions?" She asked as she turned to face him. He had expected to see her cocky smile, or a demure smirk. Maybe even a deep, hateful scowl.

But her lips were pressed in a hard line, and her eyes were bloodshot, and lined harshly red at the edges. Had she been crying? Was she frightened?

Or was this a part of her game? He could never tell with her. It could have been another of her little lies. Even still, it gave him pause, tightened a knot in his gut.

Thane shook his head and tried to push off his reservations. He was in her snare, he knew. He tossed his jacket to one of the small chairs in the lobby and clasped his hands behind his back. "Who hired you to kill Bancroft?"

He was merely curious, very few people earned having more than one assassination plot against them.

"His wife. You?"

"His son," he answered with a smile. Even fewer people were so hated by their families that they would independently hire someone to kill them. "Do you have any questions for me?"

The Shepherd cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Her question fell from her lips quietly and without preamble, and it detonated like a hydrogen bomb, "If I die tonight, will you mourn me? There isn’t anyone else." She fumbled her words and hastened to add, "Who would even notice, much less care if I die, I mean."

The aftershock rolled into him and sent blood thundering through his chest. "Yes, I mourn you every time, " he answered sincerely and before he could grasp the magnitude of his own words. "Shepherd, if Kalahira calls me to the sea tonight, will you mourn for me?"

"Yes. Every time."

They had killed each other, or tried to anyways, far too many times.

The seconds that passed before either of them moved crackled with electricity. The only warning he had before The Shepherd leapt at him was the flaring of her nostrils. She held the slender stick in her hand like a blade as she pushed off the ground without a sound. He threw his left arm up and pushed the blade away with his forearm, and curled his right fist up towards her ribs.

Her body bowed out of the way of his strike, and stepped in towards him. She hooked her foot around his ankle and pulled him off-balance. Her elbow connected with his collarbone sending a sharp pain shooting through his neck and shoulder. Just as the tiny little blade made its way to his chest, he thrust the flat his hand up. The air around his body ignited cerulean blue, and the blade struck the barrier and snapped.

The Shepherd stumbled backwards, dropping the now useless implement to the ground. "Shit, I hate it when you do that," she grumbled and adjusted her stance again.

He pressed his hand into his shoulder and rolled it, stretching out the muscle. "You know, you possess the same skill? It might be useful for keeping much more of your blood inside of your body."

Her small nose crinkled up before she smirked, "That your professional opinion, since you're so good at freeing me of mine?"

"Deserved, although the same could be said for you of mine," he retorted right before advancing on her. They fought. Fists, hands, feet, all moving with blinding speed and precision. He pressed hard against her, and she took steps back, all the while blocking quick strikes and narrowly avoiding getting caught in his grasp.

She came to a stop with her back pressed against the reception counter. The Shepherd reached behind her without looking away from him, and snatched the other hair pin up, releasing the pointed tip hidden under a small metallic cap. She was quick, and aimed the small weapon for his neck.

Thane wrapped one hand around her wrist, and pulled the implement free with the other. He didn’t hesitate and drove it into her side, earning a snarling hiss from the woman.

He’d always been faster than her.

The Shepherd struck him hard in the chest with her outstretched palm, and a concentrated blast of energy followed it a fraction of a second later. Indigo light flared from beneath her hand and he was pushed back across the room, knocking the air from his lungs, and his body to the floor. She pulled the weapon from her side with a grunt, vermillion spreading across the thin fabric of her punctured shirt.

She closed the gap between them with a short run. She raised her foot to bring it down hard on his chest. Thane shifted and rolled away just as she brought her foot down, throwing her off balance. He struck her other foot with a blunt kick, bringing her down to his level.

“Fuck!” she shouted as she crashed to her hands and knees. Immediately, she began to crawl away, working her way back up to crouching, trying to stand again.

Until he grabbed her around the ankle and began to pull her back towards him. “No you don’t,” he grunted as he dragged her thrashing body, preventing her escape. “Why do you wear these shoes, Shepherd? They are quite impractical for walking, much less a fight.”

