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acourtofwhatthefuck · 6 months

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Practice On Me — Part Ten — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Poor Rhys gets cockblocked. Cassian and Azriel come to blows. Realisations dawn on Az that he doesn’t know what to do with. Kaeda’s not very good with rejection. Reader receives some unexpected support.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Depictions of violence and injury.

The male’s hand has found pride of place in Rhysand’s lap.

Currently, it sits on his thigh, but the temptation to inch it closer — closer — to that sweet prize between his legs is a lusty, burgeoning one.

A shame, truly, that they’re currently fully clothed and in the middle of the busy mead hall.

Rhys chews and swallows a mouthful of his dinner, a smirk toying with his lips as he glances at his most recent sexual conquest.

There’s enough heat in that gaze to set the whole of Windhaven blazing.

Zakai is a very pretty male, indeed, with rich dark skin and thick, long eyelashes for days. His tempting appearance is most certainly exacerbating this current haze of lust that has taken over him as of late, driven by a preference for males. It changes every now and then. Sometimes he favours males, other times he favours females.

Whatever takes his fancy, there’s always somebody to warm his bed.

“I do believe,” the future High Lord purrs, “that you’re trying to distract me from my dinner.”

Zakai’s full lips kick up into a smirk. “Maybe I am.”

“How terrible.” He leans in closer. “Depriving me of a nutritional meal. What of my sustenance?”

Zakai also leans in. “I have something else you can wrap that pretty mouth around. I think you’ll find it to be more than adequate.” So boldly, as if no one else is around, he snaps out and drags Rhys’s bottom lip between his teeth.

Rhys makes a low noise, food all but forgotten—

But a kiss never comes to fruition as they’re shoved apart, and Cassian is slotting himself between them. “Your mother is here.” He steals Rhys’s plate. “Did you know?”

Rhys tamps down on the urge to slam his face into that food. “I would hope so, considering it was I who flew in with her.”

Cass hums. “We’ve been banished from the house for the time being.” He turns to Zakai. “Rhys will have to suck your dick elsewhere. May I suggest the pillory? He could even tie you up. Would be very kinky—”

“Banished?” Rhys quickly interrupts with a frown. “Why? Is my mother alright?”

“Roza’s fine. It’s Y/N. They’re having a serious talk.”

“About what?”

“Serious stuff, I guess.”

Cassian can be really, really frustrating sometimes.

Rhys shoots him a look that communicates precisely that. “What serious stuff? What did they say?”

“Roza called it girl talk.” Cass takes another huge bite, chews — and pauses in thought, “Do you think Y/N has been acting a little strange recently? Not her usual self.”

In all honesty, Rhys regrets not being around more, with all Y/N has had to contend with as of late. But even with him flitting between Windhaven and Velaris, he’s noticed a change.

A change amongst everyone, really. Something is…off.

“She has a lot going on. It’s hardly surprising.” He says, studying Cassian — the male is still in deep thought. “But I think there’s more than she’s letting on. I thought you would know more than I do, considering you’re around her more.”

Cassian says nothing. He chews and chews like he can no longer taste the food in his mouth, and he’s just giving it absolutely anything to do other than speak. Even Zakai shoots Rhys a look that says he’s not buying it.

“Shall I give you two some space to talk?” Rhys’s lover suggests.

Rhys dips his chin in gratitude. Makes sure that a little bit of heat still swims in his eyes — a suggestion of what’s to come, when he’s finished here. “I’ll come find you.” He promises.

Zakai winks. “I’ll be waiting by the pillory.” And with a shared laugh, he’s standing and strolling away.

Rhys turns back to Cass. He’s at least swallowed the mouthful of food, but there’s still a faraway look in his eyes. “What is it you’re thinking so hard about?”

Cassian just chews his bottom lip.

“Cass.” He gives a little kick to his leg. “If there’s something you know about Y/N—”

“I think I may have fucked up. Badly.” Finally, his friend turns to him. The severity on his face is…rare. Worrying. “Maybe I should have told you this before now, I don’t know. But…you see…Y/N and I…we—”

There’s no chance for him to complete the sentence.

Not as the mead hall’s huge wooden doors burst open, loudly and abruptly enough that conversation just ceases. Everyone turns. Azriel looms in the doorway.

He only becomes more of an intimidating figure as he gets older — anyone would be an idiot not to recognise that. But there’s something about him right now, like this, that has even the most steeled Illyrian warriors eyeing him cautiously.

Though his hair is wet-through from the snow, he’s not at all dressed for the cold weather. The casual, tight-fitting shirt and breeches will do very little to protect him from the brutal temperatures, and his tan skin is already pinkened where the icy air has bitten it.

But his eyes — his eyes are a blazing, churning inferno.

He looks huge in the doorway. Bigger than he ever has. His chest falls and rises heavily, and his fists clench at his sides. The firm set of his jaw is a warning. He hasn’t come here to play.

His boots thud harshly against the wooden floor as he storms in, and everyone watches, waits to see who the shadowsinger has a problem with, and what he’s going to do about it. He appears to have no weapons on him — a rare sight that only adds to the rugged, impulsive nature of how he looks right now. Like he forgot all else in his pursuit to come here.

What nobody is expecting is the way his dark, golden gaze zeroes in on Cassian. And the love that usually sits on Azriel’s face when looking at his brother has been replaced with something infinitely colder. Harsher. Angrier.

Dangerous.

Rhysand glances between them, recognising very quickly that something has occurred in his absence. He slowly rises from his seat.

“Az?” He says calmly. “You alright?”

No.

No, Azriel is not alright.

Everyone knows it. Cassian especially.

He’s staring back at his friend, and a thousand realisations pelt him that he genuinely did not consider before now. He’s got a terrible habit of acting first and thinking later. Of not looking at the bigger picture and considering every single person that might get hurt as a result of his actions. He doesn’t mean to be so thoughtless or impulsive. He’s gradually learning.

But as he drinks in the sight of Azriel, he somehow knows the source of his rage without it needing to be said. It never occurred to him before, but it does now.

Both he and Rhys have secretly speculated, over the years, whether something more might grow from the loving friendship between Azriel and Y/N. But time passed, and nothing came of it, and—and—

And with Kaeda on the scene, Cassian had assumed that no romance would be blossoming after all.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t still feelings there. Complicated feelings.

And in that moment, as Azriel stops at the table, the true weight of Cassian’s actions strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

He clears his throat, taking in the sight of him. Even his shadows are staying out of this. “Az—”

“Get up.” Azriel demands fiercely.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told—”

“I will not tell you twice, Cassian.” The shadowsinger’s eyes darken. “Get. The fuck. Up.”

Every single person is watching — waiting. Cassian doesn’t move.

And then he says quietly, “No.”

It’s not that he has any problem getting in a punch up with either of his brothers — Cauldron knows, it’s happened more times than any of them care to remember, where they’ve roughed each other up and resolved things quickly after. It’s just a method of Illyrian affection.

But this isn’t like that. This is hugely, frighteningly different.

This is serious.

Cassian is realising very quickly that he fucked up — not necessarily in the act, itself, of having sex with Y/N. They are both free, consenting adults, after all.

But if he’s guilty of anything, it’s of not thinking about who he might hurt with his decisions. And if he’d bothered to stop and think that night in the kitchen, he’d have known damn well that him having such relations with Y/N would be upsetting for Azriel. At the very least, Cass should have spoken to him first.

And that’s what he wants to do, now. Not fight. Not draw blood and leave bruises. Just…talk. Explain himself. Make it clear that he would never, ever intentionally hurt Az.

“I’m not fighting you.” He says, far quieter than his usual Cassian volume. “We should talk—”

Azriel’s lunging across the table and nipping that suggestion right in the bud. His fist goes flying so hard into Cassian’s jaw that his head snaps back. He barely has a chance to right himself before Az is throwing himself at him fully and knocking him to the floor.

“What the fuck is going on?” Rhys snaps, but neither of them seems to hear, and then the noise is picking up in the room and people are rising from their seats to get a closer look at the fight. Encouraging them with rowdy shouts.

This is no competitive brawl between friends. Through the gathering people, fists are swinging and blood is flying all over the place. Azriel is pummelling Cassian’s face over and over, and choked, angry words are leaving him as he does.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?!” The shadowsinger seethes, throwing another punch. “You know—” Punch. “Know how I feel—” Punch. “And you still had to go and do it.”

Too much is happening at once for Rhys to put the pieces together. All he knows is that this is bad. All he can do is watch.

And Cassian is barely fighting back. He’s not interested in returning the punches. He just wants to put a stop to this.

“You knew. I know you knew.” Az then grabs him by the collar of his tunic, and he’s lifting him and slamming him back down against the floor, so hard that the whoosh of air that leaves Cassian can be heard across the hall. “Fuck. You. Cassian. Fuck you—”

“You—” Cass coughs blood at him. “You had Kaeda—”

“Piece of shit—”

“Perhaps…if you hadn’t been…so blinded by your fucking lust…forgot all about Y/N—”

Oh, that’s entirely the wrong thing to say.

A snarl is leaving Az, or maybe Cass, or perhaps both of them at the same time.

What happened leading up to this point was mere child’s play.

The two of them utterly lose it, and Cassian forgets all about talking and allows his temper to take over, and the real fight begins. Rhys is shoved back, stunned, as people try to push closer. All he can hear is the sound of his friends’ punches landing on each other. With more blood drawn, the noise becomes a sickly, wet one that tells him this is getting out of hand.

He barges his way through people, trying to get to the centre of the fray, but a noise is stopping him in his tracks.

“HEY!”

Somehow, his mother’s voice is loud enough, commanding enough, to reach every corner of the mead hall and wash over each and every occupant. Something about the raw order in her voice has everyone stopping. Quietening.

Even Cassian and Azriel cease their fighting. But they’re still exchanging harsh words that are compromised through split lips and mouthfuls of blood.

“Fucking vile—”

“I’m—sorry—Az—sorry—”

“That is enough.” Roza storms into the hall, a hand resting on her belly. She’s well and truly displaying the façade of the High Lord’s mate; someone not to be argued with. “Stand aside at once.”

If it weren’t for the serious nature of the situation, there might be something amusing about seeing honed Illyrian males slink back like threatened animals. But Rhys can only watch as they back away from Roza and lope back to their seats.

“Mother.” He turns to her, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have no idea what’s going on—”

Roza holds a hand up, cutting him off. She turns to Azriel and Cassian, who are now just staring at each other like sworn enemies.

“Off the fucking ground now.” She snaps.

Azriel’s eyes shutter. He’s breathing heavily. He hesitates, wants to go against the order.

But even through the red mist of anger, he respects Roza too much to do that.

Heaving a deep breath, he pushes off Cassian. Rises to his feet.

Roza jerks her chin at Cass. “Help him up.”

Azriel makes an incredulous sound. “He can get up himself—”

“Help him the fuck up, Azriel, before I bash your damn heads together.”

Az clenches his jaw. It might be childish that he refuses to look at Cassian as he juts a hand out, but he doesn’t fucking care. Nor does he care that he puts the bare minimum of strength into hauling him up off the floor.

As soon as Cass is on his feet, he’s shoving Azriel away from him.

“There are so many things I could say to you idiots right now.” Roza snaps. “But I’m way too pregnant for this shit, and I want to sit down.” She angles herself to Azriel. “You — go spend the night at the dormitories. Clean yourself up and calm down.” She turns back to Cassian, to Rhys. “The two of you are coming back to the cottage with me. I don’t give a shit about who said or did what. Don’t want to hear a peep out of any of you. Do I make myself clear?”

This is just a teensy bit humiliating — the three of them bowing their heads while they receive a scolding in front of their fellow Illyrians. But they’re not stupid enough to argue it.

They are stupid enough not to respond, though, and that only pisses Roza off more.

“Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear.” She thunders.

“Yes.” All three males intone.

“Good.” She steps back, nods at Azriel. “You first. Go. Dormitories. Now.”

Azriel sends one last, scathing glance at Cassian before stalking off. He limps out of the doors and into the snow — a fact that leaves Cassian feeling just a little smug.

“Get that damn look off your face, Cassian.” Roza narrows her eyes at him, and he quickly corrects himself. “And get moving. If you don’t get your asses back to the cottage this instant, I’m locking you out. Understood?”

Cassian says, “Yes, Roza.”

Rhys mumbles, “Didn’t even do anything.”

Roza looks at him like she wants to throttle him. And that’s enough for him to straighten himself out and offer his pregnant mother his arm. She takes it silently. Cassian moves to her other side.

“When we get back,” she says quietly, “the two of you better start explaining what the fuck has been going on in my absence.”

Neither males are exactly sure.

But they’re both wise enough not to say that.

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The steaming bath is supposed to soothe you, but it does not. Nothing can. Not even Rhys’s sweater that’s currently swallowing you up and encasing you in his scent.

And when you traipse down the worn wooden staircase at the first sound of voices, you feel like crying all over again. You hope for Azriel — hope he’s come back, willing to hear you out. But stepping into the living area, that tiny shred of hope evaporates.

Conversation ceases, and Rhys and Cassian are looking up at you from their respective spots on the couch. Roza is pottering around the kitchen.

At the first glimpse of Cass, your heart drops.

It’s not that you’re unused to seeing him roughed up, but this is…this is different. He’s clearly not riding on the wave of his normal post-brawl adrenaline. He looks downtrodden, hurt — both physically and emotionally.

Blood streaks from his face. He’s cut and bruised in numerous places. A gnarly black eye is beginning to show itself.

He finds interest in his hands. Can’t seem to bear looking at you.

“What—” Is all you’re able to gasp out, before you’re hurrying over, perching yourself on the coffee table before your two friends. You reach out. “Cass…what—”

“Take a wild guess.” He mutters, still not looking at you.

You angle yourself towards Rhys, looking for an answer. And the fact that you can’t read his expression…it threatens to cut you open.

“I don’t have a clue what’s going on.” He says with a shrug. “Clearly, nobody tells me anything.”

“Azriel did this.” You say quietly. It’s not a question.

“Yes. He did. Turned up at the mead hall and absolutely lost it.” Rhysand’s violet eyes flick between you and Cass. “And I’m guessing it has something to do with the two of you. Care to share?”

Your eyes shutter, because having to speak it aloud again might finish you off. But you suppose the worst has already happened. Azriel knows. You might as well share the truth with Rhys, also, and show him what a wretch you are.

You open your mouth, and unplanned words leave you in a rasp, “I shouldn’t have done it.”

Rhys studies you. “Done what?”

“We slept together.” Cassian finally speaks, wiping a strip of blood from his chin. “Y/N and I.”

You can’t stop your eyes roving over to Roza in the kitchen. Even though she already knows, a bolt of shame hits you all over again that she has to be present for this. Not only does she have far more pressing matters to worry about, but you simply cannot bear it — of all people you’d hate to let down, it’s her.

And she may have her back to you as she busies herself in the kitchen, but you know damn well she’s listening to every word.

Rhysand purses his lips, and he sits back, folding his arms. “Why?

“It just happened.” Cass shrugs. “Night we went to Fenlaros. Y/N was upset after the fight broke out, and I was helping her, and it just…happened. I didn’t think there would be a problem, given that neither of us are tied to anyone, but apparently it is a problem. Honestly, Azriel has no damn right. He’s been busy with Kaeda for months—”

“Yeah, Cass, but we also know it’s not a straightforward situation.” Violet eyes dance over to you. Back to Cassian. “Surely you must have known that he—”

“No, I didn’t, because like I said,” Cassian snaps, “he has no fucking right. What reason does he have to be angry with either of us? We don’t owe him shit. Y/N is a grown female. If she wants to fuck any one of us, that’s entirely her choice. It isn’t for him to dictate—”

“I don’t disagree, but—”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s passing these judgements from his cushy little high horse that he’s been fucking Kaeda atop of. I should have fucking given him hell back there, but I didn’t—”

“There’s more to it than that.” You cut in, every word slicing at you. You lower your gaze as the two males turn to you. “There’s…there’s more to it than you realise.”

Cass eyes you. And usually, he would reassure you — tell you not to put the blame on yourself.

He doesn’t.

He knows, just from looking at you, that he can’t.

He grits out through his teeth, “What.”

“Az has a right to be angry.” Your hands shake as you drag them over your face. Your eyes are red raw and sore from all the crying you’ve already done. “Not at you, though, Cass. It’s me. I…I’ve been so stupid.”

“Stupid how?”

“Azriel and I were engaging in sexual stuff, too. Okay?” The admission comes barrelling out of you. “It wasn’t planned. He asked me for…for some help. With his confidence. One thing led to another, and he and I were doing certain things. We didn’t sleep together, but we did other stuff. And it was all intended to help him approach such things with more confidence, but then I realised I wanted more, but he was interested in Kaeda, and I was upset and jealous and I just…I’m sorry. To both of you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Utter silence.

Your friends stare at you. Even Roza turns around.

You think you’d prefer to be shouted at rather than this. They’re looking at you like…like they don’t know what to do with you, say to you, anymore.

And then Cassian laughs. Not humorously, but a bitter, soured laugh. He shakes his head. “So, what you’re saying was that you used me to forget about your feelings for Az?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I…it wasn’t like that. Not intentionally. You and I both know that what happened between us was impulsive…and unplanned…and it didn’t mean anything. It just happened—”

“Because you were upset about what happened in Fenlaros! You instigated the kiss! Am I to believe it was a coincidence that you did so after Azriel had just put on some valiant display of starting a fight over Kaeda?”

