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agentstarkid · 9 days

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YOU'RE JUST LIKE MARS, YOU SHINE IN THE SKY ✦ CL16

✦ pairing: charles leclerc x reader ✦ words: 2.4K ✦ warnings: female!reader, fluff. ✦ may's radio: my hands were shaking so much that they slipped and this got written :)) <3

The roar of engines reverberated through the narrow streets of Monaco, the glistening harbor contrasting with the vibrant red of the Ferrari garage. I stood amidst the controlled chaos, the scent of burning rubber and fuel heavy in the air. Charles' family was beside me, their faces a mixture of tension and pride, reflecting my own swirling emotions.

In my hand, I clutched a small bracelet, its delicate threads intertwined with colors representing our journey together. Charles and I had made it during a quiet evening in Maranello, each bead and knot a silent promise of our shared dreams and love. I rubbed the beads with my thumb, seeking solace in their familiarity as the final laps of the Monaco Grand Prix unfolded on the screens before us.

Charles was in the lead. I could see his car darting through the tight corners, threading the needle between the unforgiving barriers. The commentators' voices were a distant hum, my focus solely on the scarlet blur of his Ferrari.

“He's doing great,” Pascale whispered, her voice tight with barely contained excitement.

I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from the monitor. My heart pounded in time with the relentless rhythm of the cars on the track. Each second stretched into an eternity, every corner a potential triumph or disaster.

With just a few laps to go, the tension in the garage was palpable. I could see the mechanics poised for celebration or action, their faces masks of concentration. The bracelet's colors shimmered softly, a small but powerful reminder of the man I loved and the journey that had brought us to this moment.

The final lap began. Charles' car streaked past the iconic Casino Square, down towards the tight hairpin at Fairmont, and into the tunnel where the roar of the engine amplified tenfold. My grip on the bracelet tightened and all around, the horns of the yachts in the harbor were already blaring in celebration.

"C’mon, mia stella," I whispered, as if my voice could reach him through the cacophony of the race.

Through the chicane and into the swimming pool complex, his car danced on the edge of control, the very limits of physics and skill. The crowd's roar was a constant backdrop, a wave of noise that crescendoed as he approached the final corners.

Then, in a blur of red and precision, he rounded Rascasse and Anthony Noghes. The checkered flag waved, and Charles' car crossed the finish line.

“C'é l'ha fatta!” someone shouted, the garage erupting into cheers and applause. He did it.

Tears of joy sprang to my eyes as I watched Charles slow down for the victory lap, the realization sinking in. He had won. In Monaco. His home race.

Monaco has finally loved him back.

It was a colossal victory for Il sole di Maranello, Il Predestinato, Il Principe Rosso,

The brightest star in my night sky.

The screen cut to his in-car camera, showing his triumphant fist pump and the liberating scream he let out. My heart swelled with pride and love.

As the celebrations commenced around me, I felt a strong arm wrap around my shoulders. Charles' mother pulled me into a hug, her eyes glistening with tears.

“He's done it,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

We all moved towards the pit lane to greet him, the crowd's energy sweeping us along. The bracelet dangled from my wrist, a symbol of our bond and the incredible moment we were now living.

Charles pulled into the Parc Fermé, and as he climbed out of the car, he immediately jumped onto the nose of his Ferrari. He threw his arms up in victory, letting out a boisterous scream full of raw emotion, the sound echoing through the throng of fans and team members. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch, their collective joy merging with his triumphant cry.

He then jumped down, his feet hitting the ground with a determined thud. Amidst the jubilant chaos, his eyes scanned the sea of faces until they found mine surrounded by a sea of red uniforms and jubilant faces. He pushed through the crowd, making his way to me.

“Amore mio!” he exclaimed, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around.

“You did it, Charles! You won!” I laughed through my tears, my hands framing his helmet.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine. “We did it,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His fingers brushed against the bracelet on my wrist, I could see a hint of a knowing smile spreading across his face. “This is also for us.”

In that moment, surrounded by the cheers of the team and the adoring fans, it was just the two of us. The handmade bracelet, the race, and our love intertwined into a perfect, unforgettable moment.

The jubilation in the Ferrari crowd was palpable, the energy electric as the team celebrated Charles' monumental win. Mechanics, engineers, and staff swarmed him, lifting him up and congratulating him, hugging him and tapping the top of his helmet, their faces glowing with pride and admiration. Fred approached with a broad smile, clapping Charles on the shoulder and embracing him in a vigorous hug.

Next came Carlos, grinning from ear to ear, pulling into a brotherly embrace. "Amazing job out there, mate! You deserve this one."

"Thanks, Carlos," Charles said, hugging him tighter. "We did it together."

John Elkann, Ferrari’s chairman, stepped forward, his demeanor exuberant and congratulatory. "Charles, you've made Ferrari and all of Monaco incredibly proud today. Congratulations!"

Charles nodded, his gratitude evident. "Thank you, Mr. Elkann. This victory is for the team, for all of us."

With the formalities complete, Charles turned to the crowd. He moved towards the barriers, where the sea of red-clad fans erupted into deafening cheers, their love and admiration washing over him like a wave. He basked in the adulation, lifting his arms to acknowledge the fans who had supported him through thick and thin.

He spotted Andrea waiting by the edge of the crowd. The Italian had been with him through countless highs and lows, a steady presence in his life. Charles embraced him tightly, their bond evident in the heartfelt hug.

“You did it, Charles. I'm so proud of you,” Andrea said, his voice choked with emotion.

“Couldn't have done it without you, Andrea,” Charles replied, pulling back to look his friend in the eye.

Andrea handed Charles his jewelry and the other handmade bracelet, the one that perfectly complemented the one I wore. A significant piece that he entrusts to his friend every race. Charles took the items, his eyes briefly meeting Andrea's in silent gratitude before he turned back to the crowd. He moved to the front of the sign indicating his 1st place finish, ready to be interviewed by Jenson Button for the post-race interview.

The crowd's roar never dimmed, their adoration a constant backdrop. I watched him, my heart swelling with love and pride, as he fought back tears. Charles took a moment to gather himself, fidgeting with his cap and then with the bracelet. The raw emotion in his voice was palpable as he spoke.

“It means a lot obviously,” Charles said, his voice wavering slightly. “This is the race that made me dream of being a Formula One driver one day.”

He paused, taking a deep breath. “I have to say that I was thinking of my dad a lot more than what I do while driving. Obviously he’d given everything for me to be here. It was our dream for me to race and to win here.”

The weight of his words sinking in. The raw emotion in his voice, the tears brimming in his eyes, spoke volumes. This victory was not just a personal triumph but a tribute to his father and their shared dream. I felt tears spill over, my heart swelling with love for the man who had just achieved a lifelong dream, carrying the memory of his father with him every step of the way.

While Charles spoke, I stood beside Pascale and his brothers. My heart ached with a mix of overwhelming pride and sorrow, mirroring the emotions etched on their faces. Pascale had tears running down her cheeks, her expression a blend of grief and pride for her son's achievement.

I reached out and grabbed her hand in mine, squeezing it three times—a silent gesture of support, love, and shared emotion. She squeezed back, her grip firm and reassuring, a small but powerful connection in this deeply poignant moment.

As the interview concluded, the crowd erupted into applause once more. Charles looked over at us, his eyes locking with mine, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The noise, the cameras, the crowd—it all disappeared, leaving just the two of us connected by an unspoken understanding and an unbreakable bond.

He made his way toward us, each step filled with purpose and emotion. When he reached us, he first hugged his mother tightly, their shared tears a silent tribute to the man they both missed so deeply. Then he turned to me, pulling me into his arms, holding me close.

I held him tighter, feeling the weight of the moment. “I'm so proud of you, Charles. Your dad would be too.”

We stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other's embrace, the world around us celebrating his incredible victory. The cheers of the crowd, the flashes of cameras, and the palpable joy of the team enveloped us, but all that mattered was the love and pride we felt for Charles.

Pascale joined our embrace, her tears now mingling with smiles. “He's always with you, Charles. And he's so proud.”

Charles nodded, his eyes glistening. “I feel him here today, maman, more than ever.”

As the celebrations continued, Charles' brothers took turns hugging him, their faces glowing with admiration and joy. He was then quickly rushed into the Driver’s Cooldown Room along with the other podium-finishers.

The crowd's roar never dimmed, their adoration a constant backdrop to the unfolding celebrations. Charles made his way to the podium promptly being showered in overjoyed hugs and words by Monaco’s Royal Family. He took his place on the top, the Monegasque flag wrapped around him like a protective mantle.

The Prince of Monaco, his eyes glistening with emotion, handed Charles his trophy first. Their embrace was heartfelt, filled with warmth and a deep sense of pride. As Charles lifted the trophy high, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. He turned to the other drivers, congratulating them as they received their trophies, and then Fred accepted the constructor's trophy with a broad smile, lifting it skyward to the adulation of the crowd.

The Monaco anthem began to play, its solemn notes filling the air. Charles stood tall as the anthem resonated deeply, the pride of the nation evident in every note. As the final strains of the Monaco anthem faded, the Italian anthem followed, a tribute to the Ferrari team and their storied legacy.

The sound of both anthems being sung at the top of everyone's lungs was deafening, a beautiful cacophony of national pride and celebration. Tears streamed down faces all around, from the Prince and the royal family to the mechanics, marshalls, and fans. Even the seasoned veterans of the sport were visibly moved, the emotion of the moment overwhelming.

He lifted the trophy high, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. The crowd erupted once more, their cheers echoing through the narrow streets of Monte Carlo. He looked down at me, our eyes locking across the sea of faces. He mouthed the words “I love you,” and I felt the tears spill over again, tears of unadulterated joy and love.

The podium celebration reached its peak and the champagne bottles were uncorked with a resounding pop. Charles, Carlos, and Oscar grabbed their bottles, shaking them vigorously. The crowd's anticipation grew, knowing the champagne shower was about to begin.

Charles stood at the center as Carlos and Oscar turned towards him, their bottles aimed and ready. With a synchronized motion, they sprayed him with champagne, the sparkling liquid raining down on him as he laughed and tried to dodge it.

Fred, ever the spirited team principal, turned his champagne bottle toward Prince Albert. His Serene Highness, caught off guard but clearly delighted, laughed heartily and grabbed a bottle himself. He joined in the festivities, spraying Fred and the other drivers with gusto. The entire podium was a scene of jubilant chaos, the air filled with the scent of champagne and the sound of laughter and cheers.

Charles reveled in the moment, his face beaming with pure happiness as he shared the celebration with his teammates and the Prince. It was a rare and beautiful sight, the convergence of competitive spirit and heartfelt camaraderie.

Finally, the champagne showers subsided, and Charles descended the steps, droplets of champagne glistening on his suit and face. After a while, he made his way back to me, his steps purposeful and his eyes locked on mine. The crowd's cheers still echoed in the background, but all I could focus on was him.

As he reached me, he didn't hesitate. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me deeply, a kiss full of love, joy, and adoration—and even a hint of something more passionate, something more intense.

The kiss was electric, sending shivers down my spine. His lips moved against mine with a fervor that spoke of the countless emotions coursing through him. His hands gripped my waist tightly, pulling me closer as if he never wanted to let go. The world around us blurred, the noise of the celebration fading into the background.

His kiss was hungry and unrestrained, a raw display of the depth of his feelings. It conveyed everything words couldn't—the relief, the triumph, the passion that simmered beneath the surface. My toes curled, and I felt a heady rush as I responded with equal intensity, matching his fervor.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, he rested his forehead against mine. “This is just the beginning,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

I nodded, holding him tight. “I'm with you every step of the way, Charles. Always.”

And in that embrace, surrounded by the love of family, friends, and fans, we knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, hand in hand, heart to heart. The journey ahead was filled with promise, and with each other, we could conquer anything.

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writeroutoftime · 13 days

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true love's kiss

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: when azriel is hit with a powerful poison what - or who - will be able to save him?

warnings: talks of death, angst

words: 2.8k (buckle up)

a/n: my first azriel story and I'm so excited!! this idea just popped in my head the other day, and I ran with it lol. it was so much fun to write, so I hope you have just as much fun reading it!

(p.s. requests are open if you'd like to send anything in!)

oOoOo

Without warning, your heart began to pump furiously and an uneasy feeling settled over your body. Your muscles tensed up, as if preparing for an attack, and only moments later, you noticed Feyre's glazed over eyes widened in fear. Lunch suddenly postponed, she shot to her feet and ran towards the living room while you, Mor, and Amren quickly trailed behind.

Before you even stepped foot in the room, your suspicions were confirmed as the scent of blood and fear smacked you in the face. There was a brief space of time in which you mourned for the anguish Feyre would feel over an injured Rhys. However, the image of Rhys and Cass heaving an unconscious Azriel onto the couch suddenly seared itself into your mind.

"What happened?" you whispered the words over the commotion, though it rang out loud and clear to the Inner Circle despite its wobble.

"We were ambushed in Windhaven." Cass explained while Rhys reached into the void to call for Madja. "Az's side was struck with a sword, but it must have been laced with poison. One second he was standing behind me, and the next thing I knew, he let out a shout before collapsing almost immediately."

Tears lined your eyes at the thought, and the pain didn't register when you dropped to the ground beside Azirel, hands hovering over his body. The dark swirl of shadows that nearly obscured him from view parted for you, allowing you access to their master.

"Oh, Azriel." you breathed out, only distinguishable to you and his shadows. The later wisping gently around your face, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. You leaned into the gesture, wishing it was Azriel's palm against your skin.

Suddenly, you felt strong arms pull your shoulders away from Azriel as Madja stepped in and took your place, her gaze instantly drawn to his wound. Meanwhile, your family stepped back in fear. Rhys held Feyre tight in his grasp, and Cassian offered you and Mor each a comforting hand.

The only sounds for the next few minutes were Madja's grunts and huffs as she did her best to treat the injury. You couldn't help but cringe into Cass' side as her hands turned a dark-red, tinted from the blood that should have long ago clotted. It felt like an eternity before the healer turned around to face all of you, her face worn.

"I've done what I can to stabilize him, but the sword that struck our Shadowsinger was indeed laced with a poison I have yet to see. Unfortunately, it still seems to be working his way through his system. I can't say for certain how much time he has, but I will work swiftly to find an answer." she explained solemnly, taking in the pained expressions of you and your friends. "All I do know is whatever the cure ends up being, it needs to be a strong source of magic. I'm sorry I can't offer better news."

Rhys was the first to break through the stunned silence. "Thank you, Madja. C-can we move him somewhere more comfortable?"

The healer nodded before taking her leave. In her stead, all of you gaped in shock before Rhys and Cass worked together to move Azriel to a bed where they thought he would be more comfortable. Once they got him settled, you pulled a chair up, next to his bed, a stack of thick, dusty books beside you. If there was nothing you could do at the moment, by the cauldron you would at least help Madja research a cure.

When your focus couldn't get past the first few sentences on a page, you shut the book with a sigh and furiously wiped at your eyes. The tears wouldn't stop, no matter what you did. Carefully, you reached out and interlaced your hand with one of Azriel's, placing a soft kiss against the marred skin.

"Please, please wake up, Azriel." you whispered into the room. "I don't know what we'd do - what I'd do - without you." you told him, praying to the Mother and anyone else listening to heal your best friend.

As day bled into night, Rhys and Cass came into the room, trying to relieve you even just for an hour. They tempted you with food, rest, or even just a moment alone, but you refused. How could you leave Azriel alone in his moment of need? Eventually they got the hint, and slowly, the rest of your family began to take up residence in the room alongside you.

oOoOo

"How can there be nothing on this subject?" you shouted, tossing the book to the floor with a loud thump.

The rest of the Night Court looked up at your outburst, their own eyes red and bleary from the hours and hours of research. It had been three days since Madja first examined Azriel, and even the experienced healer was coming up empty. With every hour that passed, you felt the hope in your soul drain even further.

"There has to be an answer somewhere." Cass placated, stretching out his wings from where he sat. "Someone has to have used this poison before."

"That doesn't mean they had to write the antidote down, boy." Amren spoke cooly from her spot, ignoring your pointed glare.

"What is it, Feyre?" Rhys asked, taking note of her trance like state. She shook her head slightly at her mate before turning her attention to the rest of the group.

"Well...I was just thinking. Madja said whatever the cure ends up being will have to be powerful, but maybe we've been thinking about this too literally. Maybe it's not an answer that can be found in a book. What has been a powerful motivator for all of us over the years? Was even the answer to end Amarantha's reign?" she asked, the group shuddered at the mention of the name of that devil. "Love."

You stared at your High Lady, head titled to the side. "Okay, but how is that going to help us now? It's not like any of us don't love Azriel."

"And it's not exactly a position we can give him." Mor chimed in.

Feyre reached out a tattooed hand and grasped Rhys' hand. "Or maybe it is." she countered. "I don't know about here in the Night Court, but haven't you ever heard fairytales? True love conquering all with a kiss, and all that?"

"Do you think it would really work?" you ask, your tone warm and face full of light for the first time in days.

All eyes fell to Rhys and Ameren for guidance. The two shared a look, silently communicating their opinions on the matter, but it was Rhys who spoke first. "I've never heard of an instance of true love's kiss being the answer, but since when have we been known to do anything traditionally?" he said with a small grin, inspiring a soft chuckle in the room.

"Well," Cass dragged out. "I would try, but I don't think Az would appreciate me waking him up with a kiss."

You rolled your eyes at the general, before considering the impact of his words. "Doesn't that leave us with a problem? Azriel hasn't found his mate, so we're still stuck and unable to break though." A small pang shot through you at the idea of Azriel's mated to an unknown female, but you quickly tamped that down. This was a matter of life or death.

All eyes of the Inner Circle turned to face you. Looks of disbelief, amusement, and even understanding from Rhys, came your way. You caved in on yourself, suddenly feeling your cheeks heat under the scrutiny. This was not the time for their games.

"What?"

Mor spoke your name, gently, as her hand reached out to grasp yours. "Do we really need to spell it out?" she asked in your silence.

"Spell what out?"

Amren, having had enough of the tiptoeing, finally spat it out. "That you're in love with the Shadowsinger, and have been for decades. If anyone in this room has the power to break this curse, it's you."

A laugh bubbled up and out of your throat at her words, born out of sheer nerves that shot through your body. "N-no, no. I am not in love with Azriel. I mean, yes, I care for him - of course I do! I love him the way I love all of you. I'd do anything to help, but I really don't think this is going to work." you stuttered and stumbled over your words, bashful from the accusation.

"We've all seen the way you look at each other, y/n." Feyre spoke gently, her eyes soft and she stared at you. "I think you love Azriel a bit differently than the rest of us."

Her words brought tears to your eyes. Yes, you were in love with your best friend - how cliche. It had been that way for decades, but you never had the courage to speak up and say anything to him. And now, all these feelings were being dredged up in such a tense situation. What if it wasn't enough? What if you weren't enough to save him?

"Okay, fine, you've caught me." you conceded, throwing your hands up in the air as your voice grew thick and heavy once more. "Is that what you want me to say? That I've been in love with Azriel for years, and it's killed me to just stay by his side as just a friend?" a defensive anger rose in your body as you looked at each member of your family. "But you're forgetting an important piece to this puzzle. Just because I'm in love with Azriel, doesn't mean I'm his true love."

With that, you ran out of the room, collapsing against the wall in the hallway. You tried to take deep, steady breaths to calm your breathing, but it did little to help the situation. A few minutes later, you heard soft footsteps come up to your side, and Mor pulled you into a giant hug. The two of you stayed in silence for a few moments, grateful for the anchor she acted as in the moment.

"I know that was a lot to throw on you, and for you to have to admit to us." she spoke, softly and cautiously. "And nobody judges you for how you feel or how you're reacting."

"I'm so scared." you confessed. "W-what if I try and it doesn't work?"

Mor looks at you with a gentle smile. "What if you try and it does work?" she countered. "I think you underestimate the extent of Azriel's feelings for you. And, if, Mother forbid, it doesn't work, then we'll figure something else out."

Her words gave you a sense of comfort and the courage to wipe your tears and walk back towards Az's room. Before you stepped back in, you gave Mor's hand a grateful squeeze then rolled your shoulders back.

All talking ceased as you walked back in, and you knew your family had to have been discussing what to do if you didn't agree with their plan. But this was Azriel's life on the line, and you would do anything to protect it. Even if that meant having your feelings revealed, or rejected.

"Okay, let's try this." you told the Inner Circle, calmly and with conviction you tried to convince yourself you had. "But, all of you are waiting outside."

There were no laughs or jokes at your expense, which surprised you, especially coming from Cassian. Instead, they all nodded their heads and solemnly and filed outside to wait. On his way out, Cassian squeezed your shoulder and nodded.

"Bring him back to us." he whispered, board line pleading with you to save his brother's life.

When it was just you and Azriel alone in the room, you took a deep breath and crossed the space until you knelt before his bed. You took the moment to study his features. His hazel eyes, normally full of life and mischief, now were shut off from you. His skin looked more swallow and the rise and fall of his chest seemed to slow with each breath that passed. Even the presence of his shadows seemed dimmer as Azriel's life slowly drained before your eyes.

With a shaky hand, you reached out to brush away soft tendrils of hair that had fallen into Azriel's face. "Can you hear me, Az?"