The Shepherd stopped thrashing and allowed him to pull her nearer while answering, “Have you seen what they do for my legs and my ass?” He had, he could see it right now. “Besides, they serve a function.” She pushed her hands up under her body and flipped herself onto her back. She drove the hard, narrow point of her heel hard into the musculature just below his left shoulder.

He growled and nearly bit his tongue.

Evil, demon of a woman.

The stiletto ground against sinew and bone, the pain sending a flash of white static through his vision. He dropped his grip on her leg, and groaned as she pulled her foot free from his shoulder, centimeter by visceral centimeter.

The woman scurried away, standing and disappearing around the corner in the hall at dead run.

He stood and tested his shoulder, it seemed that she managed not to tear any ligaments or tendons. He could move through the pain. Thane darted off after her, “Running away? That is very unlike you.”

“No … ugh … just looking for a change of scenery,” he heard her breathless and grunting reply from down the hall heading towards the elevator. As he neared the hall, he saw her forcing the doors open and pulling herself up and into the empty elevator shaft. He followed after, fully expecting her to be waiting at the next floor to push him to his death down the shaft.

But she was not there.

Instead, a small ceramic saucer came flying at him, a projectile sent from inside of the truly ridiculous, large double doors leading into the boardroom. He ducked below it, but didn't see the next saucer, until it struck him right in the side of the head. The ceramic shattered against his scales, and he could feel the stinging heat of blood gathering on small cuts.

The Shepherd was standing on the board room table, an enormous expanse of wood cut from a singular tree, stained and sealed with resin. She pulled her foot back and kicked a holo-conference terminal, sending it sailing towards him. Thane leaned to the side, easily dodging the awkward projectile.

He balled up his fist and pulled it back, gathering biotic energy before releasing it. It sailed into her and sent her sprawling to the surface of the table. Paper, more saucers, and a datapad or two went scattering out from under her fall. He jumped onto the table, rapidly closing the distance.

She crossed her ankles around one of his legs, pulling him to the surface of the table. Their fight turned into something more akin to a schoolyard brawl. They traded sloppy, awkward blows, rolling back and forth on the broad meeting room table.

Suddenly, she had him pinned, pressing hard into the wound on his shoulder while she reached for the belt secured around her leg.

Thane wrapped his right hand over her face and pushed her head back hard, and grabbed her wrist with his other hand as she attempted to stab him with the knife that had been hidden on the inside of her thigh. He pushed up while she pushed down. She shifted her head and snapped her teeth around the base of his thumb hard enough to draw blood.

He bared his teeth at her and growled. Thane shifted his weight and wrapped his leg over her hip, with her knife-wielding hand still held firmly in his grip, he pulled her down close just before rolling over her. He sat fully on her abdomen, preventing her from rolling and thrashing.

She clawed at his throat with her free hand, curses quickly turned to animalistic cries as she struggled to keep her grip on her precious little knife. Much of her hair had come loose, splayed out in messy tangles around her head and cheeks. Blood seeped from a bite mark on her lip and her eyes burned with fury, and perhaps, fear.

Thane wrenched the knife from her hand and threw it off to the side. It hit the tiled floor with a sharp, metallic crack, but was immediately forgotten as the woman returned to clawing, scratching and hitting him with every ounce of energy she could muster. And it did hurt. He wrapped his hands around her slender wrists with crushing strength. She let out a guttural cry and twisted at the abdomen, trying to free herself. Her legs scrambled to find purchase on the table and push him up from on top of her, but all she accomplished was scraping deep ruts into the resin coating on the wood.

He gathered her wrists in one hand and brought them down hard and awkwardly just above her head. He brought his other hand to her throat, the buttons of her collar long since pulled free during their struggle, and he paused.

Beneath his fingers, the smooth, but too long line of the scar taunted him. It was thin, almost surgical in its precision, but cruel. His cruelty, not hers.