“Cassian.” Rhys warns quietly. “Don’t shout at her.”

“I told you,” Your voice is beginning to break, tears heating your eyes again, “that I was feeling shit about myself—”

Another brusque laugh, void of humour, cuts you off. “And what of earlier tonight?” Cassian demands. “When Roza walked in on me kneeled between your damn thighs. What led to that?”

“That is enough.” Roza stalks over, folding her arms. “I’ve been staying out of this so you can have an adult conversation, but I will not tolerate that disrespect under my roof. I won’t have you talking to Y/N like that, Cassian. Or any female for that matter.”

Cassian slumps back slightly, muttering a half-hearted apology. To Roza, not you.

But he has a point, doesn’t he? Having laid it all out to you like this.

You slept together because you were hurting and wanting to chase away your feelings. And he may have instigated what happened earlier tonight, but you reciprocated — because you wanted to chase away your feelings.

You used him. And the second you truly realise that fact, you feel sick to your stomach.

Tears drop into your lap as your eyes shutter. Shame is ravaging your body like a sickness. You wish you were somewhere, anywhere, else.

Wish you were someone, anyone, else.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and the words alone choke you up even more. “I am so sorry, Cass. I don’t—I shouldn’t have—”

You can’t get out whatever it is you want to say. The emotion is simply too much. A pain that is both mental and physical. It’ll eat away at you until you’re skin and bones. A husk of yourself.

There’s movement, and then someone is perching beside you. Wrapping an arm around you and tugging you into their side.

“Y/N…” Rhysand murmurs, resting his chin on your head. “Azriel should never have come to you for practice to use on another female. Why would you agree to that?”

You know precisely why. But you will not say it aloud again. Choking out those words to Roza was enough. They’ll only hurt even more.

You just cling to Rhys, and you cry harder.

And after a moment, it’s Cassian who’s sitting forward and answering Rhys’s question for you.

“Because you love him. Don’t you?” He’s so quiet. Painfully quiet. “You love Azriel.”

Yes, you want to scream at him, I love Azriel, and I wish I didn’t, because even if Kaeda didn’t exist, I would be the last person in the entirety of Prythian that he’d ever look at. Me with my ruined wings and broken soul. What do I have to offer? What could I ever give him that would be worth sticking around for?

But all you can manage is a soft cry. Rhys holds you tighter as your shoulders shake.

Roza takes the seat that he vacated, next to Cass. Her hand strokes over her belly. “Mistakes have clearly been made.” She speaks. “But believe me when I say that these things are not worth ruining such good friendships over. Ever. The bond that the four of you have is so, so special. Your love and support for each other is beautiful. And so, you may be angry at each other for a while, yes — but it’ll be okay. What you have is far bigger than anger. It’s love.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” You whisper. “I would never.”

A deep sigh leaves Cassian, and he’s leaning forward. “I know that. I’m sorry for how I spoke to you.”

He shouldn’t be. You deserve it. Deserve worse.

“I still don’t think Azriel was justified.” He then says. “He’s being fucking irrational—”

“Yeah, well, he just needs to calm down.” Roza cuts him off. “You all do.”

“And stop sleeping with each other.” Rhys adds. “Definitely don’t do that again.”

Cassian’s response is a mumble, “No danger of that.”

You can only manage to shake your head in response. You’re so very, very tired.

Roza seems to read that on your face. “I think we should all head to bed. Y/N, Rhys, you both go on up while I see to Cassian’s injuries.”

You don’t need telling twice. As Rhysand pulls you up, he damn near supports your whole body weight. It’s like you’re boneless, slumping against him. Exhaustion suddenly smothers you and threatens to drag you down to the floor.

But as Rhys drags you past the couch, a hand catches yours. Encloses around it.

Cassian stares up at you. Looks beaten down and tired and hurt. But he squeezes your hand and says softly, “Love you, sweetpea.”

You run the risk of breaking all over again just by opening your mouth, but you have to get the words out. You swallow down a lump and tamp down on a sob, and you just about manage to return, “Love you too, Cass.”

His answering smile is weak, but he kisses your hand and let’s go. And then Rhys is pulling you towards the stairs.

You don’t deserve a friend like Cassian — someone who can be utterly furious with you but will still break through that anger to tell you he loves you, because you need to hear it. He’s so golden. More valued than he will ever realise.

And Rhysand is, too, as he supports you on every step of the staircase. His arms are firm around you, strong. He’s not letting you fall, even as he stops outside of the bedroom that you always share with Az.

“Will you stay with me, Rhys?” You find your hands bunching the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him with shameful desperation. “Please? I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you, and then he’s nodding resolutely. “Of course, I will.”

The smile you manage to give him is watery and unconvincing, but you force it, anyway. You turn, opening the door — until Rhys stops you. Your tired eyes glance over your shoulder in question.

And the mischief that’s on his face is so normal, so Rhys, that it actually makes you feel better. That look he gets when he’s about to say or do something that’ll earn him a slap up the side of his head. One half of his mouth tilts up, and his eyes are glimmering.

“Out with it.” You say blandly.

“Just don’t make a move on me, okay?” He grins. “Let’s not go for three out of three.”

You scowl, stalk into the bedroom, but in all honesty, you appreciate the humour. It’s far better than the hurt.

And Rhys knows that — which is precisely why he made the effort to crack a joke at all.

When you’re tucked up in bed beside him, his scent and body heat lulling you to sleep, you find his hand beneath the covers and give it a gentle squeeze.

And like always, he squeezes back.

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There’s a new crack in the ceiling.

There were six the last time Azriel counted. A seventh one now cuts a jagged line that zigzags directly over his bed.

This bed, in this room, in these dormitories.

This bed, that Y/N sucked his cock in. That he kissed Kaeda on. With the lumpy mattress and scratchy blankets.

Azriel fucking hates this bed.

He hasn’t slept a wink all night.

He knows that morning must have arrived, because people are walking the halls and readying themselves for training and talking too loudly. Az would usually have been up before all of them, already out there training in the harsh cold. But this morning, he doesn’t move an inch. It has nothing to do with the good few punches that Cassian managed to get in during their fight. If anything, Az relishes the discomfort.

Y/N and Cassian fucked. It’s all he can think about. Plays on a constant loop in his head. The truth is an oily one.

And with that truth comes further truths. Realisations.

The first — that after a night of lying awake and turning it over in his mind, he’s not sure he even has a right to be mad.

Y/N owes him nothing. Cassian owes him nothing. Their choice to lose themselves in each other’s bodies should make no difference to Azriel whatsoever. No promises have been made — aside of Y/N’s agreement to help him build his confidence. And that was a favour. Nothing more.

But those two words — nothing more — keep bringing Azriel to his second realisation. One he’s so fucking stupid for not realising until now, when it’s too late.

It was more — to him. Right from that very first kiss in the mead hall, when heat had surged his veins and he’d been left wanting more, more, more. It was that want, that carnal desire, that had had him coming straight back for further experiences with her. It was easy to say it was all about practice. Easy to pretend it wasn’t the terrifying thing it was. Easy to deny the truth.

Right from that very first kiss, he wanted Y/N.

Wanted to keep kissing her. To touch her. To have her touch him. He didn’t want to experience those things with anybody else, and he didn’t want her to want anybody else, selfish as that may be. That need had overtaken him after one fucking kiss, and he should have realised it there and then.

It was why he’d reacted to Jonan’s flirting the way he had. Why he’d lost his shit in Fenlaros, when Thedis had been ready to drag Y/N off to a shaded alcove and fuck her senseless.

It was why, no matter how damn hard he tried, he couldn’t generate that same desire with Kaeda. Kaeda was not Y/N.

And Y/N was everywhere he looked. In everything he felt. Her heart and her beauty and her laughter and her damn good soul. Her strength. Gods, that unwavering strength.

And that was why he’d reacted so damn irrationally — because he wanted Y/N, and it was his own fucking fault that she’d fallen into the arms of someone else.

He sits up in bed, dragging a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to go to training today, doesn’t want to face anyone—

But a knock lands on the door, and he tamps down on the urge to tell whoever it is to fuck right off.

“Azriel?” Kaeda’s voice comes from the other side. “I know you’re in there.”

He heaves a deep, long sigh.

He really, really does not want to face Kaeda right now, of all people.

But she knocks again, and he finds himself kicking his sheets away in pure frustration and stalking towards the door. He almost yanks it off the hinges.

Kaeda takes in the sight of him, a pinched expression on her face. “You look like shit.”

Azriel really doesn’t have the patience for this right now. His voice is cold, flat, as he bites out, “Why are you in Windhaven.”

“I came looking for you to see if you’d given any thought to my offer, and I found out you’ve been brawling with Cassian.” She reaches out, brushing her fingers over his bruised cheek. “What happened?”

“It was nothing.”

“Clearly.” Sarcasm laces her tone. She rubs her arms. “Can I come in? It’s cold.”

The last thing he wants is anyone in his space. And he should stand his ground, tell her that. But he silently steps aside.

Kaeda breezes in, tucking her wings in tight. She turns to face Az and folds her arms over her chest. “Well?”

Azriel kicks the door shut. “Well, what?”

“What of my offer?”

Her offer is the furthest thing from his thoughts. How can he think about a life in Fenlaros when his life in Windhaven is such a colossal fuck up? Not to mention he would never make such decisions without consulting his friends — his family — first—

But things with his friends aren’t in such a good place right now.

“You dumped all of that on me not even twenty-four hours ago.” He points out. “I can’t just come up with an answer for you.”

“What we’re trying to do is important, Azriel—”

“I have other things going on right now. Alright?” He snaps. “Your father’s vision is not my priority.”

Kaeda stills, balling her fists. “What things? Something to do with why you were fighting with Cassian, I presume.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Kaeda.” He pivots, turns his back to her. “I just…need some space.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Az thinks that perhaps she’ll actually listen and leave.

But then he feels movement behind him, and Kaeda’s front is pressing to his back. Her arms wrap around him. He tenses.

“I’m sorry for pushing you.” She presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I just want what’s best for you.”

Az’s eyes shutter. Her touch feels wrong. All wrong.”

“Azriel.” She whispers, and those hands travel lower, towards the waistband of the low-slung cotton trousers that hang from his hips. “I can make you feel better.”

The second those fingers begin to slide beneath the waistband, he’s launching himself out of her arms. Stumbling back against the wall.

“No.” He breathes. “I—can’t.”

Kaeda stares at him. Purses her lips. “Why?”

Because you are not Y/N. You’re not her. You’re not, and never have been, who I want.

“I just…need to be alone.” Is all he manages to get out. “You…you need to go.”

The expression on Kaeda’s face tells him just how rarely anyone asks her to leave. He feels rude, and brusque, and unkind.

He can’t bring himself to care.

“…Fine.” The tone of her voice suggests that it absolutely isn’t fine. She squares her shoulders, lifts her chin. “I’ll go.”

Az inclines his head. “Thank you.”

She strides towards the door, coldness rippling off her. And when she wraps her hand around the doorknob, she turns.

“When you’re ready to stop being such a fucking coward,” she levels him a look, “you know where you can find me.”

Azriel doesn’t bother replying.

He climbs back into bed. And he relishes in the sound of the door clicking shut.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“You’re sure you want to do this today?”

Outside the chipped wooden door of your father’s house a day later, you’re frozen on the spot. Your breath clouds in front of your face, and you wish you’d accepted the coat that Rhys had offered you before leaving.

It’s tempting to turn around and go back to the cottage. Warm yourself by the fire. Hopefully fall asleep and avoid the pain in your heart, at least for a little while.

But you know that now is the right time to do this. Your father will be hard at work in his forge, and you’re free to gather your belongings and turn your back on that hollow home for good. At least it’ll keep you occupied for a while.

So you turn to Roza, and you nod. “I’m sure.”

“I still don’t think you should be doing this alone.” She eyes you cautiously. “Why don’t I send Rhys to help?”

“I’m fine, Roz, honestly. I think…I think I’ll appreciate the space.”

The space to cry and cry without anyone smothering you. You appreciate the love and support over the last twenty-four hours, you do — but being under the same roof as Cass…not knowing what Azriel might be doing, thinking, feeling…it’s all a bit too much.

So, yes, you’ll appreciate the breathing space.

Roza seems to finally recognise that. She nods. “Alright. I’ll come back for you in an hour.”

You lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, and then you’re turning and ripping the bandaid off before you can talk yourself out of it.

The house is as dark and dingy as it always has been. It smells musty. It feels soulless.

You step in and shut the door behind you, and you’re suddenly faced with every bad memory that has ever played out there. The shadow of your child self skitters around on bare, dirty feet, scrambling to get the fire lit, the dinner cooked.

The walls are painted with the hateful, malicious words that your father has spat over the years. Some of them have been punched in his many fits of anger.

This place will always be suffocating and evil. It will always shrink you back down to that tiny, terrified child who just wanted love.

You wrap your arms around yourself and drag your feet through to your bedroom. It’s just as it was before you left. Never feeling personal nor lived in. Certainly never feeling safe.

But you try to block all of that out and focus on what you came here for. The silence is welcomed, despite every little creak and bang putting you on edge, filling you with dread that your father might have returned home early. If you had to face a confrontation with him right now, you wouldn’t have the strength to defend yourself. You’d roll over at the first blow of vitriol.

And so, when you hear the sure sound of the door rattling open, your heart plummets. You freeze, hands bunching the tunic you were folding. Clear, confident footsteps approach.

Azriel appears in the doorway, and you don’t know what to do.

Perhaps facing your father would be easier right now.

He stares at you, his expression guarded. Where he would usually allow you to read his emotions, he wears a cool, flat exterior that even your keen awareness of him cannot get past. It’s deliberate — an act of self-preservation.

It makes you want to cry, just realising that he feels the need to do that around you. He never has before.

“What are you doing here?” You rasp, clearing a lump from your throat. “I thought…I mean…I would have come to find you, but I thought you needed space.”

Az nods. “I do.” He says. “I’m not…not ready to talk about anything yet.”

“Then why—”

“I made you a promise a long time ago.” He steps closer, stares at you in a way that is…quiet. You notice the dark smudges that sit beneath his eyes as he continues, “I made you a promise that I would be there for you, no matter what. And I didn’t keep that promise on Solstice, but I’m keeping it now. Even if I’m not ready to confront things yet…I won’t let you face this alone.”

After twenty-four hours of tears, you were certain you’re all cried out.

But tears fill your eyes again, and you feel like the broken pieces of your heart are breaking even more.

Azriel knows, better than anybody, how difficult it is for you to come back to this house. To face so many of the demons that you fought against with him by your side. He knows that you may have told Roza that you were fine, that you could do it alone, but you’re not, and you can’t.

You never wanted to do this alone. You just didn’t want to do it with anyone but Azriel.

And despite being hurt, and angry, and confused…he’s here.

“How did you…” You clear your throat again. “How did you know?”

“Was flying above. Saw you with Roza.” He strides further into the room and goes straight to one of the drawers in your dresser. “Are you taking everything?”

You’re still a little stunned, but you manage a nod. Your everything is, in fact, not much at all.

Az begins to fold your clothes and sort them into piles. He’s completely silent. Doesn’t even look at you. But a shadow reaches out and tickles your arm.

There’s so much you want to say to him. You also just want to throw your arms around him. Apologise, and apologise, and apologise.

But you’ll always respect his boundaries. He isn’t ready. So you return to the task and work just as silently as he is.

It’s a little while later, when he’s moved on to your small gathering of keepsakes, that he speaks again.

“Do you want to take this?” He turns to you.

In his hand is the little wooden owl carving he made for your thirteenth birthday. The damned thing has seen you shed so many tears, stayed clutched in your palm through so many nightmares. Never will you ever part with it.

“Always.” You answer quietly. “I’ll always take it wherever I go.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment, and then he nods. Tucks the trinket into the pocket of your satchel. You watch the entire thing with a gaping wound in your heart.

“Az?” You murmur, and he glances at you over your shoulder. “…Thank you…”

His eyes catch yours again, and then he’s dipping his chin. “I made you a promise.” He says again.

You don’t speak another word to each other after that.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

As soon as you’re finished, Azriel is taking to the skies once more. He doesn’t bid you goodbye.

Roza appears almost immediately, and she takes in your scant belongings with a pitying look.

“Come, little dove.” She reaches for your bag. “Let’s get out of the cold.”

“Let me carry that, Roz.” You say. “You’re pregnant. And the cottage isn’t far—”

But your words cut off when, with a wave of her hand, she’s spiriting all of your belongings away, into thin air. You cock an eyebrow.

“We’re not going back to the cottage.” She says. “I’m taking you to Velaris.”

az tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes

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wordstome · 4 months

Note

könig as the nutcracker 🥹🥹

you just brought some terrible sleeping beast out of me, anon.

nutcracker prince König x fem reader (mostly gender neutral but you're wearing a dressing gown)

tw: mouse murder???

He's a very odd looking nutcracker, all things considered, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

"If it's a nutcracker why does it have that stupid veil over its face?" Your brother asks, noisily crunching candies between his molars. You glare at him, both for the rude remark and for chewing with his mouth open.

"This is a special one," your aunt gushes. "He's based off of a legendary soldier who never showed his face on the battlefield. One of a kind, from a specialty toy shop.”

"How interesting..." You muse, gently rubbing the fabric of the veil between your fingers. It's sturdy fabric, but still soft to the touch.