The air was heavy as you waited a response that never came.

"We all miss you so much. I miss you - my best friend. I-I know it's not fair of me to ask, but just keep holding on, keep fighting. Please." you whispered, leaning down to rest your forehead against his body, gathering your courage. "Look, Feyre has this crazy theory about what could save you. It's uh, true love's kiss."

Again, no response.

"This was not the way I expected to tell you, not that I thought I'd tell you if I'm being honest. But even though I don't want to jeopardize our friendship, I'd rather have you alive and never speak to me again than gone forever. So, here it goes." you took a deep breath. "I love you Azriel, I think I always have. You are so good and kind, and the kind of male I've dreamed about for years. I-it's okay if you don't feel the same," you forced yourself to say. "but I thought you should know given our situation."

Not sure what else to say, you took one more look at the male in front of you, placed a gentle kiss against his cheek, and then dipped your head down to meet his lips. They were chapped against your own after a few days without enough water. Az's normal smell of cedar and mist was faint, but still there, and comforted you as it surrounded your senses.

You poured as much love and hope into the kiss as possible before slowly pulling away, falling to sit on your legs. The next few seconds that passed seemed to stretch for hours, waiting for a sign, a movement, anything. Just as you were about to sag and give up hope, a loud gasp sounded next to you and Azriel's frame jolted up.

"Azriel!" you shouted, watching as the color returned to his face and his eyes darted around the room.

Those hazel eyes finally landed on your frame, and Azriel quirked a small, albeit, sleepy smile at you. "y/n." he whispered, holding out a hand.

Wasting no time, you grasped onto the anchor for dear life, and the tears immediately began to pour down your face. "I can't believe you're awake. Oh, I was so scared for you Azriel. How are you feeling? Are you in pain? We have to get Madja and the other's here. I'll go-" you rambled, before being cutting off my Azriel.

"Hey, hey, calm down." he soothed, pulling you up onto the bed, flush against him. "I feel fine, considering I was just on the brink of death." he chuckled.

"Don't make jokes like that." you swatted at his chest. "We almost lost you."

"Yeah, but you saved me." he said, looking down at you in awe.

Suddenly bashful again, you began to stutter. "Oh, no, I didn't do much. It was all Feyre's idea, and we all were here helping to research."

"But Rhys and Cass weren't the one's to bring me back with a kiss." he said, and you felt as though your entire body was on fire at Azriel's words.

"Y-you heard all that?"

"I did." he nodded, nuzzling his nose against your neck. "And, I can't believe it took us until now to say anything, but I love you, y/n." he admitted, turning your face so you stared into his eyes.

As the words left Azriel's lips, both of your gasped. This time, however, it wasn't because of a sleeping curse, but because of the taught, golden thread you felt connecting your soul to Azriel's. Your mind swirled with a thousand thoughts, but the loudest one was "mate, mate, mate."

You stared at the male before you in awe, and Azriel grinned. "My mate. My knight in shining armor." he teased, then leaned down to capture your lips once more.

This time, the kiss sent butterflies to your stomach and you revealed in the feeling of Azriel's strong arms around your body. His kiss was long and unhurried, as though you had all the time in the world to explore. And as you kissed him back, you found yourself giddy at the thought of the rest of your immortal life with Azriel.

It was only when the doors had been thrown open and the rest of your family came stumbling in did you and Azriel pull apart. The two of you looked at each other, then busted out laughing at the shocked faces of your family.

"It worked!"

"You're awake."

"The two of you are mates?!"

Their voices all overlapped, and you felt Az sigh against you, hugging you close. Yes, your family was a lot, but they meant well. And now, you could live happily ever after.

oOoOo

a/n: ahh, I'm pretty impressed by how quickly this went from an idea to a story! kinda feel like I rushed the end, but oh well! hope you enjoyed!

#azriel x reader #azriel imagine #acotar azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #rita writes

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neoplatinum · 2 months

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i choose you - part 3 | minatozaki sana

summary: a darkness in sana's past comes back into light

pairing: heiress!sana x reader

themes: blood, murder, gore, knives, arranged marriage au, fluff, angst, tension, lots of elitism, conglomerate power-hungry side characters, implied sex, misamo!

wc: 5.9k

(series masterlist)

you stare at her as she stares at you back. the eyes of a woman who's held her domain for decades, bursting in power through the new age of technology. her eyes are still as sharp as ever, despite her age. it's how she's kept her power for so long.

long brushes of the tea cup lid against the cup, nursing a cup of sencha.

"tell me, how devoted are you to the mintaozaki clan." she continues to swirl the tea in the porcelain cup. her eyes never leaving yours.

you stare at her, but also to take a glance at the elders of the minatozaki clan all staring at you. strong eyes and the crest pinned to their delicate fabrics.

momo and mina are sat on the second row of chairs lining the edges of the room. various council advisors and distant family members sat in the back corners as well.

"i would lay my life on the line for the minatozakis." she stops her swirling. the gentle drop of the lid back onto the cup as she sets it down next to her.

with the flick of her wrist, a man shuffles towards, head bowed as he hands her a folder. the sound of papers being flipped through while you keep your eyes trained on the floor.

all around are eyes peering in, a dare. they stare, daring you to make any sign of weakness, you keep your eyes unwavering as you wait. it's so quiet that an outsider would expect no one in this room. you can even hear the faint sound of wind outside.

"let me rephrase. would you survive for the minatozaki clan." she places the paper down. eyes instantly back on you.

"until my last dying breath. i would utter it for the minatozaki name." you say, staring at her with intensity of a thousand flames. you think of sana, of haruto and hanako. the person you have become since being part of the family.

the matriach leans back into her chair. and you stare, for any sign of emotion. the way her eyes remain neutral and unchanging, hands comfortably laying on her lap. her feet tucked together and that large pendant on her neck.

"understood." another flick of the wrist. a different man walks forward, head bowed just like the last.

his head low as he presents a tanto with both hands. the six inch double edged blade. a long dagger, sheathed in dark brown wooden scabbard.

lined with the proud name of the minatozaki clan in hiragana, etched into the layered metal. she holds it within her palms, unsheathing it and holding it out.

"do you know of the etching tradition?" she says as she feels for the blade, the tip piercing enough of her skin to let out a drip of blood. she wraps it into a cloth as she goes back to staring at you.

"no, i do not." you've never even heard of the tradition to begin with. eyeing sana from the corner of your eye but she keeps her eyes focused on her mother.

"present." and then the cacophony of hands folding up their arm sleeves, and the turning of their forearm towards the matriarch, you can barely see it, but it's there. the scarred skin in the symbol of the minatozaki crest, just in the center of everyone's right forearm.

a glance to your right, and you notice it on sana's forearm, it's always been there. even in the curiosity you never asked, always wondering how she had a perfect scarring of her family name. the way it stretches across her arm, like a branding.

like an imprint of being in a cult, you look back at the matriarch.

upon her forearm, the same name is etched deeply, a long stretch of scars lining around it, never touching the name directly. the room all around you, are filled with minatozakis, each and everyone one of them.

"the minatozaki name will be etched into your skin. do not show weakness." the matriarch calls you forth, you rise to your feet, making quick steps to her. kneeling before her as you present your arm, to which she gently rubs over.

the tanto digs into your arm, and you grind your teeth willing the pain away as the tip of the blade drags along the skin. clean and sharp lines that are moving like brush strokes on a painting.

you grip onto your pants for a distraction to shift the pain. the burning and sweating sensation making you tremble a little. you will it away when you feel the blade lift up suddenly.

"breathe." you can hear sana's voice behind you, calming the pain brewing all over your body.

letting out a held breath that's been burning your lungs. a reminder that this pain is temporary, the breathing chills the burning sensation in your head.

the final mark is laid upon your skin, and you can feel yourself feeling faint, holding onto the floor to keep your body upright. you feel the blade lift off your skin, the sound of the blade being cleaned, while you stare at the pool of blood on the marbled floor, dripping and seeping underneath your shoe.

"rise." she speaks. you stand up, letting the blood continue to run down your arm.

the ringing in your ears gets louder and louder. she speaks of tradition, the value of the name across your arm. all eyes continue to stare you down, eyes like steel.

"this blade, has etched every minatozaki in this room, and those that have been laid to rest. this blade, will continue to etch into the minatozaki clan for future generations." you stare at the blade now in your hand, only seconds ago tearing your skin apart and being branded as the family's new pawn.

"to a new generation." she says as she hands it over, the drippings of your blood still across the double beveled edge. you stare at the blade, the weight of it, the memories of each person etched. it's heavier than you expected.

generations of minatozaki's all carved into submission. you begin to feel it, stirring low in your subconscious, you need more.

every night in the dark study, you stare at the name. forever in your skin, and upon your body. a sign that you are now a minatozaki, even years spent becoming a figurehead didn't sear the idea until now.

the scarring has scabbed over and begun to heal, into that perfect shape of the name.

sana's been telling you stories about her late father, the patriarch of the minatozaki clan before he was assassinated by the abe clan. the abe's who wanted his land, his ability to rule over japan.

stories of his strict rulings, his inability to feel remorse, his lack of fear. his dictatorship under his ship, even more fierce than his father.

the golden age of the minatozaki clan.

you often visit the matriarch, learning family secrets that wouldn't be uttered under broad daylight. understanding the inner workings of a regime that's lasted centuries.

more so, you've been trained by the matriarch to take over the next generation for the minatozaki's. receiving training in the philanthropy for public image, but also training on how to take out an enemy without letting a single drop of blood fall.

you can see how the minatozaki's have gotten so far, extremely cautious and calculating, much like other conglomerate group families. as much as you didn't want to be pulled in, here you are. fighting both momo and mina in hand-to-hand combat.

a swift kick of the leg, and you topple over. the pain of the right hook that momo landed earlier still leaving a stinging in your cheek. you turn over, breathing in and out.

"you're still too slow." momo comments, sitting down with mina doing the same.

you continue to stare at the bright light overhead, the feeling of your heart beating thumping in your ears, the sweat dripping down your body.

"i know."

mina gets up, grabbing water bottles and passing one to you. you sit up, drinking it as the two woman stare at you.

"why do you do this?" momo starts, a curious question that's been plaguing her mind lately.

the minatozaki's never asked you to be trained to be the next head of family, but you took it upon yourself to do so. grueling physical training, while learning the arts of the past generations.

mina continues to sip at her water, eyes watching you.

"duty. for sana, for haruto, for hanako." you explain, as much as you didn't want to become a pawn for their family, you care so deeply for the family that you now have, one that you would tear apart the world for.

mina nods, but momo rolls her eyes, "how noble." and with another sip, she gets up again. you begin sparring once more.

rolling your shoulders when you walk into your office, grabbing some soothing oil to rub onto the bruise on your ribs and the smaller bruises along your shoulders.

you stare at the tanto that now lays in a secret compartment under your desk. the etching tradition still leaves you in a heavy daze these days, how much you have changed all for sana's family.

when the devil herself walks in.

"you need to fire that assistant of yours." sana walks in, handbag hanging off her arm. glasses perched on her nose bridge, the exhaustion rolling off her words. she seems aggravated.

"why?" you cock your head to the side.

"she just told me you have a meeting in five, which i mean sure thank you for the information but i seriously don't care." you laugh out, as she crosses her arm. sitting comfortably in the armchair in front of you.

it seems today is one of those days.

"she's just doing her job." you explain. you liked shoko, she did her job well, often reworking your schedule when you needed her to. and she rarely complained about it, you even gave her a raise recently.

"yeah and i'm doing mine." sana gets up, leaving her bag on the floor and crosses over to you, dropping herself onto your lap.

she takes the glasses off your face. letting it slide across the table. you're about to get up to pick it up, when sana pushes more of her weight onto you. keeping you in your seat.

"last time you just waltzed into one of my 1 on 1 client meetings and sat on my lap the whole time." you point at her, showcasing the same exact behavior.

"yeah, like i said, i'm doing my job." sana says, taking off her sunglasses.

"sana...." you say dejectedly.

"i didn't hear you complaining when you bent me over this table and ate me out the rest of the afternoon." and with that she smashes her lips against yours.

you completely forget what you were complaining about earlier.

"what's your favorite color?" sana's voice is quietly coming through the microphone, she called you multiple times, and texting you urgently nearly ten times.

you silenced it, only to get a note from your assistant to pick up her calls.

"hmm, green." you say, watching as the shareholders stare you down, waiting for your approval.

without another second, the sound of the call ending comes through, you glance at your phone screen, seeing the call disappear, and a little confused.

"sorry, please continue." you point at the junior executive, he's been trying to get through this presentation without peeing his pants, and really you would like to get through it enough for him to finally calm down.

fifteen minutes later you get multiple pings on your phone.

"so like i said, we expect the project with akira industries to go well-" the junior executive's voice completely drowns out into white noise when you see what's displayed on your screen.

sana baby: attachment: 3 images

sana baby: you like?

your phone screen is filled with green, all three photos illuminating your face in a green hue.

green lingerie set, green bows tied around her hair, and your dress shirt draped over one. good god, she looks like a vixen.

photos of her laying across the bed, aimed at the mirror, long legs that stretch across the comforter. gorgeous lithe body framed by that light green corset. pouty lips in a selfie, aimed down at her cleavage.

you nearly curse out loud, instead letting a cough come through at the last second to cover it up.

another message comes through. you lift your phone back up to your face.

sana baby: you come home in thirty and you can take it off with your hands, any later and you do it with your teeth.

you're trying to pick out your work outfit for tomorrow, eyes glancing at all the dress shirts that you had hung up in the walk-in closet. you can hear sana faintly humming through the other side of the closet.

"sana..." you pick out one shirt, noticing the pink-ish red color across the collar.

"yes darling?" she says in a light-hearted tone, you see her walk over with her eyes a little playful. her eyes landing on the dress shirt that you have in your hand.

you hold it up to her face.

"why are my dress shirts littered with lipstick marks?" she takes the dress shirt out of your hand, eyeing it with happiness.

"they need to know who you belong to." she says and hands it back to you.

you shake your head at it. putting it back onto the rack.

only to notice another shirt, and another shirt, and another shirt.

"i mean, literally every single shirt is covered in them." you point at the whole rack, now noticing the pink/red littered across the collars. all of them have it. you turn to look at her, eyes wide as she just smiles at her handiwork.

she gives you a peck and just leaves. turning her head to look at you over the shoulder and give one last remark.

"you better not wash them off or you're sleeping on the couch."

"the abe clan cordially invites you to the 2027 annual ball." you stare at the invitation in your hand, red cardstock, beautiful crest in the dead center.

with sana's quiet humming, you barely register that you've arrived at the abe clan's main estate. dark and light reds adorning the walls, intricate wooden carvings of dragons. the dark red crest and lapels on each security guard.

the sedan rolls forwards, until you're stopped by two guards. handing the invitation card to the chauffeur, and letting the guards scan the car.

you watch sana, her eyes floating around, admiring the long trees that line around the garden's pond.

and then the car continues to roll forwards, and all around you are different black marked cars. each with their own crest, women and men donning different formal wear. kimonos, tuxedos, hanboks, qipaos, ao dais, all around.

the door opens, and you step out, rounding the corner to take sana's arms into yours.

"one rule with the abe's, do not ever drink first in front of an abe." she whispers quietly as you both enter down a deep tunnel, much like the minatozaki house.

large stone slabs lined underneath, but you can see it above, the lining of birds across a wired line. much like a telephone line. their dark beady eyes staring down, with jet black feathers that make their body look like voids.

they all move their heads in turn with the walking guests. "trained birds, trained to kill." she comments and continues to pull you forward.

then you enter a big hall, filled with different dignitaries, generals, top executives, council members, even a few celebrity faces.

sana smiles at the sight of the turning heads, everyone's excited to see another conglomerate family at these events. "just smile and nod." she whispers again through a smile.

you do the same, watching the eyes all peer back at you. they don't have the stillness of the minatozakis, there's bloodlust, there's evil, there's an ominous undertone behind those spheres. a predator lying dormant in each and everyone one of them.

with the sound of the doors opening, you hear the awws of the guests, all piling into the abe main hall. much like the grandeur of the minatozaki clan, it's lined with artifacts of war.

great katanas and bows hung along the walls. dark and deep red colored accents, a giant abe crest upon the center. there's beautiful music playing in the background as you scan the room. sana tugs you along.

"how much do you know about the abe's?" sana stares at you as she hands you a small knife. you tuck it into the breast pocket.

"a little." you offer, brushing her hair out of her face, and she gleams at that, giving a little kiss before returning back to her stoic face.

"kaito and kenji, two sons of the abe clan. kaito's set to become the head of the family. there's rumors that kenji might kill him for the seat." she explains, adjusting the knife in her thigh holster.

you nod, her mother has educated you on all the conglomerate groups, especially the abe and watanabe clan. both have been vying for the possible absorption of the minatozaki clan.

you adjust the knife holster for her, as you check your surroundings, just as you expected. nearly the same power in their private military, donning red fabric. you both take off to the other side of the room, eyes darting from face to face trying to remember significant figures, but who are you kidding, they're all people in power.

browsing through plates of delicacies, waiters and waitresses circling with plates of drinks. each more colorful than the last, it seems the abe have distinct taste.

you're leaning to your left when you're suddenly pulled into a conversation, the woman making large and loud gestures at you. most of which you nod and let the words flow through your ears. you never thought you would see her again.

sana's staring, taking turns staring at her and staring at you. her hold on your arm tighter than ever, feeling the blood thump in your arm. she continues to drone on until finally she gets swept into another conversation with someone else.

sana unhooks her arm from you.

"who is that?" sana stares at you, arms folded and that tick in her jaw. you can't help but keep eyeing the long black dress that she has on, with a deep thigh slit along the left side.

you try your best to keep the impure thoughts to yourself, instead offering a kiss to sana's forehead when you stand in front of her.

"hmm, old friend from law school."

sana had been eyeing the woman even as she moved across the room. even more upset when she slid up next to you. talking your head off about something that must have been boring because she could recognize the attention leaving your body.

but she can't help but notice how forward the woman was, unnecessarily putting her hands on you. unnecessarily laughing at whatever you are saying, just a bit too hard. unnecessarily pushing her cleavage up against you.

"our year?" sana says, brushing off a piece of lint from your jacket, also brushing off the feeling of the woman off your jacket.

you stare at her manicured fingers. long slender fingers that wear your ring proudly. you smile at the sight of the large diamond.

"no, a year younger." you say softly, bringing her hand up to kiss it. she flips your hand over to kiss it back. "why do you ask?"

"didn't know you liked younger women..." she comments, back to nitpicking what the woman is wearing tonight.

how dare she try and lay her hands on you? sana's thinking of calling momo and mina to do some 'intervention'.

"i don't, like younger women i mean." you watch sana as she stares down the woman. the way she holds onto the neck of the champagne flute, the way she has that tick in her jaw, the way she can't keep moving her eyes up and down in disdain.

"good." she comments back, it's more so to herself, so you roll your eyes at that.

"i only like you sana." you say the golden words that make her heart melt. she stares at you for a bit.

"mhm keep sweet talking me like that and i’ll let you fuck me in the bathroom." she drapes her arm over your neck pulling you into a hot kiss, tossing a wink to the woman from earlier.

you pull away, her chasing after you, but with all the prying eyes you'd rather enjoy sana in a more private place.

you begin to pull her towards anywhere that isn't open space for people to watch, when you bump into someone on accident.

"oh hello." the man turns around, a tall man toying with a knife in hand. his eyes dancing with amusement. "apologies, hope there's no hard feelings."

"none here." you offer, trying to side-step around him when he places his small knife at your neck. you look down at it, engraving in the base with red ink.

"kenji abe." you whisper to yourself, but he claps in delight, nodding quickly and sheathing his dagger away.

"that is me!" he exclaims, offering his hand. you shake it, his grip awfully loose, too loose.

"nice to meet you mr. abe." you explain, still trying to drag sana away. he stops you with a hand, a little smirk on his face. taking a glance at you and sana.

“nice to meet the minatozaki’s new lapdog.” he smiles, and then takes a look at sana, “hello sana, it’s been a while hasn’t it. kaito misses you.” the curling devilish smile as he hands both of you a drink. and taking one for himself.

“cheers! to a lovely abe ball.” he says as he holds the glass in the air, you take a quick look at sana out of your eye as you both clink his glass, letting it linger away from your lip.

watching the way he smirks, and then drinks his champagne. he smiles at you both before disappearing into the crowd.

“never liked him.” sana shudders as she says it, you just smile at her. letting her lay on your shoulder. “him and kaito. they’re dangerous. and he called you a lapdog, what an excuse of a man.”

you just nod, absorbing the information you’ve just been told. it’s not easy transitioning into this lifestyle, with structures and family systems in place, you feel like you really are out of your depth here.

a question still remains, what did he mean by kaito misses sana? you’re distracted by even more dramatic flairs of the abe ball. fire lighting up around, spotting several of your father’s old business partners, nodding to them.

"have i told you how gorgeous you look tonight?" sana starts, giving you a light kiss under your jaw.

"hmm, no, not tonight." you smirk, leaning into her, garnering another kiss. you smile when she rolls her eyes, kissing her jaw lightly too.