His heart skipped while hers thundered beneath his ghosting touch. Her chest rose and fell so rapidly, she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Genuinely.

The Shepherd looked up at him with those wide, terrified eyes of hers. She let her head fall back to the tabletop, exhaled, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Just do it, Thane. You win. Better this way, wouldn't want it to be anyone else.” Silent tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. “The last time, right?” she asked with a choked, pitiful laugh.

"No," he said, frozen in place with just the barest contact with her skin.

Her breath hitched and her eyes flew open. Impossibly, her heart began to beat faster, breaths came out in short, fast bursts from her nose. "What? Fuck, don't drag this out!” She cried out. “Just snap my neck, or shit, strangle me. Plea-"

Her confused protestations were silenced when his lips covered hers in a bruising, searing kiss. She gasped and he released her hands. Just as he was pulling back to ask her if that was alright, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and brought him back to her lips.

In seconds they were consumed by each other, psychological games, anger and violence all but forgotten in the blinding heat of raw, pent up desire. The way she moved and how they were suddenly undressed was dizzying. His memories of the softness of her skin and sweet melody of her voice could never compare to the satin plush of her thighs gripping his waist, or the sounds that tumbled from her mouth.

By the gods, the sounds she made. They were healing waters from the wellspring of her lips. They were quiet, keening mewls, breathy gasps, and those hushed moans pressed against his lips like mumbled prayers. And oh, the way she whined when his teeth scraped against the delicate curve of her throat. He was drunk on the way she breathed his name with muted fervor.

His world turned upside down, and the cool surface of the table met his back. Loose tendrils of her hair brushed his scales as she moved over him. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, forming the perfect silhouette of ecstasy. The muscles in her stomach slithered and writhed with the hypnotic rhythm beneath his hands.

He was lost in the intoxicating, feverish warmth of her.

It crested, they existed on the edge of a corona, just before falling over the edge into the crushing gravity, and all-consuming, plasmic bliss. It surged through him like an electric shock and stole his breath, made his fingers tingle like her skin held a static charge.

She collapsed on top of him, the full weight of her small body pushing what little air was held in his lungs out with a groan. The Shepherd laughed, breathless but musical. “It happened again,” she muttered against his chest.

Thane wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to him and carding his hand into her hair, and drawing gentle circles between her shoulders with the other. She shivered, goosebumps rising beneath carefully filed talons. Her fingers traced lines over the soft ridges of his neck. He stared up at the ceiling above them, struggling to control the surge of confused emotion mounting inside of him. “It did,” he agreed quietly. “Will you tell me your name?”

He could feel her muscles tense, and her shoulder blades drew close together before she released the tension with a sad sigh. “No,” she started and then hesitated. “My real name belongs to someone I’m not anymore. Call me Sophie, always liked that one.”

“Sophie,” he repeated into her flower scented hair.

“There isn’t anyone else. To love or to hate me,” she said suddenly, somehow disarming him again.

“You have me,” it rolled off of his lips too easily. She did that to him, pulled his guard away and rendered him loose with his affections and tongue.

She’d probably try to kill him right now. Tear him apart with biotics, or reveal that she’d poisoned some innocuous part of the office that he touched. Maybe that absurd lion’s head door knob at the entrance to the office. Maybe even the heel of her ridiculous shoe. That’s how this usually went.

Instead, she raised her head and looked at him with tired, quizzical eyes, “To love, or to hate me?”

“Perhaps, it is both,” he responded honestly. Maybe the gods knew, because he certainly did not.

“We can figure it out the next last time,” she said with a small smirk playing at the corner of her bruised, cut and perfect lips. “Assuming we don’t kill each other first.”

He returned her smile with one of his own. “I would not want it to be anyone else.”

#mass effect #fanfic #thane krios #femshep #shrios #assassin vs assassin trash #reposting my own work because i can #the shepherd #wicked game #daisy screaming into the void

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