"He was probably ugly as hell," your brother declares. You swat him, and he only cackles and gets up to graze at some more sweets.

"Maybe you should try covering that ugly mug up once in a while," you call after him. He pelts you with a walnut shell.

Your aunt shakes her head fondly. "This one's not just decorative," she says. "He's a real nutcracker by Steinbach."

You look at her, wide-eyed. "So he can crack nuts?"

She nods and tosses you a hazelnut. "Try it."

You lift the wooden man's veil a little to put the hazelnut in his mouth. You could just pull the whole thing up and out of the way, but that feels almost...forbidden? You're not sure why you feel this way—he's just a piece of wood, after all, and he probably doesn't even have anything painted on underneath the veil other than those vibrant blue eyes. But even so, you're hesitant to unmask him.

Cracking the nut works like a charm, though, and some childish excitement bubbles up inside you as the remnants of the cracked hazelnut spill into your palm. "That's incredible!" you gush, running your thumb over the nutcracker's lacquered uniform.

"What do you mean incredible, that's what nutcrackers are for." Your brother returns, a few walnuts rolling around in his palm. He holds his other hand out. "Give him here."

"No. You called him ugly, so he's mad at you," you say, teasing him by holding the nutcracker out of his reach.

Your brother rolls his eyes. "Give it here, you little shit."

"Crack your own nuts," you shoot back. "This is my nutcracker."

He makes another grab for it, and this time he manages to grab the nutcracker's arm. It's only a lighthearted tussle between siblings as you shove at your brother and he refuses to let go of the nutcracker's arm—until it's not.

A terrible snapping of breaking wood causes you to gasp. The two of you stumble away from each other from the force, your brother holding a tiny wooden arm in his hand. He's just pulled it clean off. On closer inspection, your idiot brother has somehow managed to Hulk-rip the arm piece off of the piece that fits inside the socket. "This is a brand new nutcracker, how did you fuck it up?!" you cry.

"Hey, you should have—" Your brother takes one look at your expression and decides not to give you a hard time. "Look, I'm sorry. I was too rough on it. Sit tight for a second." You sit there, numbly staring at the pieces of your poor nutcracker. Really, it's your fault too—why didn't you just let him have the damn thing?

And why is this upsetting you so much? The nutcracker's just a decoration, albeit one with a little more function than most. You feel a sort of attraction to this little wooden man in your hand, though. Maybe it's because his unique design is interesting, or maybe it's because you're intrigued by the idea of a masked soldier who never shows his face. Either way, he was your gift anyway, so it's not that unusual that you're attached to him...right?

"Here, let me see him." Your brother's back, but to your horror, he's holding a pair of needle-nose pliers. "Absolutely not," you respond, jumping up from where you were sitting on the floor. "You are not getting anywhere near my nutcracker with those things. You're just going to fuck it up even more."

"It'll be fiiine," he insists, clicking the pliers open and closed like some maniacal toy surgeon. You're not sure you like the devious glint in his eye. Your brother's a nice guy for the most part, but sometimes he gets this look in his eye that you imagine Dr Frankenstein must have had when he was assembling his creation.

You hold the nutcracker and his detached arm protectively to your chest. "I'll figure out how to fix him in the morning with glue or something," you insist. "I don't need you poking around with pliers and splintering the wood."

"Are you sure? I am sorry, for what it's worth."

You wave him off. You're still kind of mad at him, but you're both adults. You'll live. "Don't worry about it. I think I'm going to head to bed soon, anyway."

"You should keep his arm with him, dear," you aunt pipes up. She had gone into the kitchen during the whole ordeal, but had probably heard everything go down. "Tape it to his side or something. You wouldn't want to lose it."

That's a good idea, you muse, examining your poor amputated nutcracker. You're just about to take her suggestion when you get an idea.

Your brother checks in with you later, right before he goes to bed as well. "You can't be serious," he says. "You made him an arm sling?"

You tie the knot on the little scrap of cloth around the little wooden man's arm nice and snug. "Oh, I'm dead serious," you say. "Doesn't he look cute?"

Your brother lets out a resigned sigh. "Yeah. Sure."

The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful. You put the nutcracker in your room, right on top of the dresser, while you go about your bedtime routine. It always brings you a bit of joy to walk out of the bathroom and see him there, standing tall and proud.

Well, your evening would have been uneventful...had you not bolted awake in bed an hour or two later.

You're groggy and confused, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when you hear the cacophony of noise. It sounds like footsteps, dozens upon dozens of them, stampeding through your walls. And then the mice show up.

They crawl up from the corners and the floorboards, swarming across your room. You're too terrified to move or even scream out, sure that you must be having some terrible nightmare or hallucination.

And then your nutcracker moves.

You're absolutely positive now that you must be dreaming, watching frozen from your bed as your nutcracker leaps down from your dresser as if he's a living, breathing man and beginning to fight the mice. And he's even...talking?

"Finally, some worthy adversaries!" you hear him cry. You gape at this bloodthirsty little soldier as he beats through mouse after mouse with his tiny sword.

It's an impossible battle, you think. There's no way he can take all those mice alone, and with one injured arm aside...you're usually pretty squeamish when it comes to dubious little animals, but you can't just leave your nutcracker to be overwhelmed. Besides, this is all a dream, so nothing matters, right?

There's one mouse, larger than the others, who's at the back of the pack, squeaking as if giving orders. You're having quite a wild dream, honestly, because the mouse is even wearing a little crown. Like a king, you think with some amusement. You reach over the edge of your bed to pick the mouse up by the scruff.

You're not quite sure what happens next. One moment, the mouse is chattering angrily at you, the next you're on the floor. At first you think you've simply lost your balance and fallen onto the floor, but when you scramble to your feet, you nearly fall over again as you take in your surroundings.

You've shrunk.

Your bedroom is cavernous above your head, your bedposts and furniture as tall as skyscrapers. And worse still, the mice are huge too: the once palm-sized mouse king is now as large as you are, sneering down at you from his snout. You didn't even know mice could sneer.

You yelp and throw yourself to the side to dodge one of the mice lunging at you. "It's time to wake up," you mutter to yourself through clenched teeth. "It would be really really nice to wake up right about now...!"

The mice are unrelenting, a vicious gleam in their eyes as they nip at your heels. They manage to corner you against a piece of furniture, snapping their jaws menacingly. All you can think to do is pray as they draw ever closer, their breath hot as they crowd around you—

A sword neatly lops off the head of one of the mice in front of you.

You gasp and look upwards to see your nutcracker looming above you, his sword gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. He's incredibly menacing at this size, his veil becoming intimidating rather than charming. You're far smaller than him now—if he had been a normal sized man, he would have easily cleared six feet. His eyes are vibrant and intense, staring down at you for a brief moment before they turn back towards his enemy.

You sit there, stock-still in awe as you watch him mow through his adversaries. It takes you a moment to realize you probably shouldn't be hanging around and gawping. Good thing, too, because your knight in shining lacquer is too distracted to notice he's being snuck up on. The larger mouse is creeping up behind him, a wicked glint in its eye.

"No!" you cry. Thinking fast, you pull off your slipper and chuck it at the mouse's head, stunning it. I can't believe that actually worked, you think.

You have to give your nutcracker some credit, his reflexes are wicked-sharp. In a single heartbeat, he's run the mouse king through with his sword. He cuts an imposing figure, his eyes sharp and deadly. But there's a sort of glee in them as well, the kind of thing that should make you uneasy.

It doesn't.

The rest of the mice, seeing their leader fallen, beat a hasty retreat, tugging the corpses of their fallen comrades along with them. You watch them, fascinated, until all that remains of the bloody conflict are a few tiny pools of blood streaked along your floorboards.

"I must thank you," comes the voice of your nutcracker. You look at him, unsure of what to say. You're welcome for throwing a shoe at a giant mouse to keep it from killing you?

"I...of course," is what eventually comes out. You smooth out your dressing gown in a futile effort to look presentable. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

The nutcracker tilts his head curiously. "You don't know me."

"Of course I do. You're my nutcracker," you say, instantly feeling silly once the words leave your mouth. You just received him as a gift, and you only just found out he was sentient anyway. You don't know why you feel so protective...

He shifts his injured arm, the sling still in place. "You bound my arm, as well."

You flush with embarrassment. "I-it was the least I could do," you stammer. "I shouldn't have let my brother do that. Really, it was my own fault—" Your words die in your throat as the nutcracker moves in close to you, so close that you can feel his body heat. Since when did he have body heat?

"Pretty," he murmurs under his breath. You stare at him, dumbfounded. Is your nutcracker...hitting on you?

Suddenly, you snap back to your senses. "Oh my God," you exclaim, staring down at yourself and then back towards your surroundings. "I'm still small. And I haven't woken up yet. Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming." You pinch your skin, letting out a small exclamation when it hurts. But you still don't wake up.

"Hmm...you won't solve your predicament that easily, little one," the nutcracker muses.

"Wha—do you know how to fix this?"

"I have a hunch," he responds, brow furrowing. You hadn't noticed eyebrows on him when you were examining him earlier in the evening, you note.

"Do tell."

"You've had a curse placed on you, but I don't know how to break it. I do, however, know someone who might know how."

"Well then take me to them!" You stare at him beseechingly. You watch as several indecipherable emotions run through his eyes, then he nods.

You visibly relax. "Thank you."

"You'll have to trust me. You may find the whole process a little...fantastical."

"More fantastical than my nutcracker coming to life and fighting an army of mice on my bedroom floor?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes crinkle in a way that must mean he's smiling.

"More fantastical than that," he says. He offers you a hand like a true gentleman, and to your shock, it feels like flesh, not wood. His grip is firm but soothing, his hand so huge it dwarfs your own.

"Let's do this, then."

uhhhhhhh wow this got kinda long I had to cut it short. I'll probably write a part 2? But it's gotta wait because I've got a gazillion other things to write first :P Thank you for the inspiration, anon! 🥺

#yes this König has blue eyes #könig #konig #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig fanfiction #konig fanfiction #könig cod #konig cod #könig call of duty #cod #call of duty

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inkbybambi · 6 months

Text

⚜️ pornstar!ghost who's so, so in love with you —

words: 3.8k tags: smut, creampie, pet names (good girl, love, darling, etc), throat holding, no use of y/n, fem!reader, ghost and reader are so in love with each other, biting/marking, mentions of sex work. notes: inspired by @ghosts-cyphera 's pornstar!ghost. thank you so, so much for creating him and for letting me bite him and chew him like a squeaky toy. please read the original here and give it lots of love! here is the playlist i made while writing — a mixture of soft and sweet and filthy and everything in between. minors dni, my blog is 18+.

in the muffled quiet of the bathroom, you take a deep breath. your heart beats in time with the rhythmic thumping of the bass that reverberates throughout the flat. that same steady beat of edm songs has been on repeat since you arrived at the party, and your blood hums with the vibrations. you love parties; the drinks, the snacks, the absolute unhinged bullshit that can only be achieved by those in front and behind the camera.

you’re surprised there hasn’t been a noise complaint.

you slip from the bathroom, perhaps just a little tipsy, the warmth of the drinks and the atmosphere thread through your blood like fire, the colored flashing lights casting everything in a multi-colored glow. you move through the crowd to find the one person who means more than the entire world and —

he’s sitting on the couch, pretending to listen to one of the newer talents; she’s a touch too close, fingers reaching out to graze his forearm. he doesn’t even blink twice before he’s pulling his arm away, pretending to adjust his watch as his eyes sweep the room.

as soon as his gaze lands on you, he straightens up, leaning forward in anticipation. the other girl looks put off but neither of you pay her any mind as you make your way to him, crawling onto the couch where he’s (been) waiting for you.

you nestle into his side, taking the red, plastic cup you trusted him with when you went to the bathroom. you take a small sip.

“this isn’t my drink,” you tell him.

“you’re right.”

you pout at him, eyes glittering with the lights.

he looks at you expectedly, pointedly looking at the cup and giving you that look. the one he gives you whenever he wants you to do something, and you always listen.

you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out at him, before dutifully drinking the water that he’s so graciously filled your cup with instead of whatever fruity and far-too-strong cocktail the host had conjured up. he snorts, rolling his eyes fondly as he slings an arm across the back of the couch.

when half the cup is gone, you look back at him, doe-eyes big and glassy, the need for praise and approval simmering under the surface. even in the low light of the room, you see how his eyes soften as he takes you in. his hand comes up to cup your face, cradling it. you close your eyes, nuzzling into his palm as you enjoy the moment of calm. as his thumb gently wipes under your eye, your eyes flutter back open to focus on him, and he tilts his head as he assesses you.

this moment is just for you two. even in a room full of people, you’re unable to focus on anything but him.

he glances at his wrist to check his watch — the one you gave him for his birthday last year and the one that’s been on his wrist ever since, not even taking it off to film unless absolutely necessary.

(and if he got you a bracelet that matched his watch as close as possible for your birthday? neither of you mention it, but you know.)

ghost’s never been one for social niceties —preferring to keep to himself — and you know you haven’t been here too terribly long, only one drink deep, but both of you have a rare day off together and he’d rather be alone with you for as long as possible than at this last minute thrown together “party” by a few colleagues.

he leans in close to graze his covered mouth against your jaw — he never takes off the skull mask, except when he’s alone with you.

("it's part of my charm," he claims, grin stretching across his lips, getting ready for his first shoot of the day. you bite back an amused smile, sitting in front of him and fussing until he sits still so you can paint on his eye black.)

“i think it’s time i took you home, princess.”

and christ, his voice.

it's well known you’re closer than most, so it’s not terribly surprising when you arrive and leave together and generally stick to each other like glue.

you press your lips right against the sensitive skin behind his ear, brushing against the fabric, voice masked by the music but still keeping it low enough so only he hears.

“then take me home, simon.”

his eyes flash dangerously, taking your cup and abandoning it on the coffee table. his large hand dwarfs your own as he drags you off the couch.

you didn’t say hello to anyone in particular when you arrived and you don’t stop to let anyone know you're leaving. you’re too focused on his thumb running across the ridge of your knuckles, the way he laces your fingers together, how you two fit so well together.

if there was a red string tied to your pinky, you know it would lead you right to him.

the ride back to your flat is spent with his hand on your thigh, hot and possessive like a brand.

there's something different about tonight. ghost's touch lingers, as if he doesn't want to be without you for even a second, and you're drawn to him like a moth to flame, helpless to do anything but get as close as you can, hoping you won't burn and turn to ash.

you know exactly where the night is leading when he pulls you to your bedroom, the soft glow of your bedside lamp casting everything in a halo of warm, dim light.

ghost turns to you, hands on your hips, pulling you closer. you fingers tease the edge of his mask, hooking under the familiar fabric and starting to drag up. you pause as his lips come to view, watching him carefully.

glassy eyes meet yours and you forget to breathe for a moment. you want to capture the warmth swirling in his eyes, keep it close on the days that are dark and dreary, on the days that only he makes better.

you pull the rest of the covering off, his hair slightly ruffled, haloed by the light.

a delicate smile graces your lips, reaching a hand up to run your fingers along his jaw — a motion so familiar, a motion repeated in front of cameras and bright lights and others watching. he's sharp lines and features carved from marble but he's so soft, a comfort you can't name when you're with him.

he looks like an angel, heaven-sent.

"whatcha you thinkin', pretty girl?" he asks, voice low, accent thick, capturing your wandering fingers and pressing a kiss to your inner wrist, right beneath your bracelet.

you don't say anything, continuing to admire him, biting your lip. you're afraid to speak. afraid to give a name to these emotions that have settled into your bones and blood, seared into you.

for now, you keep those words locked in your heart, protected by ribs and flesh and walls that he so carefully picks apart with his teeth and tongue and fingers.

you shake your head instead of answering him, a gentle smile gracing your lips, threading your fingers through his hair. it's fluffy and a bit on the long side. he showered as soon as he was off work. he never wants others lingering on his skin.

you tip up on your toes enough to capture his lips with yours, biting at his bottom lip.

he presses you up against the wall, mouth hot and wet on yours. he licks deep into your mouth, fingers lacing in your hair. you grip the front of his shirt, mewling into his mouth as he kisses you like he'll never get to again.

some of your lipstick is smeared on his lips when he pulls away, eyes black. you shiver under his stare.

you press a tantalizing kiss to his jaw, teeth nipping.

"want to film it?" a mischievous smile paints your lips, hands raking lower to hook into the hem of his shirt.

both you and ghost have quite a collection of videos and pictures of you two, hidden behind locked albums and passwords. it's a testament of trust — one that's been carefully built and protected, tucked away where only you two know.

"not this time," he replies, voice soft, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. he cups your jaw gently, wiping away smudged mascara. "this is just for you n' me."

you swallow thickly, choking down words threatening to spill from you. the temptation to say something lingers on your tongue, pressing behind your teeth, daring you to take a bite.

the kiss you press to his lips is far softer than anything, heat just below the surface.

ghost doesn't make a habit of kissing those he's filming with. a bite or two, something more vicious and rough — but with you? sometimes he'll kiss you like you're glass, afraid of marring you, breaking you. other times, it's all heat and liquid fire, consuming you and all you think about for days after.

he'd wake up every day kissing you if he could.

your clothes are a mess on the floor, not that you particularly care right now.

not with the way ghost is pressing his weight down on you so deliciously, hot and heavy, devouring you. he cages you between his thick forearms, barely giving you room to breathe, biting and nipping and licking deep into your mouth until your lips are shiny and swollen, pupils blown so wide, they're practically black.