"well you do, and i think you would look even more gorgeous under me." she whispers into your ear, you lean back. it seems tonight’s been getting under her skin, constantly trying to get you away from the ball.

you shake your head ready to tell her no when you hear a mic being tapped.

“hello, welcome to the 247th annual abe ball!” a tall well tailored man is speaking into the mic, upon a lifted podium. his voice loud and commanding as he looks below at all the guests.

all around you are people clapping at him, so you begin to clap, interested in whoever this man might be.

“my name is kaito abe, thank you all for joining us tonight.” he booms into the mic, the sound booming off the walls, everyone clapping at his pauses.

“tonight, we have something special, a very special event.” he says, lifting his hand out to the other side of the podium. white flashing lights suddenly illuminating three bodies.

the sound of gasps and quiet whispers making you curious. you keep your hand on the knife, sana’s picked up on the same thing, her hand pulling the thigh knife.

“i welcome you, the death of the watanabe’s.” and there you can see it, white fluorescent lights shining across three figures. their eyes begging for help while they’re forced to face the bloodlust of kaito abe.

“sana, get behind me.” you push her behind you, her eyes staring at the watanabe’s.

they look roughed up, blood already pouring from their heads and clothes. the patriarch, his wife and the only heir.

“you see, a little weasel from their clan, a vermin even.” kaito begins throwing the tanto he has in his hand, one much like the minatozaki tanto you have in your desk.

he continues to flip it through the air with ease. “tried getting into our clan, how silly right?”

he leans forward, nearly off the edge of the podium as he laughs maniacally. you can see shuffling begin to happen, people are panicking, trying to leave the ball.

only to be pushed back into the center by the abe guards, all of them wielding weapons.

“oh no, you can’t leave darling, the show’s barely begun!” he continues to round the podium, letting out a laugh when the woman starts crying, his tanto hanging loosely in his hand as he points at the woman.

“see, when there's a rat in your home, what do you do?” he continues to pace the podium. “answer me!”

he shouts from above, more people are shuffling nervously and then you hear a distant, “you exterminate them!”

“BINGO! you. exterminate. them.” he laughs a bit, walking briskly towards them, pulling at the hair of the patriarch.

you curse out loud, his swollen eyes and chunks of his hair missing.

“but you can’t just exterminate one rat. no. no. they will just continue to repopulate. exterminate. at. the. source.” and then he jabs the tanto right into the man’s neck.

blood gushing onto his suit like a geyser. he lets out a laugh as the man sputters up blood before falling forward.

then he moves towards his wife, stabbing into her neck as her cries turn into screams. dragging out a laugh from him, meanwhile their son is crying silently, arms defeated as he watches his two parents’ now dead body.

“and remember. no survivors left behind.” he says with finality, as he shoves the tanto deep into the son’s neck, the tanto left inside.

sana’s covered her eyes into your back. you can feel her shaking a bit, you cover her ears as you pull her close, letting her keep her head against your chest.

“sana?” she just continues to shake in your arms, fear enveloping her entire body. memories of her younger self around the abe clan. you’ve never seen her so scared. she clings onto you like a lifeline.

“thank you, thank you! i hope you enjoyed the show!” he takes a deep bow, one in which he keeps his head forward with that smirk on his face. joy from killing, joy from being able to make others submit to him.

and then he walks over, using his foot as leverage as he pulls out the knife, wiping it clean off, and disappearing behind a door in the wall. the sound of shouts and chaos echoing through the hall.

the car ride is silent, sana’s gone quiet, simple nods when you ask her if she’s alright. eyes squeezed tightly and one hand curling around the other. you don’t even know where to begin talking about the events of tonight.

the abe’s are ruthless killers, you remember that even from when sana told you. it just takes a live performance of it to see how they are devoid of remorse.

kaito abe, kaito abe, kaito abe.

you barely knew the watanabe’s, only speaking to their son once, he was quiet. he didn’t seem the type to want to lead their clan, but now he lays dead, at the hands of kaito.

you play with your knife in your hand, thinking about how easily it shoved down the watanabe’s, killing them so quickly. the same blade that’s supposed to show honor and birth of a new member of the clan, used for killing those that harm the family.

the car rolls into the manor, and you take a deep breath, looking at sana. eyes still unfocused and staring at her own hands. you open the door and round the back to open the door to her side.

“darling? we’re home.” you offer your hand, she doesn’t even move. so you tap her shoulder lightly, she jumps at the touch, moving back from it.

“oh, sorry.” she takes your hand, and you pull her out, leading her towards the door. you immediately squatting at the sight of haruto and hanako walking outside.

picking up haruto in your arms, while sana picks up hanako, a warm smile back on her face. holding hanako tightly to her chest. haruto messes with your hair, pointing around and talking about his day. you kiss his forehead and walk inside.

there’s still a weird tension lingering around her, she refuses to look you in the eyes. instead preoccupying herself with putting hanako to bed. so you do the same putting haruto into bed. tucking him in and giving him a kiss while sana waits outside. you kiss hanako on the forehead as well before slipping out.

giving yourself a deep breath when you close the door, you see sana next to you, her eyes back to their unfocused state. there’s something she isn’t telling you, and normally you aren’t one to pry. but after the events of tonight, you need to know.

“sana, are you alright?” you hold her head in your hands, eyes peering into hers, for any sign really. she just nods, taking a deep breath, dragging you down the hallway.

“i have something to tell you.” she begins as she sits at her vanity. starting to take off her earrings, you unclasp the necklace that she has on, placing it into a velvet box before tucking it away.

she stares at herself in the mirror, memories of her past self resurfacing.

“kaito abe and i, we used to date. set to marry actually.” you sit next to hit, listening intently as she continues to take out hairpins and set them across her table. “it was what was destined for us, until his father killed my uncle. momo and mina’s father.”

you nod, you didn’t know much about momo and mina but there was an emptiness in their eyes, you always assumed it was because they were trained soldiers.

“seeing them up there on the platform, it felt like i was watching momo and mina being killed at his hands. then i thought, what if he killed you, what if he killed haruto and hanako. i’m so scared.” she bursts into tears, hands shaking to hold yours.

“he won’t be able to, i won’t let him.” you say confidently, kissing her gently.

“so, the minatozakis were here tonight.” kenji stares at kaito, both of them throwing knives at a corkboard, you and sana’s photos pinned to the board.

“yes, sana and her plaything.” kenji turns to a guard, handing him ten new knives. kaito just laughs, doubling over and wiping the tears out of his eyes.

“her plaything? how delightful.” kaito stares at the photo of you, and then down at the photo of haruto and hanako by your side. “and her spawns.”

“yes, two it seems.” kenji nods as he continues to throw straight into the forehead of your photos. the two continue to throw knives in the silence, slicing through the air, as they land on the different photos across the board.

“kenji, let’s topple the minatozakis?” kaito stares at sana’s photo as he aims for her heart, landing dead in the center.

“with pleasure.” his final knife aimed straight at your heart.

a/n: message me if you want a part 4 :^P

#sana #twice #twice sana #sana twice #sana minatozaki #minatozaki sana #sana x reader #sana x you #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice x you #neoplatinum

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yandere-wishes · 9 days

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⭒ㅤׂ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere! X-Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓔𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 ♡ ｡゜

˚୨♡୧˚Magneto - Erik Lehnsherr | مگنیتو - اریک لنشر

Techno graces your body in lieu of veins. Wires coiling like arteries should. You use it to mimic him, embody him, be him. His starry-eyed parody. Erik needs you to be more, to be everything he -and everybody else- could never be. You are synthetic and sacred in every way, you are the future he so desperately craves.

He can't help seeing them when he looks at you. The reverend wraiths of tortured adoration speak to him through your eyes. He sees a bit of everyone inside you, Charles, Raven, Rogue... their faces flashing like holy ghosts. You have too many constellations inside of you, all on the verge of erupting. It keeps him up at night, especially when you're curled up on your side of the bed, asleep and oblivious.

"You will save us, little one, you will be the savior we have longed for"

He feels the centuries rolling through him, desperately lost, trying to find his way back to a home he never even knew. Maybe that's why he kneels, brushing his lips across your knuckles tracing each vein in hopes that'll lead him back to a place he's only ever seen in his dreams. I'll stay lost, I'll wait for you to find me. He knows you will, you'll do anything for him. He's sure of it.

Genosha asks for a queen, demands it really. It's funny how these things work. Funny how those who rule the world are so intent on destroying it. Kingdoms aren't built in a day yet they can so easily be toppled in one. In turn, Magento asks you. Who else? It's his one cardinal tenet, you are the savior he could never be. The one his people, your people, need. Erik rolls your name between his lips, relishing as the syllables melt on his tongue. There's a magnetic pull to 'queen' it tastes like a hallowed prayer. "My queen" he whispers in your ear, his tongue sending sparks up the cartilage shell. Magneto pins you to his lap, keeping you tethered to his strong body. His fingers run lines up your hips indulging in your presence. You don't squirm although he suspects you want to. his lips lower, kissing your jugular and savoring the ungainly moan that slips past your pretty lips. "M-Magneto" He's only now realizing you've never called him by his birthname, maybe cause in some way you find it treacherous that he should bear such a human thing. He may see you as salvation, yet you've always gazed at him with the pietistic eyes of a zealous worshipper.

"Use your power, feel the magnetic pull flowing through you."

"You're overcomplicating it again, master, I just need to command that which I need lifted."

You've always been a rebellious student. The sardonic irony isn't lost on him, Magneto finds it fitting that he should master such an intricate pupil.

He wonders if you can forgive him for the bodies he's scattered in your name. From this far up he doubts you notice the broken bodies littering the concrete. He'll do it all again, anything to keep your distractions at bay. His kind needs a leader, not another sanctimonious hero.

You will be their savior.

You will be his queen.

♠️🂱♠️Gambit - Remy Lebeau | گمبیت - رمی لیبو

Remy wonders if the king ever longs to be stacked with the queen. Holding his breath every time the cards are shuffled. Praying that this time, this time for sure, he'll be next to her. Gambit's holding his breath too. There's a lively lilt when you giggle, he wonders if you truly grasp how much he means every word. "Mon Cheri, you know you're the only one for me." It sounds so childish, so jejune and Gambit knows he's too old for school-boy crushes. But he can't help it, he's desperate too, just another aspirant king vying for the attention of his red queen.

You once told him the blacks of his eyes remind you of a starry night sky back home. He thinks about that too much. About the sting of your hand on his shoulder and how good it felt sitting crooked in his bones. So that's why an ace surpasses the king. There is only, one who holds power. Maybe it's never been about the queen or the king or the royal house. It's been the Ace all along. Remy only has one heart, he knows he only has one ace too. There was an ace of hearts on your nightstand this morning, you don't recall how it got there.

Remy's kisses are too explosive, they hold all the weight of a dying star. Yet the force never ceases, it feeds off the detonations only growing stronger, you think you'll be consumed in this kinetic nova he calls love.

-`X´- Cyclops - Scott Summers | سیکلوپ - سکات سامرز

There's a shutter of loneliness crawling up his spine. He knows you feel it too. Scott bends and breaks under its crushing weight. You've always been there, tangible, solid. You're the living metaphor for a rock in a raging river. He just can't find the right words yet. You can't see his eyes, you can't withstand his power. But you can be there holding his hand through it all.

'Is this selfishness'? Scott wonders and he kisses you under a dying moon. He's never had anything to call his own, nothing that stayed for long anyway. He's snuffed out his desires his whole life. His place is with the X-men, playing the no-choice hero of a thankless story. But you, you're still here, you never left. Even now you stand still as his lips taint yours. He feels your fear, undue thing that it is. But he can't let you go not when everything is always marred in endless red monochrome and melancholy. Not when the only blessing the universe had ever given him comes in the shape of you. He's so tired of only ever knowing the life of a perfect toy soldier. 'Stay' he begs you between each kiss, each touch. Please just stay. Ease his pain.

☽✭☾ Wolverine - Logan Howlett | ولورین - لوگان هاولت

He's been alive longer than he cares to count. Running from one hell to another. He remembers your ghost, essence weaving between places too blurred to be graced with a name. But he remembers you, he swears he does. It's just that time is so fickle and so few can withstand its crushing tides.

"How have you been, Logan?"

"I..ah... fine, just fine."

When he looks at you he can't believe the changes. There's no trace of the rosy cheecked little girl who used to chase demons in the snowbanks. Playing hide and seek with every stray in the neighborhood. That's good, he thinks, he likes this refined dignitary better, somehow it brings out your eyes. There's a feral gaze when he looks at you, he thought he was over that. He feels the pulsing of his heart reverberate through his claws. It brings back something less than memories, something nostalgic, yet all so distant it may as well have been the sent of his childhood home. It's not right he thinks, as his claws trace your curves trying to feel something he knows is lost. You quiver, trying to make yourself smaller and he knows, he knows he shouldn't do this. But there are just so many pieces missing and he's never tried to look for any of them. Maybe just this once he can delude himself into remembering.

˚ʚ★ɞ˚ Nightcrawler - Kurt Wagner | شب خزنده - کورت واگنر

Not too long ago this used to be fine. He's always been better within shadows, letting the soft dark weave around his body. Obscurity has always felt like a second home, a haven in everything but consistency. You speak in italics, talking and talking without understanding what he shoulders. If he didn't deem it blasphemy, Kurt would gladly dub himself Eros.

You would be Psyche. Oblivious, sweet Psyche.

Kurt longs to kiss your cheek, he knows it'll only starve him for more. He wonders how soft your hands will feel. If you'll You cradle his face nails tracing the sharp point of his ears, his fangs, the jagged scar he got from dreaming of you in the danger room. Will you grace him with a kiss? Something to relinquish the anguish stirring within. This should be fine, you're talking to him, laughing with him as he remains hidden within the dark. And yet how can he see this as anything less than retribution? You're so close, just a breath away. If only he could reach out and...

۵𓋹۵ Apocalypse - En Sabah Nur | آپآکلپژ- ان صباح نور

Your heartbeat sounds all too familiar. He used to hear it a thousandfold walking down the Bazaar's street. It's dead now, the noise, the rapture, the music. He wonders what went right for your heart to beat to such a lost tune? He remembers once hearing that pain travels through families until it lands on the right generation. He's glad fate picked you. He's glad you share the same ancient burdens.

He puts the stars in the sky.

You've been warned against worshipping false idols so blindly.

Yet how can one not fall at his feet?

He who makes the earth tremble and mighty cower.

He who seems to know everything you do not.

Your fingers thread through his hair. It's too black, like staring at a moonless sky in December. You wonder if the eternal ebony is what gives Apocolypse his cynical edge. He laughs at the comment as he melts into your familiar touch."Thank you" he mutters. His pride laces every word twisting them into something metaphysical. Nur wonders if you catch the true sentiment behind the words. If the sand and stars make it through.

You're too archaic for this time Nur thinks as he watches you run across the fields. The other mutants are there, persistent in the games you all play. In his time he'd have already declared you his wife. Do you know the ancient ceremonies? Would you have gifted him gold or flesh? The yearning builds in his throat. Maybe he should have stayed dead.

Apocolypse lingers the days away in your room, plotting, scheming. You keep him hidden like a blood secret. He's the only one who seems to understand where your power comes from, where you come from. " I could win against you...someday" Your fingers glow igniting a forgotten glow, Nur can't help but laugh as he traces the curve of your spine. " I don't doubt you could, beloved." His blue lips are the length of your neck. Everything about you screams dead nostalgia. You've followed him through lifetimes. Smiling as you dragged him across the sand dunes just to watch the sunset. How he longs to carve you open and feel your heart between his teeth.

He's choking on sand.

Drowning in stardust.

Nur feels like he's swallowed the sun whole. Devoured Ra and spat out his holy bones. He still feels the sting of its rays seeping through his teeth. He's divinity and desperation are all in the same breath. Apocalypse and Nur are just two sides of the same daric. You stand in front of him, tracing the blues of his face, kissing the reds of his eyes. An excavation into the lost, unearthing that which could collapse the world. You enjoy him, savor him, keeping his gold essence on your tongue locked behind rose-tinted lips. You beg Nur to dig through your bones, open you up, unseal every crypt. He obliges, kissing the hollow of your bones until his teeth graze your unsteady heart.

"And what will you do once you meet the real world?"

"Oh, nothing, the real world will have to meet me first."

There is so much blood, he doesn't remember doing this. You stand beside him watching the sand in the hourglass run out. He is Apocolypse bringer of destruction, the end of worlds, funny how he needed you, frail sweet thing that you are, to remind him of this. It's only when he looks at you, really really looks at you that he realizes how many things are still the same. Twisted deformed yet still they harbor their old shapes. Apocolypse kisses you under the shade of a palm tree hoping it'll mean something in the end.

Hoping everything can just go back.

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yameoto · 7 months

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TOP TEN BENEFITS. JORDAN, CATE, ANDRE.

synopsis ; you and godolkin's finest go out for some fun, just like any other night. little do you know, is that they have a little more in store for you than just partying.

oh. also, you're luke's girlfriend—not like that's going to stop them.

✗ warnings ; dark!jordan, dark!cate, dark!andre, cnc, dubcon, intox, foursome, cheating, strap-fucking. wc ; 1.9k

DISTANTLY, you can hear voices. you're not sure, really; your head's all dizzy and groggy, and your mouth is so dry you wonder if you’ve been chewing on cement. god.. you really can’t remember anything. how strong were those drinks?

"we sure about this, guys?" comes a voice, echoing on the outskirts of your mind. it's familiar. masculine.. or feminine? you really can't tell—not in this state, at least.

"of course we're sure." someone else interjects, gruffer, this time, clearly masculine. it sounds a lot like.. andre..?

"i mean, look at her," whispers another, voices so low—like they're trying not to wake you. this one's higher, more feminine and— oh that's definitely cate. "how could we not?"

how could they not what? nothing makes sense—not in your foggy, hungover brain at least; one that you're becoming increasingly suspicious is addled by something stronger than shots. but that can't be right—you hadn't blown lines with the others, had you? no, you definitely hadn't. so why does your head hurt so fucking much?

"guys..?" you mumble, trying to sit up on what you distantly realise is a bed, the edges of your vision still blurry. as it adjusts, you're met with the sight of jordan, andre and cate all standing over you, eyes strangely lidded, gleaming. "shit— she's up," jordan hisses, grip on your thigh tightening, and its then that you realise your skirt is gone—the entire stretch of your legs exposed to the three of them.

"fuck," cate sighs, lips drawing into a pout as you feel her hand, bare hand, hover over your other thigh, head jerking up to face the others with a frown on her lips. "should i do it again?"

"no," jordan and andre hiss in unison, exchanging a meaningful look as their fingers twitch, restless. "c'mon, you know you want her awake for this."

"awake for what?" you grumble, head throbbing far too much for you to wrap your head around the conversation. "i'm too hungover for this." you swing your legs off the edge of the bed, reaching for your discarded skirt before two pairs of her hands shoot out to stop you. your vision swims, and with a disconcerting lurch you realise you're so fucked-up you can't even tell whose is who's.

"you won't need that." jordan mutters, breath hot against your cheek as they curl their hand around your wrist, dragging it firmly into their lap. what the fuck?

"sorry about the skirt," cate hums affirmatively, eyes drifting to the poor, ripped thing on the floor and you swear you see the beginnings of a smirk curl her lips "someone got a little excited."

"hey—" andre puts his hands up, not looking too sorry at all. in fact, he looks like he's barely restraining a grin. "don't act like you two weren't drooling—"

"touché." jordan interjects, eyes rolling yet looking entirely too pleased with themselves as they play with your hand in their lap, inching it up their own thigh. “you look better without it, doll.”

"warm her up, jordan." cate's eyes flash, gaze boring into the sight of you, splayed against the pillows, and you resist the urge to whimper.

"don't tell me what to do," jordan grumbles, but there's a grin stretching at their lips and you almost wonder if cate used her powers with the speed in which they comply. their loose grip on your wrist becomes inordinately tight as they deftly undo their belt, dragging their pants and boxers down in one, swift move.

oh, fuck.

"hold on— i—" you splutter, stupidly, glancing between the three of them and jordan's throbbing, leaking cock. it gently bobs into your hand; head pink, glistening with pre-cum and you just want to—wait, what?

you're dating luke. you're dating luke. a spike of panic sends you twisting, surprisingly lucid for a moment as you attempt tugging your wrists away—to no avail, of course. top ten ranking aside; you don't stand a chance against three supes, especially not the three of them.

"hey— shh." jordan catches you, eyes flashing for a moment as they slowly, ever so slowly, guide your hand back to their cock—grunting when your fingers limply wrap around their tip. "fuck, that's it.." they groan, head tilting back. jesus fucking christ.

you don't even realise it when andre drags your panties down your thighs—and your flush only deepens at how fucking wet you are. that has to be the high, right? there's no way—why else would your cunt be dripping into the goddamn sheets, like that? for three of your friends? boyfriend absent from the room, no less. a feeble, embarrassed whine falls from your lips, as three hungry pairs of eyes have no shame in hiding how much they want to fucking devour you.

"look at you, so fucking wet." ande’s voice comes a deep rumble, belt unbuckling with a click as he inches closer. his hands slide over your thighs as he moves over, all the way, and you make another strained noise as his cock hits your belly.