"wish i could be the only one to see you like this," he pants against the hinge of your jaw, dragging teeth and tongue down your body.

the urge to bite and bruise and mark clouds his mind, wanting nothing more than to bury his teeth into the supple flesh of your thigh, until the imprint of his teeth lasts for days.

surprisingly soft hands part your thighs, baring your glistening desire to his burning gaze.

but that's not what he's looking at.

he's unable to look away from the temporary tattoo that's fading on your skin. it's been washed away from your time on set — spit and water and release coating your skin — but it's unmistakable.

a ghost.

"what's this?" he asks, thumb stroking over the faded lines of the tattoo, breathless.

you rise up on your elbows, desire thick through your veins. you don't have to look to know what he's asking about. but you look anyways, mesmerized by his thumb grazing over your skin.

"the girls and i had some on set," you begin, voice soft. "we were filming in a bath so we figured why not, y'know?"

he looks up from between your legs, predatory and possessive.

you lick your bottom lip, feeling bold.

"thought it might be cute to have you with me," you say, a whispered confession.

ghost looks like he's repenting for his sins, kneeling between you legs. you thread your fingers through his hair, arching your hips up, failing to bite back the whine rising in your throat, needing him impossibly closer.

“oh, love.” his voice is rough, wrecked, dragging his lips over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, teasing right along the edge of where the ghost fades. “let’s give you something a little more permanent, hm?”

he shouldn’t — he really shouldn’t — but the urge, the need to mark you is overwhelming. it overrides every other rational thought.

he sees the way others look at you. he'll watch your videos — out of curiosity and not jealousy, he tells himself — and see the way your co-stars have this star-struck, pussydrunk look about them. he never brings himself to finish watching the videos.

his teeth sink into your skin, a sharp shock of electricity and want flooding your senses. your nails dig into his scalp, hissing out a breath between your teeth. his teeth are deep, and you can't find yourself to care. arousal leaks from your cunt, begging to be touched and filled and claimed.

ghost eventually withdraws his teeth. you sink down into the mattress, tension seeping from your body. the sting of the mark he left becomes a focal point of your attention, body buzzing and thrumming with arousal as ghost licks thick stripes to soothe the deep impression, admiring his work .

"laswell's gonna kill you," you mumble, moving to cradle the back of his head, trying to pull him up.

he goes willingly.

his eyes sparkle, a cocky smirk painted on his lips as he drags them from your cheek to your lips, indulging in a slow kiss, tongue pushing in your mouth and licking along the edges of your teeth, grazing the roof of your mouth.

"good thing i don't care what laswell thinks," he says against your lips when he pulls away, continuing the path of his kisses down your jaw to your throat, pressing delicate kisses to your pulse.

his cock lays against your hip, thick and pulsing and dripping pre-cum. you lace your legs up around his waist, heels of your feet resting delicately at his sides.

one arm cages you in while he uses his other hand to push your hair back from your face, lips tracing a path from your forehead down your temple, right above your ear.

"and me?" you ask against his jaw, wrapping around your arms around broad shoulders, enticing him to lay more of his weight down on you.

"and you what, sweet thing?" his reply comes so quick, so fluid, like he was waiting for you to ask.

"do you care what i think?"

he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek before pulling back to look at you in a way only he can. you've seen — felt — the stares of your coworkers when you're filming.

it never compares to how ghost — simon — looks at you. like you were made only for him (and maybe you were, you think, from time to time); like you were the moon and he was so desperately trying to be the stars to be close to you; like his every breath began and ended with you.

he doesn't answer you with words. he's never been a man of many words, anyway.

he cups your jaw so softly, thumb brushing along your cheek. his eyes are so bright, his touch is always so gentle.

you can't remember life before he came into it, a blur of memories and moments lost to time. all you know now is that you can't — won't — go through life without him by your side, so deeply entwined in your blood and bones and soul.

his mouth is warm and tender against yours, and it's so easy to lose yourself to the comfort and the haven he has become. he kisses you like his life depends on it, like he'll stop breathing if he lets you go.

his fingers skim along your sides, down your spine and to your hip, tilting you up against him until your ass is resting against his thighs, cock hot and heavy and leaking right above your clit.

he carefully guides himself down your cunt, slipping himself between your folds, gathering your slick, before notching the fat head at your entrance and you ache.

he's so big — bigger than any of your coworkers, anyone you've slept with outside work — but he pushes himself so easily into your soaking pussy, walls fluttering around each inch that sinks into you. you feel so fucking full of him, the stretch a pleasant burn that ignites in your belly, lighting up your nerves like a wildfire.

always a little delirious when he pushes into you, consumed by the tight, wet heat of your cunt, he pants against your cheek, cradling you against his chest.

you fold yourself into him, legs hitching higher, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. you lick at the sweat clinging to his skin, cologne sticking to your tongue.

without any words, he knows when you're ready. you always need a moment to adjust to his size, feeling the deep, steadying breaths you take. he pulls out slowly, carefully, until the tip rests at your entrance, before snapping his hips back against yours. his lips fall to the column of your throat, feeling each moan he pulls from you, each whimper and whine.

you love the way he fucks you for work. it doesn’t feel like it’s work, not with him, never with him. you try not to dream too much about being able to keep him all for yourself.

this feels different. this is different. deep, slow thrusts, lingering kisses, noses brushing, breathing in each other.

your name sounds like a prayer on his lips, as he takes your fingers to kiss them before lacing them together, pressing your joined hands above you on the pillow.

your vision is hazy, clouded over with pleasure, barely able to keep your eyes open with each deep, steady thrust, his cock kissing the tip of your cervix.

"look at me, sweetheart," he begs, accent slurred and thick, eyes so dark and inviting. you want to lose yourself entirely to him.

maybe you already have.

"you don't even know what you do to me," he whispers against your lips, keeping his confession sacred between you. your breath stutters in your throat, unable to choke down the thoughts drowning you, a tear slipping down the side of your cheek.

he chases it with his lips, placing softer kisses to your eyelids, and then above your brow, moving down your nose to the bow of your lips. your nails dig into his sides, trying to convey each muddled thought through your touch, marking and marring him and staking your claim.

a sharp inhale follows a deeper thrust, choking out his name as pleasure floods your veins like venom, overtaking you.

"there?" he breathes, nails digging into your hip to keep you steady. voice lost, all you do is nod and mewl, pressing your breasts up against his chest, always needing him closer.

"yeah, baby, i know," he says, almost laughing, arm lacing around your waist to press you flush against him, his other hand tangling in the sheets beside your head.

with anyone else, you'd roll your eyes and scoff at the arrogance. but with ghost? you're so pliant and loose in his grip, letting him do whatever he wants with you, so submissive and obedient, only for him.

"oh, you've needed this ever since we got to the party, hm?" his teeth graze your neck, down to your collar, right above the curve of your breast. "bet you would've let me fuck you in the bathroom, hm? let my cum leak out of you for everyone to see, let them know that you're mine?"

his thrusts are sharper, meaner. it's everything you want, eyes rolling in the back of your head as the pleasure burns hotter and hotter, the precipice of release right there. the sound of your cunt drawing him in deeper with each smack of his hips against yours fills the room, each moan accented with your pussy gushing around him, his cock coated in your desire.

"gonna be my good girl and cum for me?" his voice is so rough, a hand around your throat forcing you to look at him, mouth open as you pant out each breath, unable to think of anything but his name.

unable to think of anything but your first name with his last, a contract with your names, a band around your finger.

you can only whine out a yes, please, fuck please, want to cum for you. the fingers around your throat tighten, the edges of your vision seeping black.

a sharp bite to your shoulder is the catalyst for your orgasm. thighs shaking, a moan of his name weak in your throat, your cum coating the tantalizing line of hair from his bellybutton to his cock, dripping down your thighs.

"fuckin' hell," he growls against your skin, snapping his hips hard, grazing your clit twice, three times, before you feel his spend paint your insides. thick, hot spurts of his cum pulse from his cock, drawing out your own orgasm and making your brain static with pleasure.

a mixture of his cum and yours spill out from the edges of where he's buried inside you. his cock pulses a few more times as he comes down from his high, skin slick with sweat that's rapidly cooling.

he presses his entire weight down onto you, burying his face into your neck as your nose buries into his hair. sex and release and the last dregs of your perfume permeate the air.

you card your fingers gently through his hair, a comfortable silence lingering as you both fight to catch your breath. he needs a haircut, fingers tangling in the length. maybe he'll let you give him one tomorrow.

his body sinks deeper into yours, his breath even and steady to the point where you think he might've fallen asleep inside you. you're not about to wake him.

“have you ever thought about leaving?” you ask, hesitant, letting your question linger in the air.

“the industry?” comes his reply a moment later.

you hum in acknowledgement.

he takes another moment more to think, before his answer comes, muffled against your throat. “sometimes, yeah."

“if i left, would you leave with me?”

his reply comes not even a second later, without any hesitation.

“my love, i go where you go."

you're glad he's tucked into your neck, arms wrapping around him protectively, possessively, throat clicking as you swallow. more tears slip down your cheeks, burning a path down your cheeks and settling in his hair. your eyes close as the emotions threaten to burst from your chest, a weak attempt to maintain your composure.

you can only hold back so much.

“do you believe in soulmates?” you ask, significantly softer. you only ask when you're confident your voice won't betray you. the crack gives you away.

ghost is silent, inhaling the scent of sex and sweat and you.

"'m not sure," he replies. he sounds worried, unsure. your heart beats painfully.

he's scared you're going to leave.

you'll never leave him.

“maybe they’re not in this world," you say, fingers tracing along his shoulders and down his spine. "maybe in another, another life, another place."

he shivers under your gentle touch.

"i think you’re mine," you say, heart beating and aching and tearing at the seams; so, so scared of your confession. "i can’t imagine going through this life without you.”

his voice, so much stronger, more confident and brazen and sure comes after a heartbeat.

“good thing you’ll never have to, darling.”

#ink by bambi #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley/reader #simon riley/you #ghost/reader #ghost/you #simon riley smut #modern warfare smut #simon riley imagine #modern warfare imagine

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m-ayo-o · 4 months

Note

megumi….. puppy reader…… leg humping……mean megumi😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

HOLY FfffffffUCK OK MAYBE I CAN WRITE PUPPY READER

18+ SMUT NSFW 21+ HARD DOM OWNER MEGUMI this one is horrible and mean and pet play + collaring and he smacks her and chokes her and degrades her please do not read if u don't like bdsm stuff thank youuuu hybrid fics

"You stupid little thing."

Your owner always chastises you for humping him like this, tugging on your lead to snap you out of it.

"You're going to get my trousers dirty."

But tonight, he notices that his usual techniques aren't working. The collar around your neck slackens, the chain links fall loose, then he yanks it tight one more time. You emit a satisfying yelp, but your brainless motions continue.

"Ugh- if you want something from your owner you better speak up. I know I'm a sadist, you're a masochist, we're a matchmade in heaven and it's all very romantic, but I can't choke you like this all night."

"J-just need- more," you whimper.

So he huffs and tugs you up onto his lap, where he's sitting with his legs spread on the sofa, and positions you over one muscly thigh.

"Ride it, then."

And without question you move your hips back and forth while he tugs up your skirt. Your tail swishes from side to side and your pointed ears flop down when you get so distracted by the pleasure you have to remind yourself to breathe. And even that's coming out all shaky and hitched, now your clit is rubbing directly on the black material. Your owner doesn't allow you to wear underwear at home.

"Look at that."

He slides his finger through the slick mess you made on him, lifting his hand away with a sticky trail connecting to his trousers. He brings his fingers to your mouth now.

"Chew toy for puppy, here, open up."

Your obedience amuses him. But this is nothing. Some nights he has you jumping through all sorts of kinky hoops before he lets you cum, and it's even more work to even get to see his dick. Once he gets it out he'll decide if you've been good enough to touch him or not, or whether he'd just prefer to tease you and squirt his cum all over your tongue.

He can make you do anything he wants, and tonight that happens to be getting his little puppy creaming on his leg.

But you're getting distracted. By his face, of course. His lips. You want to kiss him.

"No. No kissing. Just ride my thigh like a good little slut and I might let you kiss my hand. If you do it right, how I like it."

Your little brain thinks that's terribly unfair so you let out a whine and he smacks your ass.

"Complaining? You want me to give you something to complain about?" He snaps, threatening to push you back onto the floor again. You shake your head and keep grinding on him.

The sensation between your legs now is getting all messy and hot and your clit is starting to throb. You let out a little plea for him to touch you so he just spanks you again and grabs your ass, making sure to drag you up and down nice and hard.

"That's it, puppy, ride me like that you silly girl."

He loves watching you get like this- he feels a combination of disgust and arousal at the way your tongue is starting to hang out of your mouth and your eyelids are dropping. You just look so dumb. But your body is getting him so undeniably hard it almost hurts. Maybe he'll have to use your puppy pussy tonight after all.

"O-owner, nghh- Megumi, Meg-uuumiiii~ I, I waannaa cum on your dick, oh please will you let me?"

"Cum on my thigh or not at all." He says tersely while slipping his fingers over your ass.

"If you beg and moan and complain you know what will happen."

He'll chain you up. Like when you were really naughty and just undid the zipper on his trousers and sucked at his cock when he was too tired to turn you down. He smacked you across your pretty face and tied your collar to the bannister. He left you there naked all night.

At least you learned your lesson.

So you keep sliding your pussy over him and get closer and closer till you feel that tidal wave approaching and starting to spill and you release-

"Ah, ah, hahhh, mmm-- hnn Megummiii-!!!"

-it's far too wet, you're soaked, this isn't right-

"Haha, oh look what you've done," he sees the pure panic in your eyes when you realise you squirted on him.

He looks livid.

"Megumi, Megumi, wait please please, I. I mmm-- I didn't mean to wait!!!"

He pushes you onto the floor and gets his dick out, holding it to your lips.

"I'll punish you later. First, suck."

megumi | m.list

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partycatty · 1 month

Text

kenshi > read my mind

sitting across the table from your boyfriend at sun do's royal dinner, filling his mind with terrible images...

warnings: ur a horndog, exhibitionism ig, SWITCH KENSHI NATION RISE UP!

notes: this was inspired by @crimsonbubble 's post about kenshi's telepathy... absolute genius... also please pretend he's got sento here or something idfk just bear with me please i'm in heat LMAO. funny side note i had to rewrite this after finishing it to tweak some details, namely that i forgot kenshi CANNOT FUCKING SEE.

[ masterlist ]

• there was a mutual agreement between you and kenshi, no funny business in outworld lest the entirety of earthrealm be damned to your reputation. this was a doable task, you and kenshi were disciplined and well-mannered, like two cute little peas in a very stoic pod.

• however, when you're sat at the long table, syzoth on your left and johnny on your right as you tear apart a roasted bird, you find yourself salivating at the sight of kenshi swirl a glass of red wine with interest. how is it that everything he does is so effortlessly sexy? your chewing slows and you swallow thickly.

• kenshi must have felt your burning gaze, considering his familiarity with it, and his head flicks up to meet yours.

• you look really hot tonight, you try to think as coherently as you can but your mind wanders faster than you can control, and you're envisioning kenshi throwing that roasted bird and glassware to the floor as he fucks you stupid there and then, using your hole as his personal stress relief as he pins you hard to the table. kenshi chokes on his wine, fists clenching as his head tilts downward to avoid staring at you and spiraling his own mind any further.

• the illuminated figures of his friends surrounding kenshi don't seem to pick up on his flushed state, too entranced in their meals to properly notice anything off.

• what's the matter? you toy with him innocently, leaning over the table to tear the leg from the bird and let your breasts spill out and settle atop the table. how he wishes he could see the flush of your skin, the way your outfit compliments your figure so well. don't get too heated, someone will notice.

• you stick your finger in your mouth, sucking away the flavor of the food as you look directly at him with low lids. you had to commit to this, whatever your goal was it surely couldn't have ended well for you.

• there was so much room under the table, a dark part of you snickers as you envision crawling under the table and freeing his surely solid cock, swirling your tongue around his tip and digging your nails into his thigh, reminding him to keep quiet.

• "stop," kenshi mouths at you, shoulders tense as the spirits probe your mind and fill him with evil thoughts. you reach your foot underneath the tablecloth and confirm what you suspected when your sole pressed into his bulge, making him gasp before covering his mouth.

• seems like you don't want me to, you coo into his mind, applying just enough pressure to make him jump. you're all hard and needy for me, aren't you? wish you could just fuck my pretty pussy until i'm nothing more than a drooling mess?

• syzoth is startled by kenshi's thighs bumping the table, brows knitting as he eyes down kenshi's shivery state. "are you alright?" he inquires, tilting his head.

• "no need to worry, syzoth," you insist, while simultaneously conjuring up images of kenshi stuffing his inked fingers so deep in your cunt you cream over them. "kenshi is just a little under the weather as of late."

• your strained grin seems to convince him well enough to drop the subject, turning back to his plate of bugs. your head turns, now grinning at your extremely flustered boyfriend.

• "stop it," he mouths again, squeezing your foot between his thighs. that does nothing, of course, as he immediately is flooded once again with your thoughts of settling between his thighs, squishing your cheek on one while pumping his length with a hand. his throat clears, maybe a bit louder than intended.

• i want you so bad, your lashes flutter, your food a forgotten part of the process. you make me so wet, kenshi, it's so hard to focus when i just want you to use me.