"i think it's cute." cate hums, eyes glimmering as she leans across the bedspread, hands wrapping around the base of andre's eager, bobbing cock and directing it towards your splayed legs. andre’s basically fucking trembling with restless need, cate’s own breaths shallowing, picking up the pace. "luke ever get you this wet?"

your teeth tuck into your bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut because god, luke.. what the hell are you doing here? it feels like betrayal. it is betrayal—they need to stop—this is wrong—

you whine, making a choking noise as jordan’s grasp on your wrist steels enough to snap bone. you want to say; luke—? yes—he fucking has—i think—but you find you barely have the strength to moan, let alone protest.

“nah, i don’t think so.” jordan smirks, smug, as if they know exactly what’s going through your head as their hand guides yours; forcibly pumping your hand along their length. their frustrated growls of pleasure are enough to make you blush—let alone the feeling of andre’s hands roughly shoving your legs apart, spreading your folds open with two of his fingers. you whine, quivering, glazed pupils meeting his.

"fuck, luke's gonna kill us—" andre grunts once he finally rams into you, audibly groaning as you slam into the blankets with each thrust, inciting the most strangled little cries from your throat. it’s so much—you can’t help but thrash a little, under his touch. cate lets out a displeased hum, though at his words or his roughness you can't tell.

"what luke won't know won't hurt him." jordan counters from the other side of you, lips twisting into a grin as they bite into your shoulder, still moving your hands in thrusts along their length.

they keep shifting—each time you're distracted by cate or andre the feeling of their cock twitching under your hands changes to fingers sinking into sloppy, wet heat. it's ridiculous how hot it makes you, just jacking them off—but it’s not like you have any room to comment with andre thrusting into you like an animal, snarls coming out of his mouth as each movement sends you reeling with white-hot, carnal pleasure.

"move, you brute." cate interrupts, voice cutting through the blinding, purely instinctual pleasure of andre pumping you full like a rutting dog. her eyes glitter with an annoyance that give way to barely-restrained lust, and in your sex-drugs-cate induced haze (you're still not quite sure which it is, yet), you faintly register the plastic in her hand; long, thick, pink and fuck— is that a strap?

"not yet, cate, i'm almost done—" andre cuts himself with a guttural, bestial moan as his cock rams into you, again. you can feel it twitching inside of you; hear his breaths growing shallower as he grips your hips, so tight they might bruise. "oh, fuck—!" he groans loudly as he comes, thick, hot seed filling you up, hips still thrusting as he crams as much of his load into you as he possibly can. it takes a beat before he reluctantly pulls out, chest heaving.

"fuck, you felt so good," he groans, hands clumsily tugging you forward for a kiss before he's promptly pushed off before your lips can touch. "about fucking time." cate grunts, voice sharp, weight of andre on top of you replaced by two long, toned legs swinging on either side of your body, cate's hands running over that fucking strap at her hips. her lips curl into a smirk as your eyes—still glassy from andre's force—blink blearily up at her. you’re still so dazed, so adorable. she leans down to cup your chin. "you're such a pretty little thing," she murmurs, thumb brushing against your bottom lip, gaze darkening as she begins to prise your mouth open, gleam in her eyes giving away to sheer, unadulterated lust.

"open wide." she whispers, and that's the only pre-empt you get before you're choking on silicone, her hips bucking forward as she shoves herself into your mouth. her hands tighten in your hair, jerking you forward so that the entire length forces itself down your throat. tears spring to your eyes. you feel jordon's hands getting rougher as they use you to fuck themselves, teeth digging into your skin to muffle their own whines while your own, keening “mmfs—!” peter out to soft, quiet whimpers.

"you're so good for us," jordan moans, burying your fingers hilt-deep into their cunt, walls pulsing desperately around you. "so fucking good," cate assents with a breathy, pleasured groan of her own, back snapping as if it were her own cock that you’re gagging around. from behind her, andre’s hands are wrapped around himself, moving furiously as he arches over the bed. “you have no idea how long we’ve wanted this.” he hisses, one hand madly jerking himself off to the sight of cate fucking your face like she owns you, the other tangling in your hair. cate audibly moans, bucking into you further with a sharp inhale. "wish i could come in you for real." she mumbles, fingers running along your jaw as you splutter around plastic. she smiles, tilts her head up to look at jordon as they mutter something unintelligible, her thrusts increasing in pace, fucking your throat so raw, so good. "jordan's got something special to give you." she murmurs, voice honey sweet, hand dancing up your cheek.

you can hardly gargle a response through the strap in your mouth—but you don't have to. not when, with a resounding moan, all questions are answered with jordan promptly shooting their load all over your face, thick, hot strings of cum leaking around the edges of the strap and seeping into your mouth. they both groan, jordan slumping into your side with soft, intermittent pants.

"god.." they mutter into the crook of your neck, cate's thrusts slowing as she starts to loosen her grip on your hair; though not stopping, never stopping. "you're ours." jordan grunts, gripping your thigh with sudden, overwhelming intensity while cate continues jerking the strap down your throat, smile tugging at her lips. “ours." she echoes, voice soft—almost gentle if you didn’t know any better. she leans down, hand stretching out; smearing jordan's cum across your cheek in one, long, clean swipe. "fucking ours."

poor, poor luke.

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sssammich · 2 months

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fic: let there be another day

inspired by this fantastically angsty gifset of a supercorp AU. happy supercorp sunday yall

thanks x

---

The days transform steadily, selfishly, into weeks. Until the weeks have amounted to six months of nothing. Nothing between them but a phantom line of what they’d been to each other, once upon a time.

There is a crater in Lena’s heart, a botched excavation of the way she’d willed herself to forget Kara, to protect the two of them from the ruthlessness of her family. So she’d cored herself first, hoping to beat her brother and mother to the punch. Yet Kara had dug herself further into her heart, straight into her marrow.

So she failed, in the end, to rid herself of the woman she’d loved with her whole being.

But it’s gotten easier, in a way, existing in this reality where she had to deny herself the chance for happiness if it meant her happiness could live.

Her family has continued to terrorize her, but she’s acclimated. Expected it, really. Their efforts of trying to eliminate the few people who have been able to reach the fortress of her heart have now since changed to recruiting her into the fold of the family business.

She now only functions to keep L-Corp as an entity of good despite her family’s best attempts at compromising her work. It’s fine, because she has accepted that her work will be her life. Her love—her grief—has become the shape of late nights in front of her computer, of half-filled decanters as she oversees expense reports, of dry-cleaned power suits and a lethal red lipstick as armor worn in superfluous business meetings.

It’s worth it, she reasons, when she catches sight of Supergirl zooming past her window to save the day once more.

—

Lena should have known that Lex and Lillian are simply biding their time until they strike. The last couple of months of relative quiet was not a sign of reprieve. So when the glass of her office doors break and splinter into tiny crystalline pieces, her heart aches not in fear, but in disappointment.

She’s never had a death wish and would never wish this hurt upon herself, but the amount of threats to her life has surpassed her age. She thinks that maybe if both Lex and Lillian simply just got it over with, that she can get some goddamn rest. But she knows why she fights and why she keeps going. If only to spite her family, if only so that her sacrifice isn’t in vain.

Another explosion erupts and throws Lena partway across her office, her head hitting the corner of her desk with a thud. She opens her eyes and her vision blurs, her head throbbing with pain, her body tense and sore all at once. Distantly, she can hear the fire alarm go off just as the sprinklers start shooting off water and flooding her office.

She attempts to stand and find an exit, but her body betrays her intentions, buckling under her weight as she’s sprayed with water all around her. She falls onto her knees and subjects herself to crawling towards the exit with only but reckless determination and an almost-extinguished hope that she will make it out of this alive.

Before she can take another step forward, there’s a whooshing sound that fills her already ringing ears and suddenly, warmth envelopes her.

She sighs in resignation and gratitude when she feels the familiar weight around her. Lena knows before she opens her eyes what has engulfed her so safely, so securely. It cuts her heart just as it heals it, and she is in a loop of pain and joy.

She wants to open her eyes, truly, to look into ocean eyes and a field of golden grass. But she is in pain and she is hurting. Her only course of action is to keep her eyes closed as strong arms grab hold of her—gently, always so gently—and whisks her out of her now compromised and ruined office.

—

When she comes to, she finds herself in a secluded and private examination room of the National City Hospital, discretion of the highest priority as a prominent public figure. It’s one she’s been in before, from a past attempt at her life. It’s almost something like a comfort, this familiar space that has seen her bruises, cuts, and scrapes.

The door swings open and she hears Kara behind her begin to make her exit. She doesn’t look up but when she catches sight of the red cape just by the bed, she holds up a hand and stops the movement altogether.

She only lets go when the doctor looks down from her clipboard and settles on the rolling stool, the creak of the leather as she rolls closer to Lena.

She allows the doctor to do what she does best, intently listening to the sound of the squeaking stool and the crinkling of the paper of the examination bed as doctor works.

A mild concussion, some cuts and bruises. It could have been worse, she’s told. It always could have been worse and she wants to yell at Dr. Shapiro that this feels pretty close to the worst. Still, she listens carefully as her doctor explains how fortunate she is for surviving after the second and third explosions completely decimating her office.

“Third explosion?” she asks, this information brand new to her.

“Mm,” the doctor hums. “The second blast was the reason for your concussion, but according to reports, the third blast was close to you and would have knocked you prone and done serious damage had you not found cover.”

Lena tries very hard not to twist her aching body and look over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The doctor looks at her meaningfully before glancing over Lena’s right shoulder and placing a hand on hers, squeezing, and then letting go.

The door closes with a quiet click, but instead of an exhaled deep breath, she holds herself tense. She shuts her eyes and listens to the way the superhero makes just enough noise so Lena knows where she is. First, from the chair she’d been occupying, then the sound of boots against the linoleum flooring, then the swish of the cape as it catches against the corner of the examination bed and back down again.

“Where can I take you?”

She opens her eyes to the setting sun, to saltwater ocean, to a small smile she hasn’t allowed herself to witness in six months.

She doesn’t know what’s safest, what her family is planning, what the total damage is. She needs her phone, she needs access to her company, she needs—

“Can I go with you?” is what she says.

Kara studies her, like the horizon staring back, and nods. She opens her hand, the thumb loop of her suit wrapping around her palm, and offers it to Lena.

She takes it, sliding her unsteady hand in place and breathes when Kara clasps their hands together.

—

Kara’s apartment smells the exact same.

She does not comment on this, though it’s the most prevalent thought in her mind. Kara lets her walk in first, speeding to the lamps and switching them on until the apartment is bathed in faint golden light. Fitting.

“Get cleaned up. I’ll have some spare clothes for you right outside the bathroom.” Kara passes her a towel, and she hugs it to her chest.

The water scalds her skin, stings the open scratches and cuts. And she revels in it, her alabaster skin reddening under the downpour of it. She savors it until the shower sputters a little and the hot water becomes tepid then becomes cold. She squeals and jumps away, hitting herself against the side of the shower stall and knocking half of the soaps and hair products off the shelf.

Kara is there in an instant, opening the door and getting soaked herself, trying to protect her.

Naked and broken, she looks up to the setting sun that is Kara’s concerned face, and then she starts laughing.

“I—the hot water ran out.”

Kara exhales, that cold water matting down her hair on her forehead as she protects Lena from the downpour. “Sorry, I never did call the landlord about it.”

She turns off the water behind her and steps out of the shower stall to pick up Lena’s towel for her. She opens the towel and turns away.

You’ve seen it all before, she wants to say, but doesn’t. Instead, she takes the towel and wraps it around herself, the cold beads of water from her hair clinging to her neck, her shoulder blades.

Kara steps aside, offers her a shy smile, and leaves wordlessly. Lena listens to the way she walks around the apartment, the clattering of the plates on the table.

She steps out and smiles when she finds spare clothes placed on a stool right outside the bathroom door.

When she next steps out of the bathroom, she is wearing Kara’s oversized shirt with a faded cartoon drawing of National City State Fair on it and a spare set of her pajama pants that she didn’t realize she’d forgotten, she'd thought Kara would have gotten rid of.

The spread of Chinese food on the coffee table is modest, but familiar.

She takes a seat in the spot she once proclaimed as hers, and accepts the plate from Kara’s grasp. They eat in silence with only the sound of the television playing on in the background.

Kara watches her—studying her, Lena’s sure—but doesn’t say anything. She talks about her week because Lena had asked, and so she gives it to Lena. They clear their plates, then she trails after Kara to the kitchen, parking herself on the kitchen island. Kara seems to anticipate her and passes a pint of Cherry Garcia towards her with a spoon on the lid.

“Good for concussions, I heard,” Kara offers, a twitch of a smile on her lips.

She laughs at that, surprised, but accepts the ice cream, opening the lid and taking a spoonful. “That’s tonsillitis.”

Kara shrugs but takes a spoonful of her own Rocky Road on the opposite side of the kitchen island. So much of right now exists superimposed to how things had been before, how their lives had been so entwined, so integrated. It is unnerving as it is comforting, and Lena accepts that for today, at least, she has to accept the disorientation.

Eventually, “here. I charged your phone. I’d call Sam first, then Jess.”

There is distance between them, far greater than the kitchen island in front of her, and it shows itself for the first time now, here. After everything.

“Kara, I—”

“I need to fill Alex in on everything. Let her know you’re alright. I’ll be right outside.”

She nods, glances at her phone and the laptop that Kara slides across the kitchen island, and watches as Kara walks out the front door.

For a solid hour, she works through everything she can considering her mild concussion. She touches base with her assistant, with her team, and finds that they have taken care of everything for her. She sighs in relief, shuddering into her hands when Sam and Jess let her know that they have everything handled, that all they want for her is to rest, that the investigation into her family’s attempt at assassinating her might finally have some legs with some information they’d discovered during the cleanup.

She sighs, sniffling into the back of her hand and tells them goodnight before she closes her phone and sobs into her hands, the day finally wearing her down.

She doesn’t startle when arms wrap around her, the press of a strong body kneeling in front of her as she cries into the crook of Kara’s neck. She grabs fistfuls of Kara’s shirt as her tears soak through the cotton.

Kara only holds onto her, rubbing her back and gently cradling Lena in her arms. Soft shushing filters through Lena’s ears and she sobs further into Kara, hoping Kara can just absorb her entirely, as if that’s the only thing that can protect her—from her family, from the world, from herself.

Her sobs lasts and lasts, a never ending fountain of all the tears she’d shoved back in, a dam bursting now that she’s allowed herself.

—

Kara carries her to the bed, quietly ushering her under the covers just as she sits on the edge of it.

“You saved me,” she says, her voice coming out slightly congested.

Kara brushes her hair behind her ear. “That promise has never changed.”

“They’re never going to stop, are they?”

Kara shakes her head.

“I thought by letting you g—” she huffs, turns away. “I thought I was protecting you. I was trying to do the right thing.”

Kara grabs hold of her hand and places it on her lap, her fingers fiddling with Lena’s palm, but doesn’t quite look at her.

“I’m afraid that the only times I will see you, I’m trying to save your life. And I—it worsens when I think that I can’t make it.”

Lena watches Kara’s beautiful profile, the expanse of her forehead, the slope of her nose into the curves of her lips and down her jutting chin, trembling slightly in the faint light outside the bedroom curtain. Then she sees the bob of Kara’s throat, a single tear falling into the center of her palm.

Kara’s facing her now, and Lena brings up her other hand to wipe Kara’s cheek.

“I missed you, Lena. And I don’t know what I will do if I can’t make it to you in time, I—”

This time, it’s Lena who pulls her close, wrapping the arm that Kara’s been focusing on around her front as she cradles Kara in her arms. “I’m sorry, darling,” she says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

Kara then turns in her arms and they embrace one another, both hiding in each other.

The tears stain and soak her neck, but she lets it, welcoming Kara’s weight after months of being so untethered.

“Please, just come back to me,” Kara says into her skin, muffled words that hold so much promise. “Let me take care of you. Let me protect you,”

Lena pulls back slightly. “You’d still—you’d still want me?”

“Let me love you again, Lena.”

Unable to hold her own tears back, Lena pushes forward until their lips meet. She angles her head and Kara kisses her back, the pair of them holding each other.

There is an ache to their reunion, but there is healing, too. And Lena remembers, unbidden, Dr. Shapiro’s words. It could have been worse, she’d heard.

But Lena wants it to be better. She deserves at least that, for all of her troubles, and if her family will aim for her and all that she loves, then she can’t hide herself in the shadows.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Tomorrow, she thinks, after the whispered declarations and the promises of more, of better, of a new day. Together.

“I’m here. I’m here. I love you, too. I’m here.”

#samfic #supercorp #inspired by a gifset #i'll post this on ao3 at some point i don't have time for now #anyway please enjoy #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x lena #karlena #supercorp sunday #god this is riddled with mistakes #i fixed most of them now #god will i ever write the things im supposed to #listen listen i promise i'm working #ok love u bye

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inuyashaluver · 7 months

Text

bad influence - katie mccabe

katie mccabe x reader

description: in which katie gets dangerously tackled during a match, when she gets up to defend herself, her sweetheart girlfriend is doing it already, earning herself her first ever red card

warnings: swearing

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

as the arsenal women’s team began to line up in the tunnel, you could hear the crowd outside cheering and waiting for your team's arrival. you began to shift your weight on your legs. left foot, right foot, a sense of unease present on your face. your cleats softly padding on the floor as the rest of the girls engage in conversation or keeping their heads down in preparation for the match.

your eyes look down in front of you until you feel two hands applying slight pressure onto your shoulders. you turn around to face the eyes of the slightly taller girl and she smiles down at you.

“you alright, baby?”

her hands slowly moving from your shoulders, trailing down your arms until they reach your hands, taking yours into hers.

everything in this moment is completely silent as her gentle voice sounded in your ears. katie, notoriously known for her expert defending skills, was assumed that her harsh exterior would match her insides, unaware that you, nicknamed “sweetheart”, completely turned her soft. (only for you of course)

“I’ve got a bad feeling about today, mccabe”

“woah! who do you think you’re talking to like that, missy, it’s baby to you!” her thick accent putting a smile on your face.

“baby,” you mocked, “please, just, don’t be reckless” you cringed as the words came out, scared she would be offended.

“sweetheart, come on! I’m always a good girl aren’t I?”

the older girl smiled and winked at you. you giggle at her antics. then, as you turn around to face the front, her strong arms snaked around your waist, head hiding in the crook of your neck and placing a quick kiss there, a pre-game tradition that katie swore was necessary before every match. before she pulls herself from your body, she quickly taps your butt, smirking as you turn towards her with a really convincing glare, knowing that you were only joking. then, you follow the other girls, you both walk towards the pitch, ready for the game ahead.

arsenal was in the lead and you, a star striker along with russo had a powerful dynamic duo, scoring goals left, right and centre. arsenal was up 4-0 and it was only 12 minutes into the second half. due to the frustration of the other team, everything became sloppy and restless, the tackles, the energy and even their passes. another play had started and arsenal has possession, alessia passes the ball to you and you expertly pass the ball to katie, not even needing to look up, your connection was spot on, both of you knowing where the other was the whole time.

you begin to run up while katie has the ball, as she was about to pass it back to you, her entire body gets slammed off the pitch by her marker and she collides with the floor, whistle sounding immediately.

katie couldn’t even comprehend what was going on, her arm covering her face and she lay on the pitch. you on the other hand had the marker’s jersey balled up in your hands.

“are you fucking serious? who the fuck do you think you are?!”

everyone on the pitch was silent listening to your argument, faces all around shocked. sweetheart cracked.

“you touch her like that again and you’ll be so fucking sorry i’ll make you swallow the ball whole, you got that?”

katie, now was sitting in an upright position, watching your little outburst play. her face was evident with worry, her injury was cleared by the medics for her to continue to play and you were walking off the pitch. she quickly got up and ran over to you as you got to the sidelines, she grabbed the base of your neck, fingers grazing over your jaw, forcing your eyes to her.

“don’t let this bring you down, my girl, I'll come and find you after the match, okay?”

you entered the change room, showered and immediately dressed into katie’s training hoodie, her perfume enveloping you sat in your cubby, directly next to katie’s. while waiting for katie, you began to pull out green and white string, resembling the ireland colours, you began to make a friendship bracelet just as your national team mate esme had taught you. by the time you had finished the bracelet, the girls had slowly infiltrated the room, the first one being your girlfriend.

she had worry and frustration plastered on her face but quickly smiled as she saw her hoodie on you, scrolling mindlessly on your phone, the number 15 shining on your heart. she quickened her steps and made her way in front of you, separating your knees and stepping in between them looking down at you.

“there’s my cheeky girl, I think I’m a bad influence on you, baby, I mean red’s your colour but not like that, darlin’”

she once again held your face, eyes full with adoration.

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you got hurt, katie. I would have lost it”

“my sweet girl looking out for me, getting a red card, best girlfriend ever”

she winked at you again and you wrapped your arms around her upper thighs, resting your chin on her stomach looking up at her with a slight pout.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you fell down, I just saw red and I couldn’t stop, I mean the nerve to fucking tackle you like that-”

katie leans down to place a short but passionate kiss, “baby, watching you get a red card for me has effects you won’t even imagine” you looked down, slightly embarrassed but flattered she found this attractive.

you looked down at the bench beside you and let go of katie’s legs excitedly, “look, baby! for you!” katie’s breath hitched, shocked at the handmade bracelet you had made for her in a time of your distress. even in your true sweetheart nature, you still do everything for her even when you needed to be there for yourself.

“my baby girl, I love you.” grinning as you grabbed her arm and delicately tied the bracelet, kissing the top of it when it was finally done.

“I love you more, mccabe”

“I’ll let that pass ‘cause you’re cute woman, let me shower and get your beautiful self in bed for katie cuddles.”

you nodded and smiled at her

“cuddles may be later though, I think I need to show you my appreciation for standing up for me like that.” she winked once again, something she knew made you weak at the knees

you laugh loudly and threw her towel, hitting her square in the face.

“we’ll see, katie, we’ll see” you wink, knowing you would do whatever she wants.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by stephcatley and 43,223 others

katie_mccabe11: my sweet girl, red is definitely your colour, but not on that silly little card 😉

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yourname: so when we get married, do I change my name to mccabe or mccard?

↳ katie_mccabe11: woman, I swear to god.

#katie mccabe x reader #woso x reader #arsenal #arsenal x reader #katie mccabe #woso community #woso #woso fanfics #woso one shot

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ohtobeleah · 10 months

Text

California Fornication //

Three — ‘Start Pretending’

Summary: Bob Floyd finds you and Hangman in a compromising position. There’s a lot more than meets the eye as to why Rooster chose his wife over you. He just hasn’t told you.

Warnings: Mentions of cheating. Love Triangle x2. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Jake Seresin xF!reader. Question ing Morality. Angst. Abusive of power in a relationship. Domestic abuse. SMUT!

Word Count: 2.9k

Author Note: First upload after my wedding. Had this idea swimming around in my brain all week.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Siren!”

It was all too much for your brain to comprehend. The man you’d been dating, the man you had begun to see a future with, the man who made you forget about all the boys who came before, was married. Bradley Bradshaw was a married man.

“Y/n—“ Bradley called after you as you made your way back to your car. Of all the days you could have parked closer, today was the day you decided to park all the way in the back row of the lot. “Would you just stop for five seconds so I can explain!”

You couldn’t begin to explain the way you felt. Betrayed, heartbroken, angry, used. Nothing really did the trick when trying to find the right adjective that perfectly described the sick bottomless pit your stomach had become as you scurried back to your car with Rooster hot on your tail. “Y/n! Please just let me explain!” Bradley begged as he caught up to you. His boots were heavy on the ground as he gripped at your wrist—turning you back to face him as he pleaded with you. “Please, just listen.”

“You know when would have been a perfect time to explain your situation, Rooster?” You hissed as you ripped your wrist from his grasp. “At the bar! The night we met!” It was damn near impossible to believe that the fact Bradley was married had never been discussed or even be divulged to you. By anyone. “Right now? I don’t wanna know, because I’m about three seconds away from getting in my car and running you down!” It’s the anger in your voice that frightens Rooster the most before he’s standing there, watching you walk away.

“We’re getting a divorce!” He shouts after you, jogging to catch up to you as you keep putting one foot in front of the other. “I don’t know what she’s doing here baby, you have to believe me.” It sounds as sincere as he can make it sound. “I never wanted you to find out like this, please—“ You pause in your stride, trying your best to keep the tears that had formed in your lower lash line from streaming down your cheeks. It’s to no avail though—they fall freely before the man who’d stolen your heart. “I swear to you, she’s nothing to me anymore.” Bradley’s voice softens as he steps a little closer all the while you step back. Keeping your distance. “I was going to tell you about it all.” He admitted through tears of his own. “About her. But it still hurts to think about it and when I’m with you Siren?” Bradley paused to soak in the way your eyes mimicked his own heartbreak. “It doesn't hurt.”

“I need to get home—“ You needed time to process the earth shattering news. “Please just let me go home, Rooster, before I have an aneurysm.”

“It doesn't hurt when I’m with you!” Bradley needed you to hear him out, so he kept talking as you walked away. He watched you dump your duffel into the backseat of your car as he spoke. “I mean it Siren, I don’t love her, I’m with you now and if I’m being perfectly honest here I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Bradley blocked you from opening your driver's side door. He said not a single word as he pulled you into him for a desperate kiss. Full of passion and love. Your lips melted with his as you tried to will yourself to be strong. But the tears kept falling.

“I need you to hear me out about this alright?” He whispered as he let your forehead rest against yours. “I promise I had every intention of telling you the truth. I told everyone not to so that I could tell you myself—I just didn’t know how and before I knew it we were official and the longer I waited the more scared I got about losing you.”

“You really mean it when you say you were getting a divorce?” You asked through wet lashes. Not sure of what to believe.

“I do.” Bradley confirmed before he was once again pulling you in for a kiss so passion filled it took the breath right out of your lungs. “I don’t settle for women who sleep with my best friend.”

“She cheated on you?” Your heart broke for the man who was currently blocking your driver's door as his arms draped over your shoulders.

“Walked in on them in the middle of it too.” You could see the memory playing out across Roosters eyes before he shook the memory from his mind. “I can’t go back to her, not when I’ve got you. So please, stay, hear me out Siren.” You let Bradley’s plea linger in the atmosphere around you before you reached up to kiss him once more for good measure.

“If you really want me to listen and you really want to lay all this out on the table—I’ll be at the Hard Deck tonight for two for one night at seven o’clock .” You explained. “I’ll book a table on the dining side, and I’ll listen.”

“I’ll be there.” Bradley smiled against your neck as he drew you in for a hug. “I’ll tell Katie to leave, I’ll tell her it’s over, completely, and I’ll be there.” Bradley Bradshaw had said that his marriage was over with enough conviction in his voice that he actually had you believing it. But as it turned out? You ended up sitting alone in a booth at the Hard Deck for two hours. And when Bradley did eventually show? He came hand in hand with his wife.

“She looks so heartbroken.” Phoenix whispered to Bob as they watched you stand from the now empty booth they’d seen you sitting alone at for the past two hours. They’d tried their best to sit with you, but you insisted you were fine.

You’d seen Bradley walk in, and within a millisecond your heart shattered into a million pieces. It was all the explanation you needed, seeing Rooster with his wife. Things were over between you. He’d chosen her. Why? Why her?

“We should—“

“We should really stay out of whatever mess this is Nix.” Bob sighed as he watched you push past the crowd and exit from the same door Rooster and his estranged wife had just come through. “Something tells me this is gonna get messy and I can’t afford to be picking and choosing sides when I entrust my life to you guys for work.”

“He’s an idiot—“ Phoenix shook her head as she took a sip of her beer, eyeing off the woman who’d destroyed her own marriage and a friendship that she once thought was unbreakable. “For going back to her.”

“Love makes you do crazy things—“ Bob replied as he caught Rooster looking around the Hard Deck while Katie spoke with Fanboy. He was looking for you. “Crazy, stupid things.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Oh my god—!” Jake Seresin couldn’t have been buried any deeper inside you if he tried. “Fucking hell you’re so tight.” He moaned into the juncture of your neck as he bucked his hips into you. The two of you had switched positions—you were now the one sitting on the bathroom countertop with your legs wrapped around Jake's waist. “Why’d Bradshaw let you go huh? Tightest little pussy I’ve ever been up in.” It felt so wrong but oh so right at the same time—like you were made for him and only him.

“Did you say that to Rooster's wife too?” You teased as Jake sucked perfect pressure against your pulse point. The two of you could be compromised by anyone at any moment. The unisex bathroom the pair of you were in was one of two.

“Oh you’ve got a mean streak don’t you?” Jake smirked as his hand moved from your hip to your throat. Applying a little pressure. “And no, his dirty little mistress is a better fuck.” It sent shivers down your exposed spine. “Wanna get outta here? Come back to mine?”

“Not until you finish what you started here first.” You could feel it coming, swirling around your core, the build up of pressure so intense it was damn near electric. “I’m so close—“

“Oh don’t you worry a pretty little hair on that head of yours, Siren.” Jake snarled as he picked up and pace and pulled your hair back just enough to expose your neck for him to mark up. “I’m gonna get you exactly where you wanna go.” He was so cocky, so sure of himself it was almost infuriating. “Touch yourself for me.” But yet here you were, doing exactly as you were told as Jake fucked deep into you with everything he had. Throbbing inside your velvet walls. “That’s it Siren, look at you.” He teased as you moaned and whimpered for more. “Tell me what you want—“

“I wanna cum!” You cried as Jake chuckled with a devilish smirk that made your core ignite with lust and need. “Please—“

“I ain’t stopping you darlin.” Jake kissed your lips harshly to stop the drool that was nearly dripping out of you. “You wanna cum all over my dick then go ahead and do it, I’m sure Rooster won’t mind.” Oh but he would mind, that you both knew. Which is what made this all the more exhilarating. “Or maybe he’ll try to kill me.”

“Oh fuck!!” You were so close, your high was right there. “Jake! Fuck yes I’m gonna cum—“ He was right behind you, fucking into your until he was nearly seeing stars. “Don’t stop!”

“Ohhh god I’m right with you—“ Through a mix of moans and grunts and a need to get each other off, neither you nor Jake heard the knob of the bathroom door creek open to reveal an unsuspecting Robert Floyd. He stood there dumbfounded and shocked to no end, watching as your eyes rolled into the back of your head as it hit the mirror behind you. Your chest was perky and exposed. Jake's face was buried in your chest and he hooked his arms around the small of your waist and spilled his load inside you. Stilling with a grunt of pure ecstasy as he came with you. “Fuck.”

“Are you kidding me?” Bob thought he was speechless, but as it turned out he had a thing or two to say. Jake turned his head in the direction of where Bob's voice had come from as he entered the bathroom and locked the door behind himself. “Are you certifiably insane!?”

“What can I say Floyd.” Jake smirked as he pulled out of you and stuffed himself back into his jeans. You hopped down on the counter, leaking with Jake's load, searching for your clothes behind him. Completely mortified that Bob had seen you so exposed. “Bradshaw has an exquisite taste in women.”

“I really did feel bad for you, you know.” Bob did his best to ignore Jake's comment as he turned his attention to where you were getting dressed. “We all did, because we should have told you.” He tried to hold his tongue as he bit the inside of his cheeks. But it was coming out regardless. Bob needed to say it. “But you know what Jake did and yet here you are, so don’t come crawling to anybody for sympathy when Rooster finds out about this.”

“Last time I checked Bob—“ Jake puffed his chest a little as he took a step closer to where Bob stood. “Roosters happily married, so Siren here is free to fuck whoever she damn pleases.” Jake reminded the usually meek WSO. “But if you wanna be the one to tell Bradley about this then by all means, have at it.” Jake paused as the two men came face to face, toe to toe. “But make sure you’re ready to duck the second you taddle, he puts his weight behind those punches, and I don’t think those weak ass glasses would withstand a shot like that.”

“Jake—“ You broke the tension with a gentle hand to the small of Jake's waist. “Let’s just get out of here yeah?” You reminded him softly as Bob held his stare. Disappointed beyond belief that you would go anywhere near Jake Seresin. “Let’s just go.”

“Don’t let Penny hear you disrespect a lady like that.” Jake smirked to himself as he fixed his shirt. “She might just make you pay for a round.” Jake reached for your hand as he opened the Bathroom door. “Good to see you again Bob.” It wasn’t long after Jake had the final word that he was pulling you out of the bathroom, past the rest of the Daggers who didn’t know what to think seeing the two of you rush out of the Hard Deck together and out into the carpark.

“You didn’t have to stand up for me like that, you know.” You broke to silence as Jake opened up the passenger side door of his Ford F150, offering you a hand up that you so graciously accepted. “I can look after myself.”

“It’s nothing—“ Jake insisted as he leaned in to kiss you, soaking up the fact all eyes were on the pair of you through the window. From Phoenix to Coyote who all knew this was going to end as badly as it did the last time. “Us dirty mistresses gotta stick together.”

You hardly knew this man yet he was so endearing. The thought of getting to know Jake made you crave his attention all that much more. But you knew what this was—a fling, a rebound, a wrong turn if you will. Because Jake loved Katie and you were still pretty positive that you loved Bradley.

“To the dirty mistress' clubhouse.” You smiled as Jake beamed at you. “Hope you have a nice bedroom.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“No no no no I don’t think you understand what I’m saying to you Kate.” Bradley hissed as he paced back and forth in his living room. His handles fell to his hips in frustration and he burnt track marks into his carpet. “It’s over, we’re done, I don’t love you enough to want to put the work in!” It was all falling on deaf ears, Bradley’s pleas, his feelings. “I can’t be with someone who broke my heart the way you did.” All Bradley had ever wanted was what his parents had.

“You want to file for divorce Rooster, that’s fine.” Katie Beadshaw had another name before she met Rooster. Her maiden name was Katherine Ferguson. To those in uniform ‘Ferguson’ carried a title like no other and right now, it was Katie’s only okay to keep her husband in a marriage she ruined. “But just take a look at these first.” Katie pulled a handful of papers from her purse. They held a weight like no other. A power Bradley couldn’t fight.

“What are these?” Rooster snatched the slightly crumpled papers from his wife’s hand. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw what they were. “You’re kidding right? You can’t be serious! This is insane!!”

“Signed by daddy dearest himself.” Katie smirked as she stepped closer to Bradley, just so she could walk her fingers up his heaving chest. “I’m sure Siren would be thrilled to be presented with dishonorable discharge papers signed by the chief of Navy himself.” Bradley never thought the woman he married could be so cold, so cruel, so dangerous. “But hey, go ahead and divorce me, because I’d love to watch her world burn down to the ground and take you for every cent you’re worth.” Katie snickered all the while Bradley tore the papers up. “S’okay, they weren’t the real ones honey.”

“You vicious little bitch.” Bradley spat as he stepped away and ran his hand frustratedly through his sandy locks. “What do you want from me! You slept with my best friend! You broke my fucking heart Kate and now you’re blackmailing the me!? Threatening the girl who actually gives enough of a shit about me? For what huh?” Rooster felt like he couldn’t breathe, he was meant ro be with you at the Hard Deck, explaining everything—how exactly was he supposed to explain this.

“I want you back.” Katie cooed and all Bradley did was scoff. “You aren’t going to tell her about any of this either.” He followed through. “Because if you do I’ll make sure her career ends before she even knows what it’s like to be loved by you.”

“I DON'T LOVE YOU!” Bradley shouted, he couldn’t have been more clear if he tried to be before Katie’s open palm made a stinging connection against his cheek. He stood there in shock, never once had Bradley ever hit a woman but fuck this would definitely be the closest he’d gotten.

“Well you better start pretending!” Katie hissed. “Because I’m not going anywhere.” Within a second of her fit of rage and need for utter control, Katie was smiling, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to the same cheek she’d just slapped.

“Dinner at the Hard Deck baby, my treat.” Not sure what to do, Bradley nodded silently as he swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. Realising that he’d just found himself in a webb his wife had spun to keep him, and realising soon after that he’d just lost the best thing that has ever happened to him.

You.

Because there wasn’t a chance in hell you’d ever forgive him, or believe him now.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

#california fornication #bradley bradshaw #Jake Seresin #maverick top gun #top gun fanfic #top gun x reader #jake seresin x reader #bradley bradsaw x reader #jake seresin x f!reader #Bradley bradshaw x f!reader #jake seresin smut #bradley bradshaw angst

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its-your-mind · 2 years

Text

“oh clearly jon feels no emotions and is in complete control of himself at all times. this man is a logic machine.”

did we??? listen to the same podcast?????? this man feels first, thinks later. there is a strong emotion? get ready for jonathan jarchivist sims to act on it with little-to-no second thoughts. rational thinking who. we throw ourselves full force at the first thought that comes into our head. like, we are talking about the man who:

busted into the office of a guy he hadn’t talked to more than twice since he woke up from a six month coma, sincerely offering to gouge out his eyes and run away with him, and was Absolutely Gobsmacked when he was refused

was prefectly ready to let a face-stealing monster live… right up until it reminded him that it had killed his friend without him realizing (that “…what did you say” is one of the lines that gives me GOOSEBUMPS every time)

dove headfirst into a pile of evil sentient worms to grab a tape recorder bc he was so determined to not die as aNOTHER GODDAMN MYSTERY

let his survivor’s guilt from when he was eight drive the major decisions he made for the rest of his life

threw himself into a fear dimension of evil loneliness to save the man he loved (who had refused to speak to him for months) at the probable expense of himself who knows

had so much MALICE in his voice when he killed peter lukas like damn girl you do not get that emotional when you’re just killing someone bc they’re evil or whatever. there was Hatred there. go off queen.

literally was willing to sacrifice an entire WORLD so that no one would ever f e e l what he had to feel when jonah voicesnatched him

LITERALLY speedran a love story in like six weeks in scotland. this man was SO READY to be in love it’s ridiculous. so was martin. I love them sm

heard his predecessor was dead

came to the conclusion that he was next

what should we do with this?

oh I know

stalk every one of my coworkers bc clearly one of them is out to get me

committed himself to living in the archives forever bc he didn’t want to put georgie or “god forbid the admiral” in danger (has his priorities STRAIGHT he does)

oh annabelle caine has martin? and an artifact that completely knocks me on my ass and takes away all my powers? off to hilltop road we go come on basira we have spider ass to kick

threw himself into a coffin to save a woman who LITERALLY was ABOUT TO KILL HIM bc he just wanted to HELP and everyone around him was HURTING SO MUCH

was insulted when a statement giver called the institute stupid and immediately discarded all professionalism and clapped back by calling her wildly successful youtube series dumb

also immediately discarded all professionalism when disgusted by a teeth apple “we do NOT want it.” like damn bro this traumatized doctor brought this bone apple teeth proof in for you and you are too grossed out to grin and bear it

was slightly annoyed by the fact that martin was not the Ideal Assistant. Offhandedly mentioned on an official recording that he wanted an evil flesh witch to slowly kill his literal employee by a series of freak accidents that resulted in the loss of one body part at a time. this man has no chill whatsoever.

took so much satisfaction in killing jonah magnus. like jonah told him not to be dramatic and jon PROMPTLY started monologuing while stabbing douchard directly in the chest.

“I don’t want to die”

“Neither did they.” FUCK YES QUEEN GO OFF GET HIS SMARMY VICTORIAN ASS

sounded so SMUG when he told the eye he was gonna go apologize to his boyfriend. like yeah stupid all-powerful fear god I have a BOYfriend and I LOVE him suck on THAT

remember when he decided to doom his whole world bc he wanted to stop anyone else from feeling like he did? yeah that plan went out the window fuckin imMEDIATely as soon as his beloved martin walked into the room. oh, he’s in the world I’m going to be dooming? well fuck didn’t consider that part. welp guess he’s just gonna have to stab me. and then we will hold each other and declare our love and kiss and hope to still be alive and together somehow as the world collapses around us. our love didn’t save us but it was here and that mattered. okay list cancelled I’m gonna go curl up in a ball for a little bit. ty for your time.

#jonathan sims #the archivist #tma #tma spoilers #the magnus archives #jonmartin #listen martin got a list of unhinged actions #now jon gets his own list of no thoughts head empty only vibes #balanced #as all things should be

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webslinger-holland · 3 months

Text

Best Pilot in the Galaxy | Tech from The Bad Batch

Summary: During a mission, Tech has a hard time allowing his ship to be driven by someone else.

Warning: slight angst and argument

Pairing: Tech x Fem!Reader Pilot

Type: Oneshot

The Marauder was sitting on a world in the Outer Rim called Cassander. It was a lush, green planet with a few major bodies of water. However, most notably, the planet was growing in population and had recently become Ord Mantell's most competitive trading rival.

The ship was nearly empty, except for a singular pilot sitting in the cockpit. She was not the rightful owner of the ship, but had been assigned this mission with the group of rouge clones that did own the ship. The squad was located somewhere in the capital city nearby, attempting to steal the package in which they had come for. The pilot waited patiently for the pickup call.

Now, the pilot had been waiting for nearly two hours for the call to come through the comms. She did everything she could think of to pass the time, which included rummaging through the squad's belongings. Though she didn't find anything of value.

The gonk droid made a noise as he waddled into the cockpit. The pilot went through the ship's log, seeing all the planets the squad had recently visited. Their last stop happened to be Ord Mantell where they were assigned this mission in particular.

"Y/n! Come in," Hunter's voice sounded desperate over the comms. She quickly jolted forward in her seat, pressing the button to relay a message back.

"Read you loud and clear," Y/n responded. She began clicking buttons on the control panel, preparing the ship for liftoff.

"We need a pick up. We've been compromised," Hunter explained. He was panting on the other end of the line, which probably meant they were running.

"What part of stealth mission is so hard to understand?"

"Just hurry. We don't have a lot of time. They're sending air support," Hunter warned her.

"Oh great," Y/n scoffed sarcastically.

"I'm sending you our coordinates," Tech interjected over the communications.

As the Marauder departed off the ground, the landing gear retracted back into the ship. The wings moved downwards as the ship was angled towards the sky. The engine roared to life; the ship began flying towards the rendezvous location.

The workers from the trading post were shooting their blasters at the criminals running away from them. They tried to keep up with them, firing relentlessly as they got away with some of their own goods.

It was Wrecker, Hunter, and Tech who were carrying the heavy cargo in the form of a shipping container. Normally, it would take four guys to carry the cargo, but since Wrecker was so strong, he was able to carry the left side without help. Behind them, Echo and Omega fired shots back at the workers. They covered them as the rest ran as fast as they could.