• you giggle to yourself. kenshi's cock is so strained against his dress pants he wondered if he might just pass out or break his zipper. the thoughts of him splitting you open make your own thighs clench, rubbing together to release any tension you'd built. your panties undoubtedly damp, clit throbbing and needy, all of which you project into his head with a sly grin.

• fuck me open on this table, you halfheartedly propose. split me and make everyone know what a whore i am for that dick, pretty boy. i'll ride you so fucking good you won't even remember your own name, is that what you want? you want my thighs around your head when you eat me out? you make me cum so hard, kenshi, you and only you gets me so horny like this, i can barely contain it.

• simultaneously dirty talking through your minds and creating images and scenes that no doubt will send you to hell was far too much for kenshi, especially in public. he stands harshly, his chair screeching against the floor which thankfully draws enough attention away from him to allow him to adjust himself quickly in his pants, tugging his top down further in hopes that somehow, someway his massive cock could be hidden enough.

• "please excuse me," kenshi mutters, bowing deeply. "i believe i am unwell."

• "could we offer you anything?" kitana stands with him, eyes wide with concern. "tea, perhaps—?"

• kenshi bows his head, shaking it slightly. "that won't be necessary princess, though i appreciate it."

• after everyone finishes exchanging funny looks, nobody seems to really notice the sly glint in your eye as your head follows his movements. he walks around the table, having to pass you in the process. his hands sweep behind your hair and cup the back of your neck gently as he leans down to mumble something in your ear. nobody thinks to question the gesture, as it is common knowledge you two were together. what he says though, is so heinous you hope outworld abilities don't include superhearing.

• "you're fucking done for," he mutters, nails digging into the sides of your neck ever so slightly. "you're paying for making me this hard later."

• he pulls away before you could even consider replying, walking off as the click of his dress shoes lessen in volume. the dinner resumes, though johnny leans into your other ear.

• "what's his problem?" johnny asks obliviously, watching kenshi exit. "he's always got a stick up his ass... no offense."

• "none taken," you reply sweetly, turning to face him. "i believe he's just feeling a little sickly."

• "outworld germs?" johnny chuckles, leaning back in his chair. you shrug, looking at the bird again.

• "maybe it was the food."

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 #mortal kombat smut #kenshi takahashi x reader #kenshi takahashi #kenshi takahashi smut #marley writes ☆

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haet-sal · 10 months

Text

if you hold me without hurting me you’ll be the first who ever did//juyeon smut

tags: juyeon smut, sugar daddy/ age gap au (8 years lol!!), you’re 22, seduction, DRINKING!!, corruption kink, Juyeon asking you if it’s okay A LOT, juyeon calling you ‘innocent’, CHOKING, ROMANCE!!

You meet older rich guy Juyeon at a hotel bar, and the rest is history

“I’ve never been with a stranger.”

“How could you be okay with me doing these things? Aren’t you afraid what I’ll do to you? Do you think about my intentions at all? You’re so easy…”

“You can do anything you want,” you say. “Even ruin me.”

“... I couldn’t live with myself, Y/N, please… I… I still think you’re innocent, so I can’t give in to you. But in all honesty, I want you so bad I could just…” His hand clasped against your jaw, as if he were afraid to touch you.

You kissed him on the lips the only way you knew how to kiss a man. “Can we go? To your room?”

w.c.: 3.8k

You adjust the strap of your slip dress on your shoulders, it just kept falling off. Bereft of any foresight, or perhaps rushing, you didn’t bring any coat or jacket, leaving you with a side-boob out; at least the hotel bar was heated, although the lights were dim; like a dark, damp wolf’s lair you’d walked into.

You’re not really a bar type of person, although you guessed you could make an exception for a place as classy as this—jesus, you thought, how’d doyeon even book this hotel for her birthday party? How much must it even cost on a night?

You tell the bartender the number of your room—0602—and asks that he puts the drinks’ into the room’s tab, hoping that by tomorrow morning they won’t pore over the giant receipt and just pay upfront. You were less… affluent than your friends, to be very honest…

The bar was dark, and the lights lit up a dim green and orange around the seats. You order a fun cocktail, a sweet thing that you could drink all night without getting a buzz, and sit down.

You don’t know why you sat so close to someone, when there were empty seats all around the bar… You didn’t feel like switching now, though, what if the man took offense, that you didn’t want to sit next to him?

You started to chew on the kiwi slice the cocktail came with, and the gentleman beside you puts down the notebook he’s writing in, turning to face you, probably because it’d be rude not to greet at all.

Once he turns his face towards you, though, you get a terrible idea. Maybe the cocktail did make you a little braver, more effective than the taste of sharp stinging in your mouth… “Hello,” you whisper, not to disturb the quaint atmosphere in the bar. You had your purse with you, and you toyed with the faux leather just to fight the nervousness. You nodded at the notebook. “Business?” You had an uncle that did his accounting every night after he was done spending, maybe the guy was that kind of man.

But the man shook his head, and you see that he’s lean—when he turns his body towards you—a thin figure, and broad shoulders, and amazing, beautiful, narrow eyes, with a few crinkles around them when he smiles that you know he has to be somewhat older.

“No,” he says curtly, “no business at all.” He sips his drink, and you see that it’s hard liquor, presented in a no-nonsense, almost completely sombre dark orange shade of liquid.

“Oh.” You turn back to the bar, thinking he didn’t want to speak to you. What business did you even have talking to him—you’re literally here for a goofy party, he’s probably relaxing because he’s swamped with so much work.

But he extends a friendly gesture. “It’s my vocabulary book… I’m learning Spanish, so.”

“People do that on an app these days…”

He chuckled, and you saw that his voice was already quiet and light without even needing to whisper. “Maybe younger people, yes.”

“You can’t be that old.”

“You just look much younger than me,” he says softly.

“What are you drinking?” you ask, and he tears his eyes away from your lips just to look down the bottom of his glass.

“Bourbon.” His eyes are back on your lips again, tinted deep pink with a lip product, thinking you were going to look pretty for the boy classmates, but here you were with an older man… “I am here on business, though,” he says. “But I’m… well, even I get tired sometimes.”

You nodded.

“Can I ask if you’re even allowed to be drinking?”

You laughed, opening your purse and sliding your uni ID down the bar counter, towards his side of the wooden boundary, presenting him with un-fake-able proof.

“Ah, you’re a student… Second year?” He asks, reverting back to korean, dae-hak yi-hak-nyeon? He stared at the card for a while, slowly saying your name as if he was savoring it. “Twenty two,” he said softly, calculating your age.

“It’s a lucky number,” you put in. He’s eyeing your lips, but you’re eyeing his drink—maybe if you drank something that strong, you’d have more courage?

“I almost think I should take care of you. You look like a lost little girl.”

“Twenty-two,” you reminded him, unable to stop your face from making an adorable pout, which he reaches out and touches, as if trying to get you to smile again.

“Aren’t you too cute?” He pauses to swallow. “Like, dangerously cute? What are you doing at this hotel?”

“My friend had a birthday party, so they booked a room to party in, but… I just felt like… I don’t know… not partying? I didn’t know I’d meet someone like you, though…”

Juyeon smiles slightly. “Does the fact that you met me make you feel better about coming out here?”

You nod. “I mean, you’re older, and rich, probably my friends’ dream… they all want a sugar daddy.” Oh, fuck. “I mean! I’m not like… preying on you or anything, not taking advantage of your kindness... Like I wouldn’t… I’m… good? I’m a good girl.”

“Good girl?” He sips his bourbon until all that’s left was ice, and wordlessly flags the bartender down to give him another glass-full. “It’s funny you think I’m the one being taken advantage of. Ah… I really should control myself.”

“Control yourself from…?” You knew, of course, but you wanted to know if you were actually reading his mind correctly right now.

“First, from kissing you.”

You pulled back. “I’d taste like a cocktail…”

“If you worry about that, I wouldn’t do it.” But he still leaned in closer towards you.

You close the gap, kissing him, a hand on his jaw almost so tenderly, better than you’d ever handled one of the boys at your college. Then you giggle. “So I learned the taste of bourbon second-hand through a kiss…”

Juyeon looked almost scandalized, pulling away but just barely. “I can’t believe you did that… You weren’t supposed to kiss me, Y/N, you weren’t supposed to want me…” He grabs the base of your chair and pulls it close until your thigh was touching his, you didn’t even know these chairs at wheels…

“You didn’t like it?” you asked, absolutely concerned you might have to go back to your room with your friends and just…

“I liked it…” he looked pained. “Too much. I can’t resist the way you look at me and the thought of being with you…”

Shyly but seductively, you put a finger on your pink lips, the spot he couldn’t stop staring at. “You’re already thinking of it? Are you thinking of what I’d look like… under you?”

“Are you trying to seduce me now?” You think you feel what that book he was writing in must have felt, to be touched so tenderly and with so much care… He looked enraged, pained, everything… He looked absolutely seduced. “You think I don’t already imagine those things?”

“Bartender?” you asked, raising your hand, but he covers it from being raised.

“Are you trying to drink more?”

“I want to know what kind of buzz you have…”

“You don’t know how to drink. You’re so cute.” He pulls you closer. He’s the cleanest man you’ve ever even met or touched, he smells like expensive cologne… “I really can’t stop myself.” He touched your shoulder, gradually going up to the neck. “I might kiss you again. I don’t know what’s come over me…”

“Am I that sexy right now?” you joked, almost classlessly.

“I could just take you up to my room,” Juyeon whispers. “Would you still want to be a good girl?”

Your dress’s strap falls down the shoulder again, and you fix it, giggling. “Ah, my dress is already coming off!”

He almost growls. “Please… if I go any further with this I’m… I don’t know if this is the correct or right thing to do to you. Don’t do this. Please, you’re innocent.”

“I’m not.” You kiss his neck, even biting the skin, although he doesn’t react. “I’m here for you to devour.”

“You’re just a college girl… I’m an adult. You’re not supposed to want this, please…”

“Why do you think 22 is young?” You giggled. “I can drink, drive, buy condoms…”

“I just… don’t want to be a bad guy…” He pulls away. “We need to stop.”

“Oh…” you sighed. “Can I still go to your room for tonight? My friends are probably high, and I don’t wanna go back to my room.”

“I don’t think you understand, Y/N,” Juyeon says slowly, as if every word were a red-hot warning, “if you come to my room, I’m going to do things. You need to be prepared for this…”

You hesitated. “I’ve never been with a stranger.”

“How could you be okay with me doing these things? Aren’t you afraid what I’ll do to you? Do you think about my intentions at all? You’re so easy…”

“You can do anything you want,” you say. “Even ruin me.”

You kissed him on the lips the only way you knew how to kiss a man. “Can we go? To your room?”

“You’re going to make me do something I shouldn’t. Do you know what the right thing is here? I… you’re killing me. I can’t stop wanting you.”

You kissed him, and swiftly pulled him down to the elevators, lips attached as you waited for the doors to open. Breathless, you glanced at the buttons… “which floor?”

“12th.” He leans in and pressed you against the wall, whispering: “you’re making me want to do something very bad, little girl.” Your lips don’t touch, you just glance at him through the small distance, teasing him. The elevator stops.

You glanced around. “Woah, wait… aren’t there the suite rooms?”

“Yeah, my room’s right beside here.” You followed him in, and slowly got shell-shocked by the sheer massiveness of the room… Juyeon is loaded. Or his company is loaded. But… oh god. “You’re… this rich…”

“Enough about my room… Look at you.” He touched your dress like he’s trying to control the impulse to rip it.

Your strap fell down your shoulder again, and you giggle. “Should I leave the rest to your imagination?”

He grips your hips, pulling the dress up slightly. “You’re such a tease… this is so wrong. You’re so young.” But he pulls the strap down until both were hanging off your shoulder. “How can this be okay?”

He’d moveed on from your lips, now your chest was his new object, looking hungrily at you. “You just… you seem so innocent…” He touched your thigh, his hand going up between the legs, but stopping before he pushes anything hot and wet. “Fuck. I can’t go through with this and still have my honor… you don’t know what you’re doing and you don’t know what will happen to you if we go any further… Do you really want to be used up for your body? I can’t go through with this…”

Seeing his reluctance, you pulled back, and grab his broad shoulders, as if controlling him, and sit him on the luxurious hotel couch. “Okay, let’s take it slow. Let’s try to take our minds off what we’re going to do…”

“Fine…” he still looked weak, as if he was fighting everything in him from ripping your clothes off. “What now?”

You straddled him now, getting on top of him “Talk to me.”

His hands gripped the sofa at both sides just so he wouldn't do something wrong with your body. “Y/n… what are you doing right now? Aren’t you afraid? You’re making me weak.”

“Just try to talk, okay?” Your fingers unbuttoned his shirt slowly, and you teased him, lingering over his collarbone and ribs. “Tell me about your work? What were you thinking when you met me? Anything…” You started to kiss his ear.

He sighs in surrender, hands groping you now. “I really can’t think straight right now… You look so soft…” He kissed your neck now, and you could feel his teeth under all that softness.

“Yeah? you can’t think? What’s on your mind?”

“Everything… everything about you,” he admitted. “This must feel wrong, right? Showing your body to a man almost a decade older?” He took off his shirt, draping it over the couch.

“Should I stay on top of you like this?” You could feel his cock hard and intruding right under your hip.

“Whatever you like… What do you want to do to me?”

“I want you to pin me down onto the bed… and…”

“What if I made it hurt?” He was carrying you back onto the bed, just to pin you down.

“Do it.”

“Really?” His voice is more breath than words.

Before you nod to affirm, his belt is off and thrown across the room, and his tight suit-pants are down, and he looks down from you, almost godlike, before attaching himself to you, ever single way: teeth in neck, tongue on skin, his hard length directed into your warmth by a stray, careful hand.

He doesn’t talk, almost like he’s basking in the shame. Just the rocking of his hips against yours. There’s panting, and even whimpering from him, like he’s pathetic and you control what he gets to receive, but it’s him that’s inside of you, desperate and leaking. “Please… ah…”

“You’re not going to have any regrets about this, alright? I promise,” he says.

“Of course not… I trust you…”

“You do?” He pants again, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he holds yours. “I’ve been having a fantasy of making a good girl like you turn into a bad girl, okay?”

“How do you do that?”

“I make her… drool. And beg. And get as thirsty as she can for my cock.”

You simply moan in answer, Juyeon hot and hard against you. How warm you were was driving him insane, made him weak in the core, but he wouldn’t say that out loud… Just through breaths and body language and clandestine cogitation.

“Poor darling,” he panted. “I can’t… I can’t be as rough as I want to, or you’ll regret this. You’ll be crying.”

When you’re both around to come, you get desperate, and the rocking isn’t doing it anymore. Juyeon is the first to get rough, slamming himself into you with a pace unmatched from him before… Suddenly, he decides he couldn’t leave his hands idle anymore, bringing them to your neck and choking you. It feels good, as you leave the rest of your strength in your legs, which wrap around his hips until you come.

You’re sniffling as you recover.

“Y/n, are you crying?” He held you quietly. “I’m sorry…”

“It’s just that it felt so, so good,” you say with a smile. “I get… I don’t know, teary, when it’s that good. You were good. You were kind.”

“Which part was I good to you…” he groaned. “I can’t believe you still want me.”

“Well…” you reached over and touched his hands, which were about three sizes bigger than yours. “Maybe you are too big for me… But you’re still a perfect fit.”

He opened his arms. “Sleep? I promise in the morning we can sort it out…”

You switched the lights off, crawling into bed. “Ah… messy…”

“‘S okay,” he hummed.

His cat-like eyes were watching you as you woke up, and you immediately touch him, wrapping yourself around his shoulders. “Good morning.”

“Morning… I can’t believe you’re not mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because…” he brushed away your hair from your neck, revealing a hand mark, red but not purplish like a bruise.You couldn’t see it, but seeing the regret in his eyes was enough. “... because of this.”

You kiss him in reply to tell him you weren’t mad, but he quickly pulls away.

“Do you work part time?”

“Yeah, but on nights.”

He chuckled. “Classic night owl… It’s Saturday, and my client wants to meet in the afternoon. I have something planned for us, if you wouldn’t object?”

You nod slowly. “... What…?”

“You’ll see.” Blithely, he covered your naked body with more blanket, and fished out a giant fluffy bathrobe from the shelves for you to wear.

You giggled. “Don’t you want to… continue, if your plans aren’t taking place any time soon?”

“Don’t. Be. Naughty.” He chided slowly as he typed away an email in his phone. “They’ll be here soon.”

“They?!” You’re lucky you dressed in time, because the door bell rang, and as Juyeon told them to come in, staff, dressed in hotel uniform-blank-and-white suits, brought in a whole rack of clothes, almost too many, jammed in a small pole on expensive ivory hangers. “Juyeon,” you murmur quietly, “what is this?”

“Shush.” With a kiss on your lips, he lifted you up to your feet. “I thought I’d buy you back what I ripped from you last night,” he says, referring to your panties… and the broken zipper of your slip dress. Which, honestly, seeing all these new dresses, was a horrible fit from you, plus the strap kept falling off, although that did help you seduce someone.

Juyeon finished his coffee sporadically glancing at you with the staff, who fitted you in for the clothes right away, everything you pointed at and wanted to try. Although everything was heavenly nice, you just picked out two outfits in the end: a dress, and a matching skirt and blouse, thanking the staff who folded it for you.