"Whatever is in here, it better be worth it." Wrecker grunted, dodging the blaster fire.

"As long as we get paid," Hunter responded.

The small squad continued running through the vast forest, maneuvering around trees in hopes of using its coverage to their advantage. They came into a clearing with the workers getting closer each second. All of the sudden, a cliff came into their view which caused them to halt in their place.

"Where's our ride?" Echo asked desperately. He peered around his shoulder with his gun still raised.

"There!" Omega pointed into the sky.

The Marauder rounded the corner of the mountain, coming into their line of view. It flew over to the edge of the cliff to meet them. The ramp lowered to hover right by the cliff, allowing the squad to climb aboard the vessel.

The blaster fire was beginning to hit the sides of the ship. The squad fired back, striking a few of the workers down. Once everyone was aboard, Hunter slammed the button on the side of the wall so the ramp was lifted.

"That's everyone," Hunter shouted. "Get us out of here!"

"Roger that," Y/n said.

Pulling a lever, the thrusters sent a powerful volt back which propelled the ship forward rapidly. By steering the ship, Y/n directed the ship back into the mountain range. She could hear the air support coming up behind them. She took a sharp turn to deter them.

The sharp turn caused each member of the squad to loose their footing and grab something nearby to steady themselves. Carefully, Tech quickly made his way into the cockpit. He leaned over the back of the pilot's seat, resting his hand on the panel for support. He hadn't taken the time to remove his helmet.

"That is sufficient," Tech announced to the pilot. "I'll take it from here."

"A little busy here," Y/n stated instead. She turned the wheel to the left, taking another sharp turn which made everything in the ship turn that way. And Tech ended up leaning a little into her.

"Wrecker," Tech ordered. He moved to sit in the co-pilot seat which was where Echo usually sat. "Get to the tail gun."

There were at least six smaller ships following them at this point, firing as many rounds as possible. The Marauder swayed to the left and right, expertly dodging each blast aimed at them. In the tail gun, Wrecker got into position before firing back at the ships. He managed to hit one of them, but it wasn't enough to bring the ship down.

Back in the cockpit, Tech began pressing a few buttons on the control panel. The pilot glared at him through the corner of her eye, knowing exactly what he was trying to do. She maintained her grip on the sides of the wheel.

"Transitioning controls back to co-pilot," Tech announced. He went to press the final red button, but she swatted his hand away. "What are you doing?" Tech demanded an explanation.

"I know how to fly," Y/n said through gritted teeth. Her eyes were still facing forward as she focused on the task at hand.

"I never said you didn't," Tech informed her. "I am simply stating that I am ready to transition controls back to me as I am more capable of flying this vessel than you. It is my ship after all," Tech said as a matter of factly.

Hunter rolled his eyes in the background. He knew it was pointless to argue over the comment.

"You weren't hired to be the pilot for this mission," Y/n argued back. "I can get us out of this."

With that comment, one of the blaster fires struck the right wing which caused it to catch on fire. The two of them peered out the window, spotting the trail of black smoke falling behind the hit.

"You were saying?" Tech replied. He gestured to the damage done to his ship. She rolled her eyes at him.

A few more ships began trailing behind them. They began firing more shots towards them. There was no way one ship could take the whole fleet down.

"Uh guys," Wrecker announced from the tail gun. "We've got more incoming."

Ignoring the comment, Tech quickly transitioned controls back to his wheel before the other pilot could protest. He gripped the wheel harshly, moving the wheel to take a sharp left hand turn. The ship was forced to swerve around the side of the mountain; a few of the enemy ships crashed into the sides as a result. She switched controls back to her wheel, taking a right hand turn. The ship weaved around another mountainside.

Behind the googles of his helmet, Tech squinted his eyes in slight irritation. He changed controls once again. He quickly grabbed onto the lever, pulling it backwards so the thrusters gave another jolt of energy. Now they were flying a little faster.

Nevertheless, another blaster hit managed to strike the back of the ship. The Marauder jolted forward from the force of the blast. The two pilots lurched forward in their seats. The others continued to hold onto things for support.

"You aren't doing much better," Y/n replied snakily. She reached forward to press the button once more. She turned the wheel as far as she could, which caused the ship to completely turn around. She pulled the lever for the extra push.

"What are you doing?" Tech exclaimed. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

Down in the tail gun, Wrecker began firing at the ships flying directly in front of them. With his expertise, he struck down three ships. Those ships exploded into a million pieces, fierce flames erupting around them. The Marauder flew through the fire without taking damage.

The enemy ships needed to turn around before continuing their chase. They quickly swerved their ships. Once the ships were facing the right way, the thrusters kicked in for that extra power. And the enemy continued their pursuit.

"I will only say this one more time," Tech's modulated voice spoke through his helmet. He turned to face her in his seat. His eyes looked angry behind his googles. "Relinquish controls now."

"Over my dead body," Y/n challenged him. She didn't take her eyes off him.

In the background, Hunter and Echo seemed to raise their eyebrows at the two pilots. They looked between them, half expecting one of them to cave in and go back to flying the ship. But neither of them faltered.

"Uh guys," Omega interrupted them.

Both of them directed their line of attention back towards flying the ship. With a quick maneuver, they managed to dodge the mountain they were heading straight for at the last second. A few more ships crashed into it.

"You're both going to get us all killed if you don't figure something out," Hunter shouted behind them.

Reaching forward, Y/n went to press a few more buttons, but Tech swatted her hand away this time. He went ahead and pressed his own buttons. He was punching in the coordinates for their destination.

"You are not the best pilot in the galaxy," Y/n claimed. She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. He kept putting in the coordinates.

"Hardly a measurable cause," Tech said with a roll of his eyes in annoyance.

"You haven't made the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs," Y/n added. It was like she was insisting that it could be measurable.

"I have a theory that it can be done in twelve," Tech stated as a matter of factly.

"I highly doubt that," Y/n chuckled at the comment.

Suddenly, Y/n pressed the wheel forward with all of her might. The ship began to descend down at a rapid pace, shifting into a nose dive position. The ground was growing closer and closer with each second. The enemy ships following right behind them, firing non-stop.

Both Hunter and Echo were holding onto panels behind them. The force of falling forwards was pushing them back. They were unable to move.

"You have to pull up--" Tech ordered in a slight panic.

"Oh for the last time," Y/n shouted over him. "I know what I'm doing!"

At the last possible second, the wonderfully skilled pilot pulled the wheel into her chest so that the ship was pulled up. It was so close to touching the ground, but it missed it by a hair. The last two ships crashed into the ground, exploding suddenly and sending debris flying.

Now that the threat of the chase was finally over, Y/n could relax in her seat a little. The rest of the squad was completely silent, realizing that she had managed to get them out of the situation with little damage in the end. Beside her, Tech kept his eye on her since he was still angry with her.

The Marauder started to climb in altitude, shifting towards the edge of the planet's atmosphere. It finally passed through the atmosphere, flying through space. The stars throughout the galaxy sparkled as the planet grew small and smaller. It was now all behind them.

"Are the coordinates to Ord Mantell in?" Y/n wondered. Her voice was so much calmer now. Her shoulders slumped at her sides. But she refused to make eye contact.

"Yes. They are in," Tech informed her softly. His eyes softened behind his helmet. He studied her carefully, trying to figure out what she was thinking in that brain of hers. He quickly shook it off, directing his attention back towards the void of space in front of them.

Without thinking, Tech and Y/n went to reach for the lever to send them into hyperspace. Their hands grazed each other's with neither of them being any closer to the lever than the other. They both awkwardly pulled their hands away upon contact.

"I'm sorry," Y/n muttered under her breath.

He wasn't sure if she was apologizing for the situation they just came out of or the situation that just occurred with the lever. Nevertheless, she reached for the lever once again, pulling it back to send the ship into hyperspace.

Back at Ord Mantell, the Bad Batch went back to Cid's Parlor. They stood on the other side of her desk, having just delivered the cargo that she paid them to retrieve. She peered into the package, checking to make sure everything was there.

Behind the group, Y/n stood there in total silence. Her eyes were trained on the floor as she shifted in her place awkwardly. She waited for their boss to address them.

Beside her, Tech stood about an arm's length away. He glanced at her through the corner of his eye, taking note of her odd demeanor. He raised his finger and opened his mouth to say something to her, but he was rudely cut off.

"Looks like everything is here," Cid announced. She closed the cargo container. She began rummaging through her drawers, collecting the correct amount of credits to pay both parties.

Now Y/n went to take a few steps forward and made her way through the members of the squad. She stood in front of the desk. Her boss went ahead and placed a handful of credits in her hand.

"That is your cut," Cid told her. She handed the rest of the credits to Hunter. "And here is your cut. I'll call you when I have another job," Cid claimed.

There was a brief moment of silence in the room. Cid went to cross her arms over her chest. She narrowed her eyes at the company of six standing in front of her.

"You guys work well together," Cid said honestly. "You should work together more often."

In response, Y/n breathed a scoff under her breath. The boys turned their heads to look at her, slightly surprised at her reaction. She shook her head in denial.

"Yeah. Like that's ever going to happen," Y/n rolled her eyes at the notion.

Without hesitation, she spun around on the heels of her feet in order to head towards the door. She purposely bumped into Tech's shoulder a little too harshly. She left the room with the door closing behind her.

"What's wrong with her?" Cid scoffed. She looked at the rest of the squad for some form of explanation, but none of them said anything. "Fine! Be all quiet and mysterious. See if I care," Cid said.

By the time the Bad Batch left Cid's office, Y/n was nowhere to be found in the bar. They went to sit down at the bar so they could order drinks to celebrate another successful mission. They sat in complete silence, thinking about what transpired during the mission.

"Where do you think she's gone?" Echo wondered.

Though they never pulled missions together, the Bad Batch knew that the pilot worked for Cid and was stationed at Ord Mantell. They had seen her quite often over the past few months. They had grown familiar of her. And now they worried about her.

"The odds are that she returned to her flat," Tech explained. He pushed the bridge of his googles up to be more secure on his face. He kept his focus on his data pad.

"Probably," Hunter shrugged his shoulders. "But it's late. Which means it's dark out."

"Astute observation," Tech claimed sarcastically. He gave a single nod, but didn't take his eyes off his data pad.

"And she's walking back to her flat...at the edge of town...late at night," Hunter further explained.

"She will be fine," Tech stated. He knew where he was going with this. "She is always saying how she can take care of herself and doesn't need our help. Why would that change now?"

The other members remained silent. They turned their heads to take quick glances at one another. With a silent agreement, Hunter rose to his feet and went to stand by Tech. He roughly grabbed his shoulders and hoisted him out of his seat, much to his dismay.

"Go find her. Make sure she gets home safe. And apologize to her," Hunter ordered.

"I do not see why I have to be the one to apologize when I did noth--" Tech began. He was quickly cut off.

"Tech," Hunter said in a warning tone of voice. He crossed his arms over his chest, showing that he meant business.

"Fine," Tech said in defeat. "I will apologize."

With some hesitation, Tech grabbed his helmet and fitted it over his head. He began making his way towards the door of the parlor, leaving the rest of his crew behind. He walked through the deserted streets of Ord Mantell, passing a few shady people in the process.

Now Tech knew that she lived near the edge of town because she had once mentioned it during a conversation. Besides that, Tech really didn't know where to look and simply hoped he'd bump into her before she got home so he'd know she was safe. He passed by a few alleys, peeking through each one briefly.

The Marauder was parked in a hanger bay only a few blocks away from the parlor. Just as Tech passed by the hanger, he heard a familiar voice coming from his very own ship. He backtracked by taking two steps backwards. He peered into the hangar bay to glance at his ship.

Stepping into the bay, Tech tilted his head to the side in slight curiosity. The right wing of the ship began to move downwards until it lay completely horizontal. A few seconds later, Y/n began descending down the ramp with a toolbox in hand. She walked over to the wing of the ship.

Upon seeing her, Tech sharply inhaled. He felt the back of his throat close up and his shoulders tensed at his sides. He hesitantly took a few steps forward, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

Reaching upwards, Y/n placed the single toolbox onto the flat surface of the ship's wing. She proceeded to grab onto the wing before hoisting herself up onto it. She climbed to the center of the wing to assess the damage inflicted in the crossfire.

At this point, Y/n had no idea that he was also in the hanger bay with her. She opened the toolbox, rummaging through to find the right tool. The damage done to the right wing was a massive gaping hole with burnt edges from the fire. It would eventually need a panel welded to cover it up again. But for now, she focused on the internal repairs.

Thankfully, from the assessment, nothing major had been hit. A few bolts had gotten loose and a few parts needed to be replaced. She focused on that for now.

After grabbing a socket spanner, Y/n leaned down to place her arm into the gaping hole of the wing. It went so far down that her chest was practically pressed against the surface of the wing. She used the spanner to tighten some bolts.

"What...are you doing?" Tech decided to finally announce his presence. He stepped forward until he stood in the light coming from the opening of the hanger bay.

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Y/n only rolled her eyes to herself. She continued her work as she preferred to focus on repairs rather than on him. She grunted softly, making sure that first bolt was nice and tight.

"What do you want Tech?" Y/n wondered. She pulled her arm out of the hole to assess her work. She didn't even bother to glance towards him, knowing he would have sent her a look of disapproval for working on his ship.

Slowly, Tech began to lower his gaze to the floor. He contemplated his next words carefully, fighting the urge to lash out at her for meddling with his ship. He liked things to be a certain way and would have much preferred if he did the actual repairs. Now Tech didn't want to fight with her so he changed his approach.

"I analyzed that you left the parlor on your own and thought it would be better if I accompany you back home," Tech explained. She huffed at his answer.

"I've told you before," Y/n began. "I can--"

"Take care of yourself," Tech finished. He adjusted the lenses of his goggles though he still wore his helmet. He noticed how she fell silent. "Yes, I've gathered that much."

"Why are you really out here?" Y/n wondered. She went to lean down again in order to tighten more bolts.

"I...could ask you the same," Tech replied slowly. He honestly felt like this was the first civil conversation they had ever had.

"I wanted to make some repairs on your precious ship since it was apparently my fault," Y/n claimed. Her tone sounding a little harsher now. She tightened two more bolts in the process.

"That is not what I meant," Tech interjected. He took a step forward. He gazed up at her figure perched on the wing, attempting to reason with her. "I was...caught up in the moment. Shouldn't have said those things," Tech confessed quietly.

"Well, don't worry. As soon as I finish up these repairs, I'll leave and you'll never have to see me again," Y/n responded.

For some reason, Tech couldn't combat a response to her comment. He simply nodded his head understandingly. He lowered his gaze to stare down at the ground and allowed her to finish her repairs in silence. He thought for some time how he could fix this relationship since it wasn't his strong suit. Fixing things was more his style.

"Blast," Y/n's voice pulled him out of his train of thought. He glanced up at her.

The sleeve of her blue flight suit had gotten in the way of her repairs. She had rolled her sleeves up to keep the material out of her way, but the sleeves continued to fall back down to her wrists every time she placed her arm in the hole. She pulled back and rose to her feet.

Without hesitation, Y/n's hands flew to the top button of her flight suit. She began to undue the buttons in which she revealed the black tank top underneath. All the while, Tech studied her carefully as her nimble fingers worked steadily. His pupils dilated behind those goggles of his.

Upon reaching her waistline, Y/n had stopped unbuttoning and shrugged the suit off her shoulders. She tied the sleeves around her waist. She dropped to her knees to continue working without the distraction of her clothes getting in the way.

Slowly, Tech raised his hand to the side of his head and clicked the bottom to save the recording to the drive. He records everything and he was certainly glad he recorded that. He wanted to revisit the recording later for his own 'research' purposes.

"There," Y/n sighed. She sat back on her knees, wiping her dirty hands on the pants of her flight suit. "Repairs are finished."

Naturally, Y/n began to pack away the tools she used and placed them back into the box. She closed the lid of the toolbox, tossing it over the edge of the wing for it to land on the ground with a thump. She then proceeded to jump down off the wing of the ship, landing a little hard so her knees buckled slightly.

Just like she promised, Y/n had every intention of leaving the hanger bay so that they'd never have to see her again. She went to walk away, but just as she passed beside him, Tech reached out and grabbed her forearm. She halted in her steps.

Neither of them could look at each other. She felt his gloved fingers digging into her bare skin, but not hard enough that it would leave marks. She slowly turned to look at him, but he kept his head down.

"I...really came here to apologize," Tech confessed. When Tech lifted his gaze to meet her face, he saw how her eyebrows went up in slight surprise. It definitely caught her off guard.

"I see," Y/n thought about his words carefully. She shifted her balance from one foot to the other. "So all those things you said back on Cassander where just...what?"

He closed his eyes, seriously regretting everything he said. "Like I said earlier, in the moment, I was incredibly frustrated with you."

"Because I wouldn't give up the controls?" Y/n said flatly.

"No, because I recognize that my levels of dopamine are elevated when I'm around you and I distance myself from you in order to prevent that from happening,” Tech confessed before he could even stop himself.

But now, hearing what he just said, Tech quickly averted his gaze away from her. He was thankful to be wearing his helmet so she wouldn't see how bright his cheeks had gotten. He released his grip on her arm, letting it fall back down to his side.

For once, Y/n actually understood what he said. Her eyebrows rose in surprise at this sudden confession. She definitely did not expect him to blurt out his emotions that night, especially after their fight on the ship. She knew better than to tease him at a time like this.

"I-I don't understand why," Tech said rather sadly. That was the first time that he'd spoken those words out loud.

What broke her heart was the tone of defeat laced with his words. It told her that he'd been wrestling with these foreign emotions and thoughts for some time. He didn't know how to react around her and so he acted with defense. He pushed those feeling away, fighting against it.

Hesitantly, Y/n lifted her hands to the sides of his helmet. She went to remove his helmet slowly, revealing his face to her for the first time today. She tossed the helmet to the side without a care in the world, but he still refused to meet her gaze.

"You are probably repulsed by me," Tech began. "From the way I treated you and the words I said to--"

But Tech wasn't able to finish that sentence. Because Y/n had taken his face in her hands and leaned upwards to press her lips against his own. He froze in his place.

His eyes were wide open in surprise. His hands were elevated on either side of him because he didn't know what to do with them. He could feel the softness of her lips still against his own. Before Tech had the chance to process what was happening, Y/n pulled away from him.

The two of them were standing so close together; the chests being pressed against one another's. Their breath mingled as their noses bumped together once or twice. He glanced down at her lips because he wanted nothing more than to taste them once more.

His hands found their way down to her hips with one hand sneaking around her lower back. He pressed that hand into her back which brought her body even closer to his. She released a small gasp.

"Apology accepted," Y/n whispered to him. She played with the edge of the plastoid armor on his chest. "And I'm sorry for the way I acted towards you."

"Why cyare?" Tech wondered. He raised his hand to the side of her face, tucking a single strand of hair behind her ear. He held his hand against her cheek.

"I should have given up the controls. You are the better pilot and it is your ship," Y/n explained with a shake of the head.

"I am not the better pilot," Tech stated firmly.

There was a moment of silence between them. "I can't make split second decisions and calculations like you do when you're flying."

"Well, I've never done the Kessel Run." Tech argued back playfully. He smiled down at her. "At least, not in twelve parsecs."

"Fourteen," Y/n corrected him. "I did it in fourteen."

"Fine. Fourteen," Tech caved in.

Slowly, Tech tilted his head to the side and began to lean down with every intention of kissing her again. But the two of them were interrupted when someone cleared their throat over by the entrance of the hanger bay. The two of them quickly pulled apart and turned to face whoever had interrupted them.

The other members of the Bad Batch stood looking at them near the entrance of the hanger. It was initially Hunter who had cleared his throat to garner their attention; he stood with his arms folded across his chest just as a disapproving father would. Beside him, Wrecker and Omega were practically squealing with each other. They couldn't contain their excitement. And Echo averted his gaze in an awkward manner.

"Care to explain yourselves?" Hunter hinted. He glanced between the two of them with a playful smirk on his face.

"I think they finally confessed that they like each other," Wrecker interrupted. His words coming out louder than anticipated. He nudged Echo who stood beside him.

"You think?" Echo glanced at him.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Omega smiled at them.

Meanwhile, Tech quickly collected his helmet off the ground and placed it over his head once again. He hoped it would cover the blush creeping up his neck to his face. He knew he wouldn't hear the end of the taunting from his brothers anytime soon.

"Well boys. It looks like we got another member on our crew," Hunter said slowly. "Welcome to the Bad Batch."

#the bad batch #the clone wars #tech bad batch #tech x reader #tech x y/n #tech x you #star wars #the marauder ship #tech oneshot #tech fluff #tech angst #tech imagine #hunter #crosshair #omega #wrecker #echo #tech

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acourtofmenandthirst · 3 months

Text

When The Night Calls

Tamlin x Reader

Warnings: smut, slight breeding, dubcon if you will, Calanmai, beastie tamlin (not abo or actual beastiality)

Word Count: 6.6K

This Tamlin x reader was inspired by @slutbugz (nsfw) on twitter!! I got permission to write this, and here are a couple pics that inspired me. Not Tamlin, but I mean come on how hot would he be like this…

Your mother tucked a warm cup of tea between your palms and curled a strand of loose hair behind your ear. Your father had spent a majority of the evening boarding up the windows and the doors, nailing the heavy wooden slats into the frame. The incescent sound of the sharp iron nails being driven into the trim with the steel hammer had you on edge all night - and even though he’d been at it for hours, you still weren’t used to the noise.

He’d all but buried you in the house, laying stones and heavy bags of sand in front of all the doorways to create a hearty wall outside your home. He’d then shut and locked all the doors, opting to nail wooden boards across all the openings, despite the metal latches already fastened in place.

Calanmai used to be a night spent outside, with singing and dancing, letting the magic run wild across the Spring Court hills. You could even feel it twist and twirl through your ankles and across your arms, like a warm wind. It was a party most Fae snuck out to join, once they were old enough, that is. The joyous feast and dancing around the bonfire lasted most of the evening, before the Fae females were lined up for the High Lord’s choosing.

It used to be an honor to be taken for the evening, a lustful night spent with the most powerful Fae male, in which her bodily sacrifice promised good yield and high power for the following year. Her family would be well taken care of, and her likeness would be celebrated throughout the town.

The High Lord had been rumored to be a great lover. A strong male, large and well built, with shining green eyes and oh-so-pullable blond hair. The females he bedded had lived on cloud-nine for the first few days after the ceremony, and despite their lust-blown eyes and the contagious smile across their plump swollen lips, none had ever uttered a word about the male’s performance. They didn’t need to, though, as even a blind Fae could tell all they needed to from their blissed out state.

While the Spring Court males had never been too pleased that their sisters or daughters could be whisked away by the High Lord for an eventful evening, it was considered a blessing by the Mother herself, considering it was her magic that coursed through his veins that night and chose his partner.

But it hadn’t been the same in the past few years. Not even with all the years spent under the mountain - you’d still had that one night of freedom, where Fae wine and music spread across the Spring Court hills. A night of tears filled with the promise of freedom - someday. Tamlin had bedded a lovely brunette that last evening, and though seemingly possessed by a darker magic (perhaps due to the circumstances set forth by Amarantha) the female returned to the crowd with shaking legs.

But it had only gotten worse after that. After you’d been freed from the confines of the mountain, at the hands of that once-human female, you’d expected the court to return to its plush green, with magic in the wind and happiness in the air.

But then the female left - well, she was stolen.

And then the High Lord became unhinged.

Later, when it was found out that she’d up and all but left him for the Night Court - that she had willed for the High Lord of the Night Court to take her from Spring - Tamlin had broken completely.

War waged throughout the lands while he remained bastardized and miserable. Lucien, the Autumn Court emissary, had left as well. The High Lord was utterly alone.

Calanmai was skipped that year.

The harvests suffered. There was so little food to go around; the salvageable fruits and vegetables were sold at market for one hundred times their worth. There was once a point where money and gold were valued and traded for nearly as much, but you couldn’t even buy meat with three solid gold necklaces - at that time, if it wasn’t edible, it was worthless. Your small family had barely made it through the year, keeping to themselves and rationing soup and bread.

Rumor had it, Tamlin had been seen around lately. He was spotted lurking in the woods, his unmistakable green eyes glowed against the dark brush. Word had gone around suggesting he’d be back for this Calanmai. He would have to return for the magic to be restored in the lands - and it would make quite the return.

You were glad, hoping he’d retake control of the court. You all surely needed it. But the sight of your father boarding up the house only made your bones itch.

The male hadn’t been seen in human form in over a year.

He undoubtedly had built up an unquenchable thirst.

You sighed into your tea cup, rubbing the

furrow between your eyebrows.

“We should’ve sought refuge in the Summer Court,” you father grumbled, more to himself than either you or your mother. He dropped a nail, causing the heavy piece of lumber he was nailing over the final window to fall to the wooden floor with a loud bang. Your flinch caused some of your tea to splash out of your mug and onto your hands.

Your mother responded regardless: “And give them what in return, exactly?” It was the argument they’d been having for the past month: leave the Spring Court for the week of Calanmai and seek refuge in Summer. But with the poor yeild and nothing to offer in return for shelter, your mother did not think it would be a good idea. Though, your father argued it would be better to sleep on the beaches of the Summer Court than to risk the High Lord stealing you for Calanmai.

While the argument ensued in the living room, you wandered off into your bedroom, unable to listen to the same conversation they’d already had a million times over. You lit the candle beside your bed, grimacing at the wooden slats that had been nailed over your large window, the moonlight shining in only through the slivers of space between the boards. You knelt on the floor beside your bed, sighing as you read the time on the clock beside your bed: 9:07. You only had three more hours until this night came to an end.

You pressed your nose against your palms, held together in prayer as your elbows rested on the bed. You silently prayed to the Mother for an uneventful evening: that your home, your mother, your friends, and your neighbors would all be safe. You prayed that the High Lord regained his power over the court, prayed for a strong yield, and prayed that whoever he did choose the evening would make it out safe and sound.

Through the muffled sound of your parents’ argument outside your closed bedroom door, you heard the wind ruffling the leaves outside. The tree on the otherside of your window rapped against the glass, the bushes shaking wildly as they were stirred up by the wind.

You furrowed your brows as you rose and neared the wooden slats, unsure of the storm that was brewing up outside. But as you neared the glass, peering over the boards, there was a dark figure climbing through the brush in front of your window.

A pair of bright green eyes glared back at you, dark in color but shining brighter than the moon. You were frozen in place with a gasp lodged somewhere deep in your throat. He did nothing but stare at you, his large figure shielded by the leaves. His head was furry - wolffish ears standing tall above his head and glinting in the moonlight.

He radiated nothing but pure power.

You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the back of your skirts. As you steadied yourself, though, he took one step forward. As you moved back again, feeling for the bedside table behind you, he took another forward, his chest nearly touching the glass of your window. You watched ad his chest broadened with each heavy breath he took. The cold air swirled around his head, the air nearly freezing cold.

He raised a large hand and his fingers rapped against the window, no doubt feeling how thick the glass is. Then his eyes narrowed, staring at you between the gaps of the wooden boards. He made quick work to tear down the moat of sandbags and stones on the ground at the base of your window.

Without another look back at the half beast - you ran, calling for your patents.

But your shouts were drowned out by the sound of broken glass and heavy breathing, the male grunting as he tore through the wooden boards, breaking them right down the middle, ripping nails out of the frame.

You lurched for the door, running out into the living room, following your parents’ confused calls, shouting for help. But somehow, the male was faster, and as he was right on your heels, you took one look back before heading straight for the kitchen.

The male was build like a stone fucking wall, muscles coiling around his chest and arms, stained red from the cold air outside. He wore nothing but a pair of thick looking trousers, stained with grass and mud - unlikely to have been washed within the past year. His head was covered by a wolf’s hide, brownish in color, with glassy brown eyes. The jaw had been broken, such that the lower half of the jaw was missing, exposing the male’s face to you. The wolf’s teeth crowded his face, intimidating sharpness mirroring the Fae’s own fangs that he barred in your direction. His blond hair poked out around his jaw, mixing with the fur that flowed into the hood down his back.

The High Lord had come for you.

You screamed, rounding the corner hoping to find something to defend yourself with. As you scanned around the kitchen, unable to find anything, you heard your mother’s scream, and his footsteps indicating that he was closing in on you.

“Son of a bitch - ” you heard your dad call towards him, only to be met with a feral growl from the taller male.

Without another look back at your family, you ran out the back door.

Straight into the woods.

You went as fast as your feet could take you, using only the moonlight as a guide into the woods.

You couldn’t hear anything over the wind whirling past you, mixing with the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your pointy ears. You wove through trees and hurled yourself over boulders and fallen branches, praying to all the gods that you didn’t slip on anything. You didn’t know if he was running on his own two legs or on all fours. Nothing would surprise you, considering the rumors of the shifter male - more powerful than any other Fae… you had no doubt he’d catch up to you eventually.

But why hadn’t he caught you by now?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and pushed your legs impossibly faster, arms pumping at your sides to keep your momentum going, every so often shooting out beside you to keep your balance as you tripped over slippery rocks and fallen tree branches.

It felt like you’d been running for hours, though you knew he wouldn’t have let you - after all, there were only a few hours left of the night, the Calanmai magic had to be sealed in before midnight. You had never run so fast or so far; you wove through trees, looking for the godsdamned river that ran into Spring from the Autumn Court - but you couldn’t hear it, let alone find it. You’d twisted and turned around the trees so many times that you’d lost track of where you were. You couldn’t find any of the trails; not even the moonlight could light up the ground enough for you to track any Fae or animal footprints.

It was still so quiet behind you, maybe you lost him when you slid between the narrow spaces between the trees, surely his huge form wouldn’t fit. In the dark, though, you missed all the claw marks on the tree bark, where the High Lord had clawed his way through the thicket. His lips spread into a grin as he could hear your racing heart from where he ran behind you.

You gulped down a deep breath and your hands coiled into fists. You mustered the strength to tilt your jaw to the side, the moon lighting your sights just far enough in front of you to confirm there were no trees in front of you to run into.

Your legs kept pushing as your head turned, eyes darting out to the side to look for the pursuer.

Then he lurched.

Your breath caught in your throat as it felt like your heart stopped beating completely. He’d been shadowing your every move, no more than a step away from you this whole time. Two big hands grabbed your hips easily, his long arms barely having to stretch out to pull you into his chest. His warm palms pinned your hips to his own, your back flush against his naked chest as your feet left the ground and he came to a sudden stop.

You let out a winded groan, your chest and legs burning from the sudden stop - but your bare feet were damn near thanking the gods as they left the freezing ground, no doubt cut up and bleeding.

The High Lord took no more than a few steps forward before he set you back down on your own two feet, a strangled groan leaving your throat when the dewy leaves met your open wounds. You clawed at his forearms and the backs of his hands, panic suddenly flooding through you.

But he kept his hips pressed up against your ass as you lurched forward, trying to escape his grip. But he simply laughed, the rumble of his chest vibrating into your back as he mirrored your movements.

He was so warm, though, and the cold was quickly sinking into your bones as you were held in place. The thin layer of sweat that coated your legs and the back of your neck was starting feel like you’d been doused in an ice bath. The only thing keeping your teeth from chattering and your chest from convulsing was the beast of a male behind you.

He adjusted his grip, holding you across the waist with one arm, as the other slid over your skirts, drawing a long line down your leg until he found the hem and hiked it up over your hips. You screamed at his quick actions, one of this thick thighs found his way between yours. His pants brushed against the apex of your thighs, the sudden pressure between your legs causing them to squeeze around his.

“Scream all you want,” he growled, the sound of your panting only causing his cock to stir in his pants. “Nobody can hear you.” His breath brushed against your ear as he leaned in close to whisper to you. You shivered when his hips began to rut against you, building up in presesure that you rocked on your tiptoes when his hips jutted against your ass.

There had been years where Tamlin had looked forward to Calanmai, the magic coursing through his veins turning him into a completely different male. He used to love the sound of the female’s blissful moans and cries falling over him in praise as he bedded them for hours. He missed how they’d pull at his hair, how they’d promise him anything he wanted, that he could take them however he’d pleased.

And this was how he wanted you, heady, desperate, rocking back against him as your legs dared to curl around his, fighting for him to be even closer to you.

Tamlin grinned again, biting into the crook of your neck, right at the exposed flesh from the neckline of your dress. It was soft, just enough for his fangs to press against your skin, to which the gasp that escaped your lips almost had him sticking his cock into you immediately.

You felt the fur against your neck, the matted coarse hairs from the wolf hide he wore poking against your sensitive skin as he licked over the bitemark he’d just given you. Your knees pushed together, feet leaving the ground as you rocked against his thick thigh. Tamlin kept his vice-grip on your waist as the other hand pushed up your dress until it was hiked up over your back. He then curled his arm around your front, reaching over your hip and the mountain of skirts around your waist. He rested you on his thigh, your toes now barely grazing the ground.

It took all of your strength not to rock your hips back and forth against his leg.

And turns out you weren’t that strong.

The heat radiating off him was like a drug coursing through your body, and the only way to keep it flowing was by rubbing your cunt across his hard-muscled thigh. The friction of your undergarments against his pants was addicting.

Tamlin laughed at how eager you were.

He let you have your fun, tucking his hand down your front, fingers sliding between where your pussy was rubbing against him. You gasped, his cold fingers sliding between you legs, prodding at your clit as you shifted back and forth across him.

Your hands flew out to the tree in front of you, sharp bark digging into your palms. But you couldn’t feel it, you were just using it for balance so you could continue fucking yourself against him.

The High Lord practically moaned as you let out a shaky sigh, watching you work so hard to get yourself off - before he even started. He curled his fingers upwards, relishing in the cry that passed your lips when your clit brushed against his fingertips. He dared to move his hand further between your legs, hissing at the way your warm cunt tried to envelope his fingers even through your underwear. He swallowed hard, trying not to focus too hard on your ass brushing against his hard cock in his pants.

So with a few quick passes between your legs, he pulled his hand away abruptly, ignoring the strangled groan that fell from you as your hips faltered.

You were so close.

He lowered you down so your own feet held you up, promptly removing his leg from between yours. You practically whined, pressing your knees and thighs together, clenching around absolutely nothing as you fought to feel something - anything.

Tamlin wasted no time in grabbing all your undergarments and tearing them off you in one quick motion. You screamed, the cold air hitting you all at once, shocking your system. But before you could even register the feeling, you felt his nose press against your bare cunt, his long tongue swiping across your folds.

“Oh my gods,” was all you could gasp as your hips flew backwards, meeting his face as he opened his mouth and began his assault between your legs. He chuckled again, you felt his lips curl into a smile before he kissed around your clit and bit at the fat of your upper thighs. He licked at your clit, back and forth in a quick motion before licking up your slit.

He moaned at the taste, the first woman he’d had properly in years, even. He wasn’t planning on eating you out, the only thing on his mind was burying his cock as deep into your cunt as your body could take, but at the rate his dick was growing, he knew he’d have to loosen you up at least a little before that.

But as his tongue pressed up into your hole, feeling your warm walls, he knew that no matter how long he’d spent opening your cunt up, you’d still be so tight around his fucking cock. The taste of your juices mixed with his own filthy thoughts of bouncing you stupid on his cock had him groaning, the vibrations tickling your thighs that had esentailly trapped him between your legs, unwilling to let him go again.

Not before you came, at least.

“You like this don’t you,” he growled through barred teeth. “Want me to use you for the night? You didn’t run very fast, like you wanted me to catch you, huh?” You felt his lips moving against your pussy as he spoke. You bit back a response, all thoughts and words caught in your throat as he continued to work at your clit.

You pushed further into the bark of the tree as you pressed yourself back against Tamlin’s face. You felt the nose of that godsdamned wolf hood press against your ass, which had you grinding even further into your High Lord’s face. He fell to his knees behind you, running his tongue against your slit and clit as you fucked his face. His hands found purchase against your hips, grabbing at your ass and quickening your pace as your legs shook around him.

You felt his tongue curl up between your legs, flicking at your clit as you were left clenching around nothing, yet again. “Please,” you groaned, brows furrowed, crying out as his tongue swirled around your clit.

His brows rose at your first word spoken to him, a broken cry that was nothing but music to his ears. “Please what?”

He licked another long stripe against your pussy, stopping his previous movements until you answered. You groaned out, desperate for more friction - if rubbing yourself against his pointy nose was all you were going to get, you’d take it. “Please - your fingers, something - ” you gasped as he nuzzled his nose against your clit. “Anything.”

The High Lord laughed, smile broad as he nipped at the skin of your ass. “You’re not supposed to be the one telling me what to do,” he replied, as if it was obvious (it was - but you were desperate). But he smiled and landed a harsh smack against your ass, which burned against your cold skin, right before he returned the assault of his tongue against your clit.

His long fingers dragged up your tight and swiped across your enterance a couple times before he slid them right in your wet pussy, curling upwards against your walls. You both shared a moan, your warm walls clenching around his two cold fingers the moment he pushed them into you. Tamlin pushed himself forward, and you hiked your leg up high enough for him to turn underneath you, now sitting directly under you with his back against the tree you held yourself up against.

He worked his fingers up and down inside of you as he kissed at your clit, swirling his tongue around the nub. His eyes found yours as your head hung forward, and his emerald eyes practically glowed under the darkness of his hood. They were not the eyes of a Fae, no - the wolffish eyes with glowing iris stared up at you, watching your every move as he curled his fingers up into the gummy spot in your walls. Your eyes shut and your knees buckled as he continued his movements, tongue now sloppily licking anywhere he could reach before returning to your clit.

He shook his face back and forth, absolutely devouring you, and the nose of his fucking hide brushed against your pubic bone. With a cry, you squeezed your thighs around his head, practically falling onto his face just to feel his tongue against your clit even harder. It was a welcomed by the High Lord, as his fingers did not falter once as you rode out your high, throwing your head back with a loud cry.

He moaned underneath you, drinking up your sounds and juices as you fucked his face and fingers. But with no time to even catch your footing, the male was back behind you, standing up and hoisting you back to your feet. You kept yourself pushed up against the tree as his one arm held you like before, the other working to push his pants off. He kicked them away before taking a wide stance and tugging at his cock. He let out a shattered breath as he lined the tip of his cock against your wet folds, both of you crying out.

The High Lord kept his arm hooked around you as he nudged your clit with the thick tip of his dick, your legs nearly shutting around him in overstimulation. He nudged your leg with a bent knee, lifting his foot to kick your leg out from under you, spread apart from the other. He tutted at you, leaning forward so his chest pressed against your back again. “Legs open,” he growled in your ear. “You’re tight enough as it is.”

You couldn’t even comprehend his words as he slid the tip of his cock into your wet cunt. He grunted as he drove his hips forward, the wetness of your pussy letting him slide right in, though your walls squeezed him so tightly, and he had to grit his teeth and hold himself back from slamming his hips up into yours.

You squeezed you eyes shut and groaned, feeling his wide cock stretch your walls. You cried out as you tightened around him the farther he drove his cock into you. He moved back and forth slowly, allowing you to get used to his size, before he couldn’t take it anymore. His dick was so hard, he’d been waiting for this moment for years, the Mother’s magic surging through him like adrenaline in his veins.

So he fucked you like it - without so much as a warning, he slid out of you almost completely, so just his tip was catching on the enterance of your pussy. You arched against him, tilting your hips backwards to try to fuck yourself back onto his cock. Before you could get any farther, his hips slammed up to yours, his balls hitting your clit from behind.

You screamed out, as his cock practically pierced you, and he continued to fuck you at a rapid pace. He moved so quickly that you hinged forward, curling over his arm still secured around your waist. You lurched forward at each press of his hips, moaning each time his cock nudged that sweet spot inside of you.

Your arms had fallen from where they were holding you up against the tree, completely hinged in half as your fingers clawed at his arms - this time out of pleasure. Your legs were too weak as you clenched around him, finally giving out as they began to shake with your impeding orgasm. Tamlin’s other hand gripped your hip so that he held you completely against him, bent in half, as he continued fucking you, now so much tighter as your legs fell together under you.

The High Lord let loose a string of curses as you squeezed his cock. He held your hips up, your toes just barely brushing the ground as he fucked up into you. His breathing was ragged as his chest heaved, groaning as you tried to grab onto anything you could. He never lost rhythm as he drove into you, your slick walls allowing him to slide in and out of you with ease. Your head spun as it felt like he was just getting bigger and bigger the more he fucked you.

Tamlin let you fall to your hands an knees abruptly - to which you knew you’d feel the pain of more if you weren’t completely focused on the heat between your legs. He took a knee behind you, legs spread around your side to shove his cock back into you. “Fuck, how are you so tight still?” He muttered to himself as he continued to fuck you, faster now that he didn’t have to hold you up.

You used all the strength you had left to push yourself up and turn your head behind you to take in the sight of the High Lord absolutely wrecking your pussy. His skin was glistening in the moonlight, the muscles across his broad chest straining as he moved his hips so smoothly against yours. His hair fell over his shoulders, sticking to his neck with sweat. His face was conceleaed, only his lips and sharp jaw poking out from the wolf hide’s unhinged jaw. Your gaze fell down his chest to his taut waist, where the blond hairs underneath his bellybutton grew to surround his cock.

Gods, you knew he was getting bigger.

The base of his cock was so thick, you weren’t even sure it would fit inside you anymore. He moved you quickly on his dick, in and out so you slid down just half of his length. It was mesmerizing, truly, the High Lord thrusting in and out of you ferally.

Then he fucking smiled.

His white teeth barred in a devilish grin, fangs practically shining as you suddenly wanted to feel them bite into your skin.

Then he slammed his hips fully into yours as he pulled your waist back onto him, bottoming out inside of you.

You fell forward with a cry, the stretch of the base of his cock almost painful as your pussy tried to accommodate him. You felt him against your cervix, stirring up into your stomach. You rested your forehead against your arm, protecting your face from the dirt and ground underneath you.

Tamlin’s groaned, breathing a quiet, “That’s it, take it,” as you felt his large hand flatten against your back. In your folded position, you arched even farther against him, where he swore he could feel the end of the depths of your cunt. He kept you arched, which you almost struggled to break as he continued to fuck into you.