“Is that all?” Juyeon frowned. “You didn’t like the others?”

“No, I liked it! I just… it’s too much.”

“If you liked it, you can have the entire collection.”

“NO!” you gasped, too overwhelmed to even smile. “I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness, and… I have no place wearing things that expensive.”

“Of course you have a place doing that,” Juyeon chided absentmindedly. “But if these dresses weren’t to your liking, I’ll just get you more from the show.”

“... Show?” you started slowly.

“That’s what I’m here for—I have to make an appearance. For the fall/winter season…” He kissed your temple, then headed off to get dressed in his suit. “Don’t worry about it too much.”

You glanced over at the bedside table, where he had laid out two watches that he chose not to wear for the day, turning them over in your hands.

They’re expensive. Heavy. Crystal-studded.

What kind of guy did you just sleep with?

After excusing yourself but getting his number (to all three of his phones, even, and he told you to contact his assistant if you wanted), you headed back to the hotel room with your friends, where they were all hungover or still zonked out.

You had last night’s dress folded in a bag, and was wearing Chanel, which your friends noticed immediately, Doyeon coming over to you asking what the hell happened…

You’d never been asked ‘what happened’ without it being bad.

“I think I met a sugar daddy,” you say.

“Here?!”

“He has three Rolexes and he bought me an entire rack of clothes.”

You’d meant to call Juyeon after your part time shift, but after you finished, you fished around your bag for the contact numbers and emails he gave you, when you found the paper with the ink bled through from the mineral water you had that spilled, that simply couldn’t be salvaged. All that’s left was his work email, which you, assuredly, would never be able to contact without being awkward…

Imagine being his assistant, going through work emails, and seeing one with the subject ‘RE: so about that night…’ no way, she’d just delete your message.

You regretted not asking him when he was leaving the hotel, hoping he’d at least remembered your existence and left something for you to find him by…

When you went back to the hotel—and the security almost didn’t let you in, being that you had no business—his room had been cleared out and he was already on a plane. You just slowly dejectedly walked back to the lobby emptyhanded, missing the way his giant hand felt intertwined with yours.

“Did he leave any messages for me?” you asked slowly.

“Depends, what is your name?”

You gingerly slowly gave out your name, and the receptionist shook her head. You sighed. Well… it’s definitely not that kind of story, where you land a prince charming… it was just one night. You should be happy, right?

It’s two months after, that your friends make you contact him. They kept talking about how real sugar daddies should never be let go, when really, you didn’t care that he bought you chanel and all those other brands you couldn’t even fit in your mouth to speak… you’d have fallen for him even if he was faking the whole wealth thing…

Which he wasn’t, as you found out after googling his company and seeing the name of his assistant.

You typed in a long email explaining it to his assistant, hoping not everyone had access to this email, making it easy to find in his inbox.

Would he check it personally? You sighed.

Doyeon wouldn't stop talking about it, ever since you met Juyeon. Always "why do YOU get to meet a sugar daddy? At MY party?" Although you thought maybe your romance dreams were well and over once the contact card bled through your bag.

The truth was, you missed juyeon… a lot… endlessly, and the thought that he was just a one-time-brush-past scared you.

You fell asleep for a nap, and when you woke up, you had a new email. It was dark, and your designer clothes hung drying out after a wash. You rub your eyes and check it in a hurry—it’s 2 a.m. in korea, although who knows where he could be traveling to?

But what you found wasn’t automated, or from his assistant, and the words were his.

Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for your message?

#deoboyznet #tbz imagines #the boyz x reader #tbz scenarios #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz smut #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #juyeon smut #juyeon x reader #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #the boyz #the boyz fic #tbz fic

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extremelyblackandwhite · 7 months

Text

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note: sorry this one is a bit short. i am worrying myself silly until tomorrow.

masterlist

and wouldn't you love to love her?

Bucky didn't know if Y/N wouldn't be back. He had decided to give her space, allow her the time off since she never had any but explaining it to Sadie was, to say the least, complicated. The two year old had decided to live up to the terrible two cliche and between refusing to go to school and kicking any time he tried to bathe her. Whenever she asked when Y/N would be back all Bucky could say was that he did not know and, honestly, that was the truth. The more the days passed by and her viva examination got closer, he was starting to believe more and more that maybe she just wasn't coming back at all. I like you just the way you are, what ever happened to Hey Y/N, would you like to go for some coffee? No, he just had to be upfront about it.

As if Sadie living up to her prophecy wasn't enough, Christopher was equally on him blabbing and wondering about Y/N. He could only tlel him so much before Chris charted a jet to Ohio and he was certain Y/N would hate that more than what he told her.

Bucky was in the middle of dealing with Sadie screaming bloody murder about the pancakes not having chocolate chips when he heard the front door close. At this point, if someone came to shoot him in the head he wouldn't mind. However, it turned out to be a much pleasant sight dressed in a professional black dress.

- Why is she crying? - Y/N drapped her coat over the chair.

- There's no chocolate chips. - Bucky sighed both of relief that Y/N was here and of tiredness.

- Sadie Barnes, you either eat your pancakes or there will be no TV, no tablet, no toys, no Etch-a-Sketch and definitely no Bluey, Disney + or any other streaming service your dad may be paying for. Your choice.

The redhead stared at Y/N before starting to eat her pancakes. That's it, Y/N was a witch. She had to be a witch. That's it. She was a witch, a very pretty witch who looked way too polished to have come out of an Ohio farm, but a witch.

- How were the cows?

- Pardon?

- Your parents. You went to see your parents right? They live in a farm in Ohio?

- Yeah. They were ok. Apparently mum has named them Rose, Sophia, Dorothy, and Blanche much to dad's dismay.

- Like the Golden Girls. - he chuckled. - So, your viva is today.

- Don't remind me. It's like walking into a slaughter house and then being denied being called a doctor. They should decapitate me, put my head on a spike, and parade me around Columbia as the massive disappointment.

- What's decapitate? - Sadie asked.

- It's the capital. - Bucky said not wanting to traumatise his two year old with the scenario Y/N had just described. - Go wash your hands and get your backpack, bug.

Sadie nodded but not before going over to hug Y/N's leg. Y/N ruffled her head before sending her along to wash her hands. Bucky got to making Y/N a plate, patting the chair next to him. She smiled at him before taking a seat and cutting a bit of the pancake. She stopped chewing, looking at him with a forced smile.

- Good?

- Buck, why are they salty? - she put a napkin in front of her mouth to spit out the pancake.

- They're not salty. - Bucky took a forkful from her plate to try it himself.

- We've had this discussion, Buck. Salt is in the black pot and sugar in the white one.

- I'm gonna be a mess when you quit. - he pushed the plate away from her. - Speaking of which, I would like if you interviewed your future replacement. I trust you to pick the right person.

- Most likely you won't need a replacement because I'm failing my viva today.

- You are not. - Bucky put his hand on her shoulder. - You are smart, Baudelaire.

- Baudelaire?

- Do the scary thing first. Get scared latter.

(...)

Bucky drove Y/N down to Columbia, ensuring she got there safe and ready for her VIVA before driving down to take Sadie to school. Y/N swallowed in empty, merely staring at the hallowed halls of a building which had many notable alumni and she was now hoping she would be one. The VIVA was intense to say less and as she came out of the room, she was sweating buckets and wanting to be as far away from the building as possible.

- Y/N! - shit. Shit, shit, shit, she'd forgotten he existed. What ever happened to men taking a hint?

- Chris. - she turned around with a fake smile. - What are you doing here?

- Anderson told me it was your VIVA today, I wanted to come see you. I haven't seen you in a while and Barnes said you were on holiday.

- I thought after our last chat you wouldn't want to talk to me, Christopher.

- It was a hurdle, Y/N. - he got closer to her. - Listen, I understand it was rough of me to attack your job like that but you have to understand it's because I care for you and that job is beneath you.

- No job is beneath anyone, Christopher. You think that silver spoon mouthed talk is gonna make me forget you basically insulted me, my boss and the child I look after?

- You have a Bachelors and a Masters, Y/N. You should be working internships, assistant positions to help you build your curriculum, not being a silver spoon mouthed man's child's babysitter.

- That's all fine when you can afford to work a non paid position, Christopher.

- I care about you, Y/N.

- But I don't love you.

- I don't expect you to love me yet, we haven't been seeing each other for too long and if we ...

- Christopher. - she interrupted him. - I love someone else. It's not gonna stop.

(...)

Y/N dragged herself home. It was now a week, a week long of worrying wether she passed or not. She guessed it was better than having to do it again, heck she hoped she wouldn't have to do it again. She opened the door and heard mumbling with all the lights being off. She moved to turn the lights on, coming face to face with a home made sign and Sadie yelling surprise.

- What is this? - she smiled, leaning down to pick Sadie up.

- You're done, it's a party. - Bucky chuckled, pointing to the sign. - We have reservations in about 3 hours. Bought an ice cream cake and Sadie made you a card.

- You shouldn't have done this.

- What? After 3 years and a half of you moaning and whining over psychology, you need a nice night out.

- You do know she'll start crying at around 10.

- That's why we have dinner reservations at 6.30 and once she's in bed, I will allow you full control of the television. How does that sound?

- I may not pass.

- You got this far. You deserve a celebration just for you.

taglist: @talesofadragon @themermaidscales82 @winters1917 @vladsgirlxx @stinkerbelle007 @maybefoxysouls @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chipilerendi @kandis-mom @belennasif @abitofblues @buckybarnessimpp

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/y/n #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky/reader #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n #bucky x you #bucky/you

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cumikering · 2 months

Text

Werewolf Keegan x reader 6

2.6k | fluff, angst It didn’t end up like how it was supposed to (part 1) (part 7)

Keegan was officially Raider’s handler.

A single day in the field showed how proficient the K9 was, assisting in explosives detection and hostiles tracking. Coupled with Keegan’s seemingly ever-accelerating reflexes and sharper sight in the dark, they became a formidable pair, working in tandem on taking out opponents and clearing paths for their teammates.

The rest of the team appreciated Raider’s presence too, not only a service in the field, but also in the safe house during their down time, when he was in a good mood. He still didn’t like people for the most part, preferring to mind his own business chewing on things and shooting people dirty looks when he was bothered. Exactly like his handler, the team decided.

Keegan was lucky the toy phone he got didn’t squeak, or else Merrick would have shot it. He especially despised high-pitch noises.

He’s trying, really, but his thumbs are a bit short, he texted you, along with a picture of Raider on his belly, paws on his toy as they waited for their ride back home.

Can’t wait to see my fave boys!

He was flying back a day earlier than expected. You, however, had already made plans for a night out with your girls that Friday.

I’ll pick you up later. Don’t forget to take my gift and jacket.

He smiled to himself. My gift.

The morning after his rut, he’d made up his mind to come clean to you. Before his deployment, he gifted you a small push dagger with his initials engraved onto the handle - one of his favourites in his collection - as a commitment to himself.

He knew he couldn’t ride the whole ‘no label’ thing forever, and he didn’t want to either. There was no way around it: either you wanted him despite his terrible secret or you didn’t. His brain knew he shouldn’t be this scared of telling you, but even the slightest chance of you leaving made his stomach knot into a tangled mess.

So he gave himself a deadline. 30 days to grow the balls to tell you. 30 days to prepare himself of the possibility of never seeing you again, suffering the memory of his sweet peanut much longer than you were in his life.

But if you were to stay, which he desperately wished you would, he couldn’t even begin to think how ecstatic he’d be. He couldn’t wait for his team to meet you, the people the trusted the most, smiling at the thought of telling them how you met and how odd it was.

For years, Ajax poked fun at him for his seemingly permanent scowl, saying no woman would want to spare him a glance when he constantly looked offended, like one insulted his mother and his grandmother in the same sentence. Well, he could finally rub it in his face that his resting bitch face landed a beauty like you anyway. Perhaps Ajax should smile (and snore) less.

Hell, maybe soon enough he could take you home to his mum. He knew she would love you. In the future, she might even give her blessing in the form of an heirloom and finally stop worrying about his son dying miserable and alone.

He was still smiling to himself when he pulled up in front of the club, the moon full in the sky. When you saw him, you hurried over. You wore a sheer off-shoulder top paired with skinny jeans and heels, showing off your soft curves.He bit his lip. You were gorgeous and he knew you were going to smell amazing.

“Keegan!” You hugged him over the console.

“Hi, peanut,” he said lowly against your temple. Yes, you smelt fantastic. From the backseat, he pulled out a stalk of red rose.

You beamed, leaning in for a peck. He, however, had different thoughts in mind. He pulled you into a deep kiss, a hand on your waist, the other trailing up your arm.

Fuck. He punched way above his weight. He couldn’t believe he got to pick you up, touch you and kiss you, more than once.

“Oh, people are looking!” You pulled away and leaned into his neck, hiding your face as you let out a giggle.

He looked out the windshield, at the couple giving him dirty looks a few feet away. He smirked. He kind of liked that, he realised, when people knew you were with him. His.

As soon as the door to your apartment shut, with his hands on your waist, he backed you up against the wall.

“Missed you too much,” he said between hasty kisses.

It was easier to kiss you now with the added height from your pretty heels. You hummed, tugging on his hair as his lips trailed along your jaw and neck before abruptly stopping.

“Did someone touch you?” he growled. “Did a man touch you?” He didn’t need to ask. He could smell it on you, clinging on your skin like acrid smoke, tainting what was his.

“We were on the dancefloor. It was just the shoulder.”

“No one’s supposed to touch you.” He continued kissing your exposed collarbones and shoulder. “I told you to wear my jacket.”

“But it doesn’t go with my outfit.”

“I don’t care.” He nipped at your skin. “People need to know you’re mine.”

“Am I?” He heard the smile in your voice.

How dare he have the audacity to want you all to himself. It was his fault that he hadn’t made you his, that you went around thinking you weren’t. But he couldn’t keep you in the blind. You needed to know who he was entirely before he could, in good conscience, make you his.

He pressed against you, trapping you with his body with a hand under your chin, the other kneading your hip.

Mine.

He sucked and nipped and licked and savoured, his grip on you ever tightening as his chest heaved against yours. You hummed in delight as your hips bucked, breathless as you tried to keep up, hands roaming, pulling him closer by his belt loops.

Mine, mine, mine.

“Ow- OW!” You yelped.

He jerked away. You frowned as you brought your fingers to your lower lip. It was bloodied. His body ran cold as shame poured over him. He hurt you.

“I…“ He took a step back. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.” You reached for him, but he pushed your hand away, harder than he intended.

“I need to go.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

With that, he rushed to his car, heart racing. Hands grasping the steering wheel, an attempt to regulate his breathing, but the burning of his skin wouldn’t let him. He raced to the mountains, shifting in the bushes, giving him immediate relief from his scalding body before taking off to the top. He basked in the grace of the full moon as he ran and ran. Beneath his large paws, twigs and leaves crunched, the tension melting off his aching muscles.

The movement in the corner of his eye brought him to a screeching halt. He turned. It was a brown rabbit, ever bountiful in the expanse, but for the first time, it wasn’t merely a passing sight. It was an invitation, and he wanted a chase. Desperately.

With no hesitation, he took off and it didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to pin the rabbit down under his deadly claws. His nostrils flared, snarling as he leaned in, heart thumping from anticipation. The poor animal, like a deer in headlights, looked up the unforgiving predator with its doe eyes.

At the realisation of what he was about to do, he pulled away, the bunny scurrying away instantly. Wide-eyed, his breath caught in his throat as he staggered back. His stomach turned in utter disgust as he raced to his clothes before shifting back. On his knees, his breath came in pitiful gasps as he stared at his trembling hands.

You said he didn’t mean it. But what if he did? What if he wanted to? What if your blood was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted?

The memory sent chills down his spine. What was happening to him?

After that night, Keegan went quiet. You didn’t know what happened, or if it was something you did. His texts had slowed to a few a day, hours apart. He was in town so he had no reason for his absence.

You’d asked multiple times if he was alright, demanding some sort of explanation, but his long awaited answers were dismissive, withdrawn. You felt more like a nuisance than joy to him, like you felt you once were.

Apparently, with him, it was too easy to forget where you stood. It took you a week to realise and accept that what you’d always feared was happening, like what always happened: he, too, decided you weren’t enough to settle down for.

You thought he was different. You wanted him to be different. When you let him kiss you, when you let him stay the night. As it turned out, it didn’t mean anything for him to leave the way he did.

It was glaring now, how he hadn’t let you meet any of his friends. What about those nights he was radio silent, only replying in the dead of night? It was one thing if he didn’t like you enough, but the thought of another woman made your stomach turn.

Suddenly, Keegan was a stranger. The secrets you shared didn’t feel sacred, the stories of his childhood told under the covers didn’t ring sweet anymore. Or that time he ran your hands over the scars of his beautiful body, and when your gaze locked and he held you like he was never letting go.

In moments like those, you witnessed how his lips parted, breath held, like he – you hoped – was finally going to say something about this, but always swallowed whatever it was at the tip of his tongue. It all felt like a trick of the mind.

No, you weren’t about to cry. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You swore you never would again when someone you thought was special left at the first inconvenience. As if you weren’t worth enough to fight for, as if the moments shared were all in your head.

Were they? Your friends had warned you, that these military men were trouble – riddled with holes in their souls which might never heal up. Built different with no more space for sentiments, no one could make them change their mind except themselves.

It was your fault you didn’t press for exclusivity, for certainty. You knew he was closed up, probably heavy with baggage you couldn’t even fully comprehend, but you didn’t want to push him away. You were willing to wait for him. He was worth it, you thought. Yet it was your fault you got yourself hurt at the end. Always too worried about asking, for being too much, taking up the space you needed.

It was easier if he completely stopped texting, stopped pretending that he still wanted to have anything to do with you. He might as well block you, because how could you stop wanting more at this point.

You didn’t understand why you were so drawn to him from the start, the quiet, unsmiling man with the icy stare. Was it the eventual bloom of his smile, the way he whispered and purred into the phone those nights he was away? Or was it the way he held you, firm and strong, safe as he looked at you like he’d never say no to you?

That late Saturday afternoon, when you decided to stop moping around, you found yourself mindlessly walking too far from your neighbourhood. You sighed. A cup of hot chocolate sounded like exactly what you needed, but you didn’t want to be alone. Not that day.

You pulled up your contacts. You weren’t calling any one of your girls - seeing them would reduce you to a pathetic puddle of tears - especially not Lauren. You weren’t ready to tell her she was right all along.

You found yourself calling Blake instead. You’d texted occasionally, but never got to meet up again after Nick’s dinner. None the wiser about your heartache, he would make you feel normal even for a bit.

At the quiet coffee shop, he slid your drink across the table for two.

“I’m surprised you wanted to meet,” he said, his English accent gentle as he sat.

“Why would you say that?”

“Well… You never said anything about my gift.”

You frowned. “What gift?”

He let out an awkward chuckle. “The flowers? I sent them to your work.”

“Wait,” you said as realisation dawned on you. “The bouquet last month?”

He nodded.

“There was no sender, no card. I didn’t know it was you.”

“I did write you a card.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I figured when you didn’t say anything it was enough of an answer that you weren’t interested.”

“Oh, Blake.” Your shoulders sagged with guilt. “You know I would have said something if I knew it was you.”

A hopeful smile graced the Brit’s face as he met your gaze. “Does that mean- Can I take you out? I’d love to get to know you again.”

With his brown hair styled, perfectly trimmed stubble lining his sharp jaw, he was still as handsome as you remembered, still kind with his twinkling green eyes. Yet you felt nothing towards him.

“I can’t,” you breathed, the words heavy. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause before he swallowed. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“There’s… Someone I really like, but I don’t think I’m the only one.” You laughed humourlessly.

“Talk to him. You deserve your closure.” He let out an empathetic sigh. “If I’ve learnt anything from this, from you and I… I’m guilty of leaving like that, like there was nothing between us. It was unfair for you, and I owe you an apology.”

You didn’t want to, but your lips quivered.

“I wish I’d told you how much you meant to me, and that I’d been more daring about the things I wanted instead of just wishing for them to turn out.” A resigned smile flickered on his lips. “I think it would have been worth it.”

You choked out a sob. He dragged his chair next to you, pulling you into a bear hug. He rubbed your back as your tears spilt onto his shoulder.

You didn’t know you needed that. Blake soothed that little piece of you, you never knew was bruised. To know you meant enough for an apology even years after, even when the feelings were but a memory to you.

You deserved your closure.

“Thank you so much for saying that.” You pulled away, wiping your face with the serviette he handed you.

Your hot chocolates had long gone cold. It made you smile through your drying tears when he got two glasses of ice. Like those times you waited for your teas to cool as the both of you studied, but inevitably forgetting them entirely. He turned them into iced teas instead.

Even if it doesn’t become what you want it to, it can still be as nice, sometimes even better, he always said.

“Just like old times?” He raised his glass of iced chocolate.

“Just like old times.”

@tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy @astraluminaaa @dead-cipher @shadowlali @reelovesfictionalmen @eve-lie

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 5 months

Note

hello dear. for the kiss prompts, may i please see ‘a possessive kiss in the rain’ with crosshair? 👀

hiiii friend, thank you so much for your patience for the wait. the muse has been extra fickle since October, but I hope this is worth the wait <3

Uncertain Tomorrows

Summary: Actions speak louder than words. Aka, Crosshair isn't good at emotions.

Warnings: blog is 18+; angst (it's Crosshair, what do you expect), miscommunication / lack of communication, pre-Echo, swearing

Word Count: 688

Chewing on the inside of your cheek so hard you’re liable to draw blood, you can’t help the way you’re glaring at Crosshair’s back. He’s perched on the edge of a high stool at the bar, long legs crossed at the ankle, twirling a whiskey glass between thin fingers. You’re supposed to be enjoying shore leave, the first one the squad has had in months, and yet all you feel is pissy.

Earlier in the night, you’d deboarded the Marauder with the others, all of you in civvies and in high spirits, even Crosshair. You feel like you’ve finally been able to get a decent grasp on reading him and his moods, and the loose way his toothpick had hung between his lips was clear indication that he was relaxed, ready for a break. You all were.

Apparently, Crosshair’s idea of a break is chatting up women at the cantina bar.

You’re not together. You have to remind yourself of that. Despite the mutual longing glances, neither of you have acted on your feelings, whether by mutual respect for one another or by fear of tearing the squad apart. So it shouldn’t sting as much as it does to watch him toss easy smirks at the pretty woman at the bar right now.

But it does.

Hunter gives you a sympathetic look as you finally decide you’ve had enough and scoot out of the booth. With Wrecker across the cantina hustling pool and Tech acting as his number two, the only one who will know where you’ve gone at this point is Hunter. Which also shouldn’t sting, but it does.

The moment you step outside, you’re met with a bone-chilling rain. Breath fogging in front of your face, you shiver, pulling your jacket tighter around you. The spaceport isn’t too terribly far, but you’re already beginning to regret coming outside.

Whatever. It beats going back inside.

You only make it a few steps, ice needling into your skin, before the cantina door opens behind you. Warm light and laughter spill out, inviting you back. Glancing over your shoulder, you grimace.

“I’m going back to the ship,” you call.

“I know,” Crosshair responds.

“You should go back in,” you say, turning to face forward once more, hunching your shoulders against the cold. “She looked nice.”

He calls your name, but you keep walking.

You gasp when a hand grips your upper arm and spins you around. Colliding with Crosshair’s chest, you glare up at him and open your mouth to rip him a new one—

Only to grunt in surprise when his lips meet yours.

Jerking back, you try to break from his embrace. His hands remain on your arms, though he lets you step back.

“What the fuck, Cross?” you snarl. “You think it’s cool to just—toy with my emotions like this?”

“No,” he grits out.

You wait, but that seems to be all he wants to say. Rain streams down your face, the cold an afterthought now with the anger burning through you.

“That all you have to say for yourself?”

His jaw works as he gazes at you, his short gray hair plastered to his head. Nostrils flaring, he looks away. “No. I’m—I’m not good at this. Clearly. But I don’t know—I don’t know how to—Kriff it! Can I kiss you again or not?”

All of your anger condenses into a single burning, molten dagger in your heart as you stand there, jaw dropped as you weigh his words. This is so far from how you ever would have expected this confession to go, for either of you, and yet the opportunity is here. If you let it go, tell him no, he’s going to respect that.

And you’ll have missed your shot.

You pull him back to you and kiss him. It’s a hungry, desperate, possessive kiss, full of teeth and tongue. Cold rain water sluices off your skin as you swallow his moan.

You don’t know what this means—you don’t know where to go from here—but Crosshair is in your embrace, and all you know is that you don’t intend to let him go.

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @dickarchivist @a-single-tulip @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @mssbridgerton @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl

#crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #rhiwrites #rhiplies

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blank-slate-jay · 1 year

Note

Can you please do Ellie catching you and Joel kissing? Male reader of course :) Thank you in advance <3

Untold Pair

Joel Miller x Male!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Fluff, Kissing, Established Relationship(Ellie doesn't know), Ellie is less savage

A/N : Hey Anon, thanks for the submission. This one's just cute. I hope this is what you wanted, enjoy!

Ellie sighed heavily, making her way down the staircase. She really wanted to stay home for the day, she hated going to that god awful school she attended. Reading and Writing, Math and Statistics; including having to go multiple times a week. Really? She should be learning how to hunt and better defend herself, she thought. This commune live just wasn't cutting it.

Making her way to the living room, she tosses her bag onto the couch. She might as well fetch breakfast to cheer herself up before leaving. The school wasn't so bad. She at least had Dina, a friend of hers to keep her company during class time. For her, that was the only thing keeping her from skipping classes all together.

She made her way toward the kitchen area, picking up on the stirs and sizzling pan on the other side of the wall. Curious, she makes her away around the corner.

Joel was sitting at the corner and then there was you stationed up at the even. That was surprising to her. You rarely ever got a change to visit due to your workload in the greenhouses. So you being there, so early in the morning, was a warm welcome.

Ellie gasped, calling your name and running up to you. You hadn't even gotten a chance to say or take notice of her before her arms were wrapped around you.

"Morning to you too", you joke, patting the top of her head. “Your food is on the counter by the way.”

She pipes up and turns to look over at the untouched plate next to Joel, a growing excitement running across her face. Eggs and Bacon, "Oh fuck yeah"! She releases you and slides into the seat next Joel. She rubbed her hands together thrilled that she didn't have to eat oatmeal again.

Picking up her fork, she was about to take a stab at her food but Joel nudged her arm. She looks at him and watches as his eyes and head motion in your direction. His face displayed somewhat disbelief, like she had done something wrong. Ellie didn't understand what he wanted from her, couldn't she enjoy herself for once? It clicked for her after a few awkward moments, "OH! Thank you."

You glare over your shoulder at her, nodding as you finish up plating your own food. After your gesture, she begins to gorge down on her food, manners be damned.

Through Ellie's muffled chewing, Joel wipes away at his mouth with a napkin. He pushes himself to his feet and grabs his plate too. He walks over to the sink, dumping his plate in. "You didn't have to do all this”, he says, pointing out your cooking.

You shook your head, your lips curling up, "No it's...I don't mind doing this for you two”. Besides, Ellie told me you tried making my finest last week.”

“Ok,” he starts, feeling put on the spot. He tried explaining, “That was…”

“...a terrible attempt,” Ellie remarks with a satisfied 'mph' as she bites into her food. “I’ll give you props for trying, but man it was burnt to a crisp.”

He widens his eyes at her, the girl’s focus back on the last bit of food on her plate. She couldn’t just butt in and then leave the older man stranded, left with you glancing at him, awaiting an explanation.

“She’s funny, ain't’ she?” Joel tried making a smooth recovery but his embarrassment was as clear as day.

You gave the man mercy, instead of toying with him further, “Next time you need a chef, Miller. Just ask,” you patt the man’s chest, slipping right by him to take a seat. Fuck, he loved when you touched him.

Ellie finishes up only wishing she could have some more. “Are you gonna come later,” she asked, already knowing what the answer would be. “Don’t think so. Got a lot to do today, probably not getting home until after dark.”

Slightly bummed, she hums, taking out her dismay by pushing her plate away. You just never had the time these days, it was disheartening for Joel and Ellie since you were about the only person in Jackson who made them feel welcomed; aside from Tommy and Maria.

“If it makes you feel better, I can walk you to school,” you suggested, granting you a smile from the girl. Every chance she got was a win. “Joel?”

The man looked in awe, “Sure I was…going to pick up something at the store anyway”. There was a level of uncertainty behind his voice, a lie perhaps? You didn’t bring it up just happy you’d get a bit more time with Joel.

They packed themselves to leave, you reminded Ellie to check her bag for all the essentials she needed. She assured you that she had everything she needed, brushing off your concern as ‘parental instincts’.

No matter, the three of you were out of the home and walking through the neighborhood. Each one of you trailing slowly, subconsciously using the snow on the ground as an excuse to keep extending the conversation; to slow down your pace.

Only thing was, this method only made splitting with you painful. Preventing the inevitable worked that way whether the two liked it or not, you’d be gone for sometime.

They made a stop on the sidewalk, deep into the town of Jackson where everything was booming with working people. It was time to split and say they're farewells.

“So, when can we see you again,” Joel asked.

You shrugged, “I can make time in a few days. Someone should be covering for me sometime this week.”

Joel nods, rubbing his enclosed hands to warn off the cold and the lonely feeling that'll come about in your absences. Still, he had something, that was better than nothing.

“We should watch a movie, you heard about Vansien Viper 3, everyone at school is talking about it. I really really wanna watch it.” Ellie pronounces.

Your eyes widen, “I’m down. Sounds like it could be good.”

“I’ve heard the first one is good but that the second one sucksss,” she leans her head back to exaggerate her point.

Joel scoffs, “I’m sure it ain’ that bad. I…haven’t ever finished watching the second one yet but that could work too. We don't have the actual cd, do we?”

Ellie establishes, “Don’t worry about that, I got us covered.”

What did she mean by that exactly, her smug tone made bells go off in Joel’s head, she was up to something. He raised one of his brows, seeing if he could discern her words. “And how exactly do you plan on doin' that," he asked.

The suspicion in Joel was evidently rising, she said more than should’ve been said. It was time to call it quits. Ellie quickly swept you into a hug, completely ignoring Joel’s question. She lets you go before backing away, the girl says goodbye to you, picking up her pace as Joel takes a few steps toward her. He tried to call for her but she dipped around the corner of a building, out of view and completely away from being confronted. Chasing after her would just be embarrassing, especially in front of you.

“Have some faith in her Joel,” you jokingly poked at him.

He turned to you shaking his head; a smile crawling up his face, “Don’t tell me you’re on her side.”

“Whatever she is up to, I’m sure it won’t be troublesome.”

For all you knew she could be bribing someone into giving her what she wanted, likely mimicking the stories Joel would tell her during his days in the Boston QZ. Joel wouldn’t want her following his old ways.

You let out a heavy sigh, “I should get going though, don’t wanna hold you up much longer.” Ironic you say that since Joel felt it worked the other way around. However, the man's presence was nearly enough to make you discontinue your duties. Joel nodded, upset you had to leave, he wasn’t going to let you go without sharing a kiss.

He pulls you in by your arms and locks his lips with yours, lingering on your taste knowing he wouldn’t be with you for some time. Standing there, some people were likely looking on momentarily before going about their day. Except for one person, Ellie.

She pretended to run off, giving the impression that she was off to school. She instead was peaking just around the corner she’d hid behind, curious if Joel had separated from you. The opposite was true, she was witnessing what your dynamic truly was for the first time. You two weren’t just close friends, as she initially believed, but rather lovers. It all made sense though, the small gestures, the look you both gave each other; she must’ve misinterpreted them, somehow.

She pulls herself back into full cover after seeing the both of you release one another. She let the two of you share your moment together, beginning to finally head to school. She couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities of your relationship with Joel. Could it mean that you might move in with them, if so then how soon? Ok, maybe she was getting ahead of herself, still her thoughts bombarded her. You and Joel as her guardians, if there was something in the commune she could get used to, that was one of them.

#joel miller x male reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel x male reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller imagine #male reader #joel miller hbo #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us #tlou #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #ellie tlou #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal

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gaslightgatekeepgirlbosscombat · 4 months

Text

Group H, Round 5

Propaganda under the cut

Medea

Her husband divorced her so to get back at him she burned his new bride alive, murdered her own children and casually escaped justice in a chariot pulled by dragons and *made from the sun.* She is iconic and I love her.

propaganda from @apollosgiftofprophecy

Princess with Phenomenal Cosmic Powers, granddaughter of the Titan of the Sun, Helios, and Priestess of Hecate, the literal Goddess of MagicStarts out a classic fairy tale (with a few murders in the mix for flavor)Jason (the man/husband she sacrificed EVERYTHING for) thought it would be totally alright to cheat on his sorceress wife with some princess and - double whammy - he planned to keep Medea as his mistress after he married this random princess!When she confronts him, he shows his true colors as a world-class bastard and she reminds him that he's only still alive, and only completed his quest for the Golden Fleece, because of her. (WHICH IS TRUE)To get back at him, Medea orchestrates the death of said princess (and indirectly the king's too, whoopsies :) ) by sending a beautiful dress for her that was laced with poison that caused the princess to catch on fire, and also killed whoever touched her (the king)She then murders her and Jason's two kids (after some emotional dilemma because she actually cares about them while Jason Does Not) and exits the kingdom In Style - how? Like this:Rises into the air on a golden chariot pulled by dragons given to her by Helios When Jason says the gods with avenge him, she tells him "lol, good luck with that oathbreaker!" and flies off into the night Like A Bossa little more context here: Jason's godly patron was Hera, the literal goddess of family and marriage. And he was going to abandon his children and break his vows to Medea.Also, she never is punished for any of this stuff, meaning her actions have the (reluctant :) always good to be morally gray) approval of the gods. She's one of the only nuanced female characters in Greek Mythology, and by god is she interestingThis, my friends, is why Medea is the ultimate Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss.

Ianthe Tridentarius

She is trying so hard to be the main character by lying and manipulating her sister, her cavalier, her mentor, her ?love interests? (Spoiler???) And also god. Not sure how it's working out for her but she does love to lie and manipulate

Worstie Ianthe is the DEFINITION of gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. She is one of a set of necromancer twins that are the heirs to their houses rule. Except wait, only she is a necromancer and she has spent their entire lives doing necromancy for the both of them. She is constantly mean to their cavalier, Naberius, who she occasionally nibbles on like a chew toy, before eventually killing and eating him to ascend to sainthood. She goes to gods spaceship with another woman who ascended to sainthood who she has a crush on, this other woman is like…. Both incredibly mentally unwell and also haunted by at least 211 ghosts. Ianthes method of flirting with her? Gaslighting her about the corpse that keeps moving around and hiding under her bed. For no real reason tbh. She is clearly plotting to overthrow god, and at the moment that consists of her manipulating him while he’s too sad about his long term partners betraying him and subsequently exploding to really care. She dresses in terrible outfits and makes soup by burning onions to the bottom of a pot, putting meat in and some vegetables and then it doesn’t taste like anything so she puts in a few teaspoons of salt so it tastes like a few teaspoons of salt. She had her crush amputate her arm and regrow her a new one out of bone and it’s one of the horniest things I’ve read in my life.

"Gaslight = told her lobotomized (she helped), schizophrenic girlobsession that there was no corpse under their bed, even tho there totally was. Gatekeep = girl did NOT share the secret to god-like ascension. She kept that shit to herself until it was time to eat her boytoy, and by then everyone knew already. Girlboss = she has a non-necromancer twin sister, and literally Everyone thinks they r both necromancers because Ianthe is so good at it. She reverse engineered ascending to the aforementioned ascension without even completing any of the supplementary tasks. She held her own in a fight against a 10k year old lyctor. She becomes the figurehead of her entire empire. "

She uses a man as a chewtoy in the first book, literally gaslights the protagonist of the second book about a corpse, and elder-abuses God when he gets depressed in the third book. Nobody is doing it like her.

Dives headfirst with no regrets while basically laughing and covered in blood into murdering her cavalier once she realizes what the gothic locked room mystery/competition leads to while everyone else is questioning it, helps perform lobotomy on harrow so she doesn't remember the person she loves, manipulates everyone to get to the top

idk just everything about her

her relationship with her sister is incredibly Bad, she fosters codependency and views Corona(the sister) as an extension of herself. This does not stop her from keeping up the con that Corona actually has magic (She doesn't, it was always just Ianthe) for 22ish years and every single person who interacts with them falls for it. She killed a man against his will (most dying for this purpose specifically go willingly) and she consumed him and she will be burning his soul for eternity. She's completely repulsive and still somehow incredibly hot.

she takes advantage of the fact that the main character is prone to hallucinations. at one point she gaslights the mc into believing that the corpse under her bed isn't real just because she can. she reverse engineered a set of very complex trials on her own without anyone realizing she had the skills to complete them normally. she's also babysat god through his drunk and pathetic era.

Artist: @marceline2174 (instagram)

#round 5 #group h #Medea #Greek Mythology #Euripedes #tlt #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #ianthe tridentarius #cw ianthe tridentarius #ianthe the first

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y-rhywbeth2 · 3 days

Text

Scouring a Q&A archive for realmslore, as I am wont to do, and seeing people being semi-officially (officially?) directed to Lords of Darkness when they ask about Realms-specific undead lore even in the 5e era is amusing, and also validating (I love that book. I love how creating tomb guardians/mummies works in the Realms: it's so fucked up. I love the Bhaalist mummy and his relationship problems. I want my Bhaalist to get mummified.)

But anyway the concept that that lore holds in 5e Toril is darkly hilarious to me for reasons, because you'd be applying this to BG3:

Greater and Lesser vampires: Toril does in fact have rare daylight walking vampires! They're created when a succubus kills you by kissing you (ie draining your life force and consuming your soul during make out sessions/sex) and then your corpse rises again as a soulless undead horror that can walk in sunlight. Other than the daywalking a greater vampire is exactly like a normal vampire.

And I'm just... You can get your soul eaten by a fiend in game: can you imagine Astarion's reaction if - after being dumb enough to get fucked to death by Haarlep I know they don't kill you in-game, humour me - you came back as a vampire able to walk in the sun right off the bat? Either he's going to be insanely envious (why do you get everything he wants through an act of terminal stupidity), or he's going to be extremely put out that he isn't special. "There are no vampires like me" Are you sure babe? Bet?

Also as far as Toril is concerned with undeath in its own setting: undeath is evil, as are all of it's sources and all acts of inflicting it upon somebody (except for Baelnorn), but the undead are people and a bit more complicated. Not necessarily terribly nice people, who are monsters and sometimes have to do horrible things due to their nature, but they have control of their actions do damage control and decide not to be total bastards. (Most are total bastards). There are folk stories and legends of protective ancestors and helpful undead, and some undead hunters are wont to let "sleeping undead lie" if they're not bothering anyone. Interestingly I also saw something today that some undead hunting is actually done by undead, who don't appreciate other, less pragmatic and/or morally inclined undead being more evil and destructive than they need to be ("‘nuisance’ undead") and risking encouraging hatred/fear of the undead and angry mobs amongst the living: do you mind, some of us are trying to unlive in relative peace here. How is a Lich supposed to study with clerics breaking down their door, you animals?? Different source again, but D&D's token "good" vampire is a Torilian native (and by "good" I mean Chaotic Neutral and messy, and currently being warped and tormented by the Dark Powers of Ravenloft who enjoy a good chew toy). Toril does have another "good" vampire in official material, but he's been cursed to be Lawful Good and would explicitly go back to being a monster if you lifted that curse, so methinks he doth not count.

#babbling #/astarion #Jander and Jonathon are both elves oddly #Why are all the potentially non-evil vampires on Toril elves

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twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 1 year

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I sent an ask earlier and I am so sorry for spamming but I've been having brain worms for the Kaiju!au.

Like we sad Vargas and Kalim being all friendly but imagine little baby Cheka playing with Yuu.

Also, just imagine Cater, Vil, or Rook doing dancing from some music player that Yuu found. Which also makes me ask if they get their own little hideaway for their human buisness. (God Crowley when his hatchling leave the nest...)

And finally, when Yuu finally gets to cook, meat or fish, are the Boys gonna try to demand they have some. I just imagine Yuu giving a piece to grim and his pupils blow out from how good it is....and then words goes around and it's all over for any peaceful cooking with Yuu.

I'm actually in the process of answering that one! I just gotta figure out a few scenarios for it to make it fun~! >v< And please don't worry about spamming me with asks if you have ideas or thoughts you wanna share about my AUs! I love receiving these kind of asks! :D

Putting under a read more because I got a little carried away 😂

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Oooh my goodness, someone teach lil’ kaiju Cheka to be gentle with the tiny human! X’D To be honest, I almost didn't put him or Falena in the AU...buuuuut now that I think about it, that would be a crime against adorableness, and I will not stand for this! Ò.Ó I shall rectify this~!

In the AU, Cheka would be a little bigger than Grim would be in terms of height. Not quite twice his height, but still pretty big! Now imagine the lil’ ragamuffin sweetheart just trotting along with Yuu perched on his back, playfully marching across a log bridge with Grim trotting behind singing “Hakuna Matata” while Ruggie and Jack have to keep an eye on them (because we know Leona would be taking a nap and hiding from his nephew even in this AU). The only difference between this version of the two is that whenever Cheka pounces on his uncle in a play fight, Leona actually will react as though he got hurt to encourage the hunting instinct.

Hey, he may not be happy having his nephew bugging him, but he knows it’s important to know how to survive (and he’d never hear the end of it from his brother or his brother’s mate)!

When it comes to doing “human business”, it’s agreed that there is a need for privacy even amongst kaiju, so if the human disappears for a short time behind a rock or in a bush, it’s not going to be questioned by curious kaiju. Luckily Yuu won’t have to worry about poison oak or poison ivy! Most of the poisonous plants that can cause an itchy reaction are too high up for them to reach, so it’s mainly the kaiju who would experience the terrible itchy curse. Good thing they’ve got Crewel to mix up some natural medicine for them—good luck making most of them take it though! XD

Anyway, moving on: music! One of the best ways to soothe the soul and calm the savage beast. When Yuu manages to get near one of the other abandoned facilities and gets to explore it with Grim (who is literally the only one small enough to fit inside with them), it was actually Grim who stumbled across a music player. He thought it was some weirdly shaped snack or chew toy.

This resulted in a bit of a tug-of-war between Yuu and Grim, and now Yuu has a new (slightly chewed) music player! Let’s see how it transpired and what resulted afterwards, shall we?

“Let’s see…junk, junk, trash…wow, did they really even leave anything worth using in this place?”

Digging around in the pile, Yuu sighed as they sat back and stared at the room. Of course, this place had been ransacked already…though by who exactly was unclear, but it seemed like things had been torn apart and whatever components or guts the tech had before was now gone. But there had to be something they could use in this place, right?

Crunch!

“Pleh!”

“Grimfang, no! Stop trying to eat the plastic you lil’ gargoyle!” Yuu scolded, sighing as Grimfang spat out a few shards that got stuck in his teeth. “Ugh…one of these days you’re going to eat something you shouldn’t, you know that? Don’t come crying to me when you get a tummy ache.”

He shook his head with a snort, giving Yuu a look that suggested he was offended by the very notion that he might get a tummy ache…or at least, that’s how Yuu interpreted it. It was odd how expressive the kaiju seemed to be, seeming almost…human-like in a way, though sometimes Yuu wondered if it was just their mind humanizing them to have company.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Turning back, Yuu scanned the wreckage to try and find something they could at least bring back. Even a writing utensil would do! “Okay…maybe we should try the next room and see what we can find.”

As they turned to go, they heard the familiar sound of tooth scraping against metal and sighed. What has he found this time?

“Grim, if I have to pull another pipe out of your gullet again, I’m gonna-” Yuu began before freezing, eyes growing wide at the familiar shape between Grim’s paws as he tried to gnaw on the corner: a music player. “H-hey, hey! No! Grim! Drop it!”

“Rrraowl!” he rumbled in response, his paws pulling the player into his chest fur protectively.

“Grimfang, no! That’s not a chew toy—hey! Get back here, you malevolent little gargoyle!!”

“Nyaarr!!”

“GRIIIIIM!!!!”

//Later//

The sound of static filled the den as Yuu sat in the nest, using Grimfang’s side as a pillow while they fiddled with the large and heavy music player. It had been one helluva chase around the facility, but eventually they triumphed and claimed their prize! Aside from a slight chewing on the frame, the kaiju’s fangs hadn’t really penetrated the shell and everything seemed to be in working order. To their disappointment though, they couldn’t get a radio signal no matter how many buttons they pushed or how much they turned the dial.

“Hey, MIRA? Does this island have any sort of radio signal or something?” they asked the computer around their wrist. “I can’t get anything on this player.”

“Greetings, Uhm Yuu. Answer: negative. This particular system cannot receive the signals from radio transmissions. Due to the nature of the island and its inhabitants, it is difficult to build and maintain any semblance of a tower to transmit signals across the terrain, requiring different methods to communicate with other facilities.”

“Darn it! So that means I can’t do anything with this hunk of junk?”

“Negative. As it is in proximity, I am able to access the system wirelessly and play music from the database.”

Eyes growing wide, Yuu asked, “There’s a music database…?”

“Affirmative. I have access to a wide selection of music from all manner of media pre-downloaded from the Dark Mirror Server. Dr. Willows was an avid enjoyer of music and always kept an up-to-date selection for her playlists to aid in her work. Would you like to create your own playlists?”

“Yes!”

“Mrr…?”

//End Scene//

And thus began Yuu’s task to set up their musical playlists…much to the kaiju’s confusion even when Grim tried to explain what he could translate. For the most part, they just figured it was a weird human thing…until Yuu played the first song. Was it some beautiful, soothing song, or an excitable bop that made them excited? Nope. It was neither: what was meant to be a fun introduction to a song turned into what essentially boils down to a warped death metal demonic screech and garbled static. The sound was so terrifying that Grimfang looked like a puffy ball of daggers, and Nevermore flared up his wings like some puffy shield in a panic.

That’s why it’s important to check the volume of the music before you play it first!

It was after that when Yuu noticed a difference in the kaiju when they played certain songs—namely instrumentals. For some like Pridefang, they noticed how much more relaxed he was when harp music was playing, while when it came to wind based music like flutes or chimes, Crystalflayer/Vil would croon and sing along and the more canine-like kaiju would practically fall asleep.

Then there were the silly moments with the music.

When Goldmaker/Kalim was visiting, Yuu was playing the song “Cus I’m Happy” at random…when they noticed the shiny beetle/dragon kaiju doing the tippy-tap dance like a dog on all six legs, bouncing here and there in time to the music like a kid jumping on the bed.

And then there was the time that Bruiser/Deuce and Feralfang/Epel were tugging on something that looked somewhat like a giant leather ball that had been popped (or at least, they thought it was a ball, though it could be a bit of carcass too). It didn’t seem like they were fighting over food and more like they were just…playing. It wasn’t until they had stood frozen in place for a moment that Yuu played the song “Cotton Eyed Joe”—

And they both tugged in time to the beat. (A/N: click link for doggos in reference to the song/scene!)

Aaaah, the joys of music!

Now as for the food, as good as fruit and the vegetables were, it was a little harder to find sources of protein that were safe for human consumption on the island…or at least, sources that didn’t want to eat or swallow them whole or were out of reach. Plus, they had a continuous source of fresh meat brought to them and Grimfang throughout the day with no hassle. They just needed a way to…prepare it.

When Yuu manages to light a fire in a makeshift firepit (guided by MIRA’s survival database), Nevermore was certainly surprised to find that his hatchling had finally accepted the meat offering and confused at what they were doing with it near the fire. It’s incredibly rare for any kaiju to actually “cook” their meat, and whatever constitutes as cooked meat would be little more than chewy charcoal, so if it turns out that’s what the little human likes then so long as they eat their fruits and veggies, he’ll allow it.

“Aaaaand…done!” Yuu uttered, tugging one of the sticks bearing individual chunks out of the ground. They could feel the juices from the meat that had dripped down the makeshift skewer, forcing them to take care as they adjusted it in their grip to avoid the hot parts before they took a tentative bite.

Just like the fruit, the meat was tender and full of flavor as the juices dripped down their chin with each bite. It wasn’t perfect, but it was so good to have a cooked meal again that Yuu didn’t care. They’d even been lucky to find a wall of salt when they’d gone exploring with Grimfang, so at least the meat had a little extra flavor to it! MIRA had mentioned before that the island had many herbs and spices that could be used for cooking. If they could get a hold of some of these, then their meals would be so much more fulfilling!

Curious sniffing caught their attention as they turned to see Grimfang, cerulean eyes staring at the chunks still cooking on the sticks around the fire. He’d long since finished his portion, so there was no way that he should still be hungry…right?

“Mrrlh?” he grumbled, carefully pawing at the dirt near one of the sticks but not actually touching it before giving Yuu a look.

“No, this is mine. You had yours already,” Yuu told him, turning their attention back to their food.

“Prrrrrr…”

‘…oh no…’ Slowly they turned their attention back to Grimfang…and immediately they found themselves struck by the biggest, brightest pair of kitten eyes they’d ever seen, the kaiju’s forelegs curling up to his chest as he rolled over onto his side to reveal his soft, fluffy tummy. ‘…darn it, why did I have to watch those kitten videos around him!?’

His paws began to open and close, mimicking the kneading motion that the kittens in the video had done earlier.

“…augh! Fine! But just this once, got it?” Yuu said, heaving a sigh as they took another stick out of the ground and—after playing hot-potato with the cooked flesh—tossed it into Grimfang’s waiting jaws with a snap. He was purring in triumph, giving Yuu a smug looking grin…

Before he froze, pupils growing so wide that they nearly engulfed the blue of his eyes. His whole body began to shiver, jaw slack as drool began to drip from his maw. Then—rearing back on his hind legs—his paws pressed against his cheeks as he swayed almost in pure bliss, a series of trills and chirps coming from him.

“Huh. Well, uh…glad you like my cooking, Gri—hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey! NO! Grim! You had yours, the rest are mine! Stoooop! Nevermore!!”

//The next day//

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen: I’m going to cook some of this meat using the ingredients we just picked from the forest, and while the big hunk cooks on the spit, we’ll snack on the smaller pieces. This side is yours, and this side is mine. Got it so far?”

“Mrp!”

“Good. Don’t even think about stealing my share, or I’m never cooking anything again. Got it?”

“Myah!”

Shniff-shniff…

“Huh…? Wha-!? Scrapper, no! This is mine! I-wait, I-! What are you all even doing here!? Guys!”

//The next day//

“……did you guys know that Scrapper, Shellshock, Ashsong, and Heartbinder could even cook, or is this new?” Yuu asked, watching as Ashsong’s tentacles moved the herbs and spices across the cooking meat, Heartbinder’s claws and teeth ripping chunks off and handing them to the clover-marked Shellshock as he put them on skewers. Ashsong’s wings would occasionally flap, causing the flames to flare up with new life. Scrapper used his jaws to turn the makeshift spit that one of the kaiju had carved to turn the meat in a slow circle.

“Nyawr.”

“Thaaaat’s what I thought…more please!”

As it turns out, once the kaiju learn the secret to amazing food, it becomes one of the few things that keeps them from bickering and fighting and even have them cooperate together just to get a taste. It was a strange sight to see, and even MIRA commented that this was highly unusual behavior that hadn’t been recorded by scientists before. This raised far more questions than answers. Sure, the kaiju were dangerous, but they were intelligent.

Too intelligent…

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland kaiju au #twst kaiju au #twisted wonderland kaiju au worldbuilding #twst kaiju au worldbuilding #oh how I love playing with this AU~!

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