He leaned over, other hand ripping a line down your bodice with what felt like a sharp claw, tearing your dress from your skin - so you were just as naked as he was. He licked a broad stripe up your spine before burying his head into your neck and biting your shoulder. You gasped, his sharp canine teeth nearly breaking skin. He offered you a repreive, leaving open mouthed kisses across your shoulder and neck - undoubtedly marking you.

His leg hinged around yours, allowing him to hump into you as you fell forward underneath him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, not with the force of how hard he was fucking you.

Like he read your mind - he pulled out of you quickly, his wet cock curling up against your cunt as he rutted against your folds a few times. Tamlin wanted to look at you just as much as you wanted to see him.

He gripped your hips and flipped you onto the cold ground so your back was against the fallen leaves and branches. He lifted your legs up so they were bent in the air, allowing him to slide right back in your ready and waiting cunt.

The hood he wore still covered his eyes, just his fangs visible. But you, on the other hand, were all spread out for your High Lord, so pliant and ready for his seed, writhing underneath him.

He truly didn’t know how much longer he’d last.

He knew you wouldn’t last, though, not by the looks of your blissed out face, mouth open and mews spilling from your lips. Your legs were shaking, and you were fighting the urge to wrap them around his waist, but again, like the damned male read your mind, he grabbed the meat of your ass and slid his hand around your thigh, curling them around him. He grinned like the fucking Cheshire Cat. Your hands landed on his shoulders as he leaned over you, hands planted on either side of your head.

He groaned, fucking you so deeply, body almost prone on top of yours now, cock going all the way into you. You met him thrust for thrust, locking your ankles behind him and using it as leverage to fuck yourself onto his big cock. He was close, meeting your quickened pace. “Desprate for your High Lord, huh?” He teased through clenched teeth. “Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how bad you want it.”

Oh you wanted it bad.

You were practically shaking as you continued to meet his thrusts, rocking your hips up and down. Tamlin’s eyes fell to your stomach, where he could see the indent of his cock poking through. He sighed at the sight, plump lips falling open. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, not as he felt his cock twitching and his balls tightening.

Your pussy was absolutely wrecked, stretched out to accommodate the girth of the base of his cock. You felt him rub against your walls, not an inch of your cunt untouched by his dick. Tamlin dropped a hand to your clit, feeling you struggle to take all of him. It became harder for you take his cock as your legs tighten around his waist, your pussy gripping down on his cock as you neared your orgasm.

Tamlin eventually lost all patience, slamming his hips into yours. You fell back completely against the ground, unable to hold yourself up any longer as your took his brutal strokes. He humped into you, his balls rubbing against your ass as he towered over you, fucking you quickly.

Your hips turned upwards and you took a sharp breath as the hairs at the base of his cock brushed against your clit. “You going to take all of it?” Tamlin growled, fucking you harder.

Your stomach coiled, legs shaking as you tried to shut your legs around him, but his body gave you no space to squirm around him. “Scream for my cum,” he moaned, falling forward and pressing his lips against your neck. “I know you want it. Tell me you want it.”

You did, so you screamed, crying out for your High Lord to fill you up.

He came as soon as you did.

His warm seed filled your cunt as he continued to fuck you, the lewed sound of your wet walls against his slowing pace made you shiver. His long cock was still nuzzled inside you as his hand drew up your waist and found its way up your chest. His fingers and thumb danced across your soft breast, swirling at your nipple before his hand danced along your collarbone and up your throat. He tilted your chin up, undoubtedly taking in all your features before his thumb swiped against your bottom lip.

He swore he’d never cum so much in his life. But never had he been presented with such a pretty pussy to fill up, one that would take him completely and be able to give all his seed to. You’d hold all of it - he’d be damn sure - as the swollen tip of his cock remained nestled deep in your cunt.

You were panting and twitching as Tamlin stilled completely above you, too enthralled in the feeling of your wet pussy coated in his cum to even try to pull out. His strong arms keep himself held above you, his face, shielded by the wolf hide, still only a few inches away from yours - but if you moved any closer, you’d certainly be knocked by the nose and teeth of whoever that once was. His blond hairs were clumped together at the ends, hanging over his broad shoulders, and you couldn’t see his eyes, surely dimmer now as the Mother’s magic was wearing out of his system, but you know they were glaring down at you from underneath the darkness of the hood.

The High Lord shifted, keeping his cock buried inside of you as he unhooked one of your legs to make room for him to slide down beside you in the dirt. You winced as he moved you, your pussy now beaten raw and sore as it shifts against the coarse blond hairs across his pubic bone. It’s the first time you’d heard his voice quiet, gruff but calm, as he murmured a quiet “Sorry.”

He moved for your hips to sit atop of his, his cock softening, but still far too big for it to slip out of you in this position. Your legs fell across his own, thick thighs shielding your softer ones from the hard ground. He tucked you in the crook of his arm, allowing you to rest against his chest.

His hood had fallen against the tree roots he rested against. It was your first look up close at him, the arch of his brownish eyebrows, the long pale eyelashes that rested along his high cheekbones when he blinked. His nose sloped into a sharp point and the hair framing his face was stuck to his bronze skin with sweat. You swore his chiseled cheeks were tinted pink, probably the cold.

You didn’t know that the male was actually just blushing, the feeling of your pretty eyes studying him made him nervous. Now that the haze fogging his mind had cleared, Tamlin was almost embarrassed with his actions, how he chased you through the woods and forced you against the cold hard earth. He’d never felt that way before - not in his many hundred Calanmai celebrations he’d had before. Perhaps he was a bit pent up, but maybe it was something about you that had him acting so primal.

You brought out the beast in him.

He clenched his jaw to keep himself quiet, unsure of what he should say - what would he even say to you after that? He usually never said anything to the females he bedded after the night was over, never had to - never wanted to.

You swallowed a shaky breath when his eyes met yours, and for the first time you’d seen him as a Fae male and not as a wolf. Those green eyes burned brighter than any leaf or flower in this forest. His gaze remained unwavering, almost in challenge. You bit your lip nearvously, his sights flickering down to your lips, now chapped and dry from the cold that swirled around the both of you.

He wanted to kiss you regardless.

But he figured he’d save that for the next time - when he’d hopefully be able to act like like a respectable male.

He studied you, and under the scruitiny of your High Lord, you spoke out nervously. “My parents wanted to seek refuge in the Summer Court.” You made no move, not to escape him nor flee the woods - if you could even find your way back home.

The High Lord scoffed, turning his head away to gaze up at the stars. His body remained still, one arm tucked under you, curling around your waist to keep your naked body flush against his own. The heat radiating off him kept you warm, both of you glowing through the thin layer of sweat coating your chests. His bright hair splayed out behind his head, blond locks mixing with the brown fur pelt that rested at the crown of his head and down his back. “To spare you of me?”

You would’ve missed the smirk that he fought hard to suppress if you hadn’t been staring at him to intently. His eyes danced across the constellations, studying them, and there was no doubt in your mind that he knew the names and stories behind each of them. His arm tightened around you, fingers gripping into the plush skin of your hips. You didn’t trust yourself to respond, just a nod of your head that he felt against the crook of his neck as you buried yourself further into him.

Tamlin licked his teeth behind his closed lips, barring his fangs but keeping them hidden from you. His voice was low when he responded, calm and confident: “I would have found you anyway.”

#acotar #tamlin/you #tamlin x you #tamlin oneshot #tamlin imagine #acosf #acomaf #acotar series #tamlin redemption #tamlin #spring court

191 notes · View notes

inkyajax · 1 year

Text

cut me rails of that fresh cherry pie

character: alhaitham

genre: modern university!AU, smut with a dusting of fluff

notes: whew! finally my TA!alhaitham piece is finished!! i worked for just over a month on this and i’m really happy with how it turned out, and i can’t wait to hear your thoughts on it! fun fact: this entire piece was inspired by that singular line about alhaitham taking you to the archives in his story quest ehehe. as always, please heed the warnings below and stay safe. | title credit: take a slice by glass animals

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, dubcon, rough sex, extremely bratty reader, minimal prep, semi-public sex, use of the word Sir, painful sex, one (1) instance of spanking, one (1) slap to the face, hints of implied trauma, biting, marking, blood, alhaitham is strong enough to lift reader up and fuck her against the shelves, praise, toxic relationship, student professor (TA) relationship (power imbalance), dom/sub power dynamics, undefined age gap between consenting adults, big size difference between alhaitham and reader, size kink, sex as punishment, sex as an emotional release, choking, reader is quite flexible, belly bulge, snowballing

words: 10.9k

synopsis:

“You have been exceptionally bratty today.”

“So?” you frown, insolence already beginning to bleed back into your tone. Your eyes narrow in assessment, head tilting slightly. This has never been a problem in the past, so why is it suddenly an issue now? “What? You can’t handle a bit of brattiness?”

The back of his hand collides with your cheek, stark and sudden, the sharp sound of skin slapping skin echoing down the vacant aisles.

It’s hard enough that it whips your head to the side, pins of pain lingering on your flesh. Salt stings your eyes, a reflexive albeit frustrating notion, and you blink with conviction, fury incinerating your tears.

The bite of betrayal hurts, and you keep your face pressed flush to the wood, chin jutting defiantly, refusing to look at him.

He grips it easily with a pinching thumb and forefinger and hauls it harshly back toward him. The rest of his fingers wreathe around your jaw, clinched so hard that your mouth puckers.

“Oh no,” he spits, words quietly seething. “I’m about to handle it, right now.”

Sunlight filters through the windows, casting slim strokes of gold across the lecture hall. Your pen taps lazily against your notebook as you watch the last few stragglers shoot their questions at your TA—and, subsequently, get shut down with a mere handful of words as a response—lingering, waiting.

It’s only after that heavy mahogany door closes behind the last student that you finally approach him.

One of the most infamous PhD Candidate students on campus, Alhaitham’s area of study specializes in semantics and pragmatics. He’s renowned for consistently achieving top-of-his-class status, working diligently and dedicatedly on his mammoth four-hundred-page dissertation, and being the hottest man and the hardest marker within the University of Sumeru’s small but robust linguistics department.

Spots in his intimate lectures are highly coveted and extremely limited, rendering them tough to get into, yet you’ve managed to snag a space in every single one.

He is, on all accounts, an exceptionally difficult man to get close to.

But you have been nothing if not persistent in your quest to get him to take notice of you.

And take notice of you, he has.

You had surprised him when proposing that the topic for your year-long research paper consist of studying the ways in which translations of the same piece of Middle Egyptian literature—throughout different time periods, and in conjunction with several different languages from each era—add and/or change the meanings of an individual text.

With it, you had raised several fascinating questions: how does the language chosen within each translation procure a different meaning within the text? How does the translator’s personal background and education play a role in their word choice and placement, and how does this affect meaning within the text? Are their certain syntactic patterns and sentence structures that contribute to this second layer or meaning that is imbued on the text by the translator, and if so, how?

But you always raise interesting questions, and with you he has learned to expect the unexpected.

“So,” you begin as you reach him, hopping onto the corner of his desk and linking your ankles together, limbs swaying slightly as he begins to tidy up. “I need to get into the Haravatat Rare Book Archives. For my final paper,” you clarify.

“Too bad it’s restricted to Undergrad students,” he quips, smugness pulling at the corners of his lips, teal eyes flashing up for a second before refocusing on his task of shuffling papers, the thrill of a potential challenge, of this game the two of you seem to play, glinting in his gaze.

Go ahead, give it your best shot, try and push him further, you might just get what you want.

“It is restricted to Undergrads,” you agree. “Unless they have a supervisor, like a professor, or, I don’t know, a PhD candidate student.”

His hands stop, eyes raising to meet yours again, slow, careful, searching. You hold his stare, bold, steady, egging, and finally, he bites, just as he always does, body straightening to his full height with a soft sigh, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Please, indulge me,” he says as he leans a hip against his desk chair, false exasperation not strong enough to hide the gentle tremor of genuine interest in his tone. “What could you possibly need in the Haravatat archives that’s absolutely, irrevocably necessary for you to complete your paper?”

“The original papyrus copy of the Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor.”

An eyebrow raises, intrigued.

“I have already provided you with a copy of that piece in both its original Hieratic and with Hieroglyph transliteration, which, if I remember correctly, you begged and pleaded and cried for.”

“But it isn’t the same!” The protest leaves your lips in a stringy whine before you can stop it, expression quickly smoothing out your pout half a second later. “You know that isn’t the same as looking upon the original text with your own eyes, translating directly from the actual piece of literature. And—And besides,” you continue, voice speeding up in an effort to avoid being cut off. “The original papyrus copy is missing sections, is it not? I’m having trouble confirming which sections are truly missing; I keep running into conflicting information, so I can’t tell which parts of the copies you’ve given me are fabricated and which are not. That’s crucial information for me to possess!”

It’s flimsy and weak, this little excuse of yours, he knows it is—you both know it is—but that doesn’t stop him from sincerely contemplating it, a hum vibrating in his throat; nor does it stop you from pushing forward, an attempt to move your token piece in this game one space further.

“Please?” you press, notes of hope in your voice. Your fingers, resting on edge of his desk, curl around the wood in anticipation, body leaning forward. “This would really mean a lot to me, Sir. I’d love the opportunity to see the real thing, translate from the real thing.”

“Alright,” he finally agrees. “Tomorrow. Ten PM. Don’t be late.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Shivering outside of the Haravatat Rare Book Archives, you wrap your arms around yourself, idly hopping from foot to foot, gaze wandering across the building.

It’s a mammoth of a thing, made almost entirely of slate marble and ringed with an impressive number of stained glass masterpieces, each depicting a renowned scholar that has studied within the walls of the University of Sumeru.

Beams of silver shimmer among the mosaics, illuminating the teals and greens and glinting off the intricate gold piping, decorative windows almost glowing in the rays of the full moon. Warm yellow light leaks from the slivers of windows above the first floor, evidence of late-night research and study.

Eyes climbing, you dully note the way the light fades, less and less, dimmer and dimmer, which each floor until you hit the final level, entirely dark, your TA’s words drifting through your mind.

“Ten PM?” you had said when he finally agreed to meet you here, surprise evident in your breathy tone. “Isn’t that quite late?”

“I like visiting the archives during the times where I’m least likely to run into anyone else; early in the morning or late at night.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes. Typical of the antisocial scholar with a notorious reputation to actively avoid others as often as he possibly can.

“You’re early,” his voice pulls you from your thoughts and you turn to face him.

“You said not to be late.”

Smirking, he snorts with a nod, eyes regarding you with feeble amusement.

“Well, come on, then.”

✰ ✰ ✰

“Wow,” you breathe as he leads you towards the check-in desk, wondrous eyes sweeping across the interior, all smooth jade and shimmering gold, thick glass cases proudly displaying the artifacts they house, gleaming under the warm light.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” your TA tells you, smugness playing on his lips. “The upper floors aren’t nearly as awe-inspiring. They’re quite drab, actually.”

“Yeah, but still,” you brush him off, gaze gliding across the room again.

The University of Sumeru has the largest, most impressive collection of libraries among all of the universities in the world. Renowned for its remarkable breadth of literature on every topic imaginable, it invites scholars from all across the globe to visit and scuttle through its mazes of shelves, with the Haravatat Rare Book Archives being the most coveted of all.

You think you’re beginning to truly understand why.

It is a convoluted mess of systems, but lucky for you, you have one of the best guides there is to lead you through the tangled, snarled shelves.

Because Alhaitham knows these libraries inside out, upside down, spending way too much of his damn time here—and he knows how to get you into the most exclusive floors, too.

It is, technically speaking, unfair to grant you such special privileges.

Then again, none of his other students have pursued him as aggressively and avidly as you have, so he supposes they don’t really deserve it anyway.

He’d do the same for any other student who demonstrated such a vigorous interest in their studies, he tells himself, attempts to reason with himself. He’d do the same for any student who contained the same sheer determination and dedication to their research that you do, anyone who was as rabid and tireless in their eternal pursuit of knowledge as you are.

He’s sure he would—if any of them actually possessed these covetable qualities.

But the simple fact of the matter is, they don’t. And that’s what truly sets you apart from the rest, isn’t it?

Because you’re at the very top of his class.

Because you linger after each and every lecture, waiting around at your seat until all the other students have gone, to ask him thoughtful questions and spark intriguing debates with him, to show him new ways of thinking, new ways of seeing, and he finds himself pondering over you often, curious about what’s going on in that pretty head of yours today, curious about what your notions and opinions on a particular subject would be. He has yet to find a single student at this godforsaken university that can do what you do.

Because your papers are fucking exceptional—full of thought-provoking points and expertly backed by evidence—and it’s abundantly obvious that you’re a hardworking student, that you take your studies very seriously, despite your inherent playfulness—giggles you can’t quite seem to quell, quipping remarks that are so astonishingly out of place for the classroom that it takes him a moment to respond (no one student has ever succeeded in making him pause like that, either).

Because although Alhaitham can be bold and blunt, scary and supercilious in nature, none of it deters you in the slightest, unafraid to challenge him on his views, unafraid to sound ‘stupid’ in his presence. It’s admirable, how unapologetically yourself you are, how you can hold your own against him, how his brusque personality doesn’t perturb you the way it seems to perturb others; in fact, you seem almost fascinated by it.

And that’s what makes you his best student, his most engaging student, his favourite student.

But it’s still kind of surreal to him, in a ridiculous sort of way, that he’s leading you into the Haravatat Rare Book Archives, your toes on his heels, shuffling your ID and student card between your fingers, plastic scraping together.

The screening process is rigorous, ruthless, the clerk demanding two pieces of government-issued identification in addition to your student card—to verify you are who you say you are, of course, you understand—and requiring you to sign your name in the guest logbook before finally giving Alhaitham that ugly gold VISITOR sticker, which he promptly slaps on your chest, nimble fingers tracing the edges to ensure that it’s secure.

“There,” he says, stepping back a little, as if to admire his handiwork. “Now you’re ready.”

The Ancient and Middle Egyptian literature archives are kept on the top floor of the Haravatat, the dull aisles flickering to life the moment the two of you step from the elevator, fluorescent lights clicking on in slow succession, triggered by your motion, and humming softly to themselves.

“Come,” Alhaitham says, hand encircling your wrist and tugging. “The original pieces of literature are kept over this way, in specialized glass casings.”

“Of course,” you’re nodding to yourself, allowing him to lead you towards the preserved papyrus. “Can’t have humans putting their grubby hands on a piece that’s four thousand years old, even if they are scholars.”

“Exactly,” he smirks down at you.

Smart-ass.

“Alright,” he’s saying as you reach the desired case. “There’s a small writing desk here on the edge for you to make notes and do translations. While you work, I’ll be—What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture,” you say as if he’s stupid, not even bothering to glance away from your phone, hovering above the glass screen.

“Why?”

You frown, finally looking over at him. “So I can translate the text?”

His face falls, shock flattened by disappointment, and he fixes you with a look.

“Hold on a second,” he begins, sarcasm already heavy in his tone. “I brought you here so you could translate directly from the original material, and you’re just…taking a photo?”

At your responding nod, his molars grind, strong jaw flexing with the motion, a dense sigh exhaled shakily out his nose.

“Of the first section, yes, so I can zoom in and translate with better accuracy,” you say easily, and he can’t tell if you’re lying or not. “And then, when I’m done with this section, I’ll go take a picture of the next section, then the next, and the next, and so on, until I’ve finished the entire text.”

“The entire text?” he laughs, but it’s humourless, tainted with incredulity. “Do you have any idea how long that’s going to take you? The semester’s already half over; I thought you only wanted to translate the few key passages you’re analyzing in your paper?”

“I changed my mind,” you shrug, though now he can see it; the mischief tweaking at the corners of your lips and glittering in the irises of your eyes, barely contained.

And, for a moment, you’ve stunned him into silence, yet another first for you to add to your cherished collection.

But then the blood in his veins begins to boil, the heat wiring his body back to his brain, and then he’s snapping at you, tumultuous teal surging in his eyes, churning with fury, but his voice is cold with disappointment.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, y’know that? I should take you home right now—”

“No!” you gasp, phone forgotten in an instant. “No, Haitham, please, I didn’t mean to—”

Little hands paw at his sweater, desperate for his understanding, for his forgiveness, and just like that, all traces of mischief are eradicated from your features, devoured by pure honesty, and his blood calms, authority restored to its rightful place.

You’re too cute when you beg.

“Alright. Whatever. Sit down, do your work, and be quiet.” He casts a pointed glance at the independent study desks. “I’ll be working on my dissertation, and I don’t want to hear a peep out of you.”

Turning away with more vigour than strictly necessary, he stalks towards one of the desks, wholly expecting you to mimic his actions, to obey.

But you don’t.

Because, really, when do you ever?

His head lifts as you pull up a chair from a nearby desk and tuck it into his own, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your actions halt, a frown materializing on your face. “I wanna sit with you,”

“I should sit you at an entirely different table, alone, for such behaviour. Christ,” he shakes his head, muttering to himself as he bends back to his unfinished dissertation. “A picture. She has the whole piece in front of her, literally at her fingertips, and she’s taking pictures.”

A giggle bubbles up your throat, your lips automatically pressing together in an attempt to stifle it as you take a seat across from him, his jaw clenching once at the sound.

It’s cramped and uncomfortable, the two of you trying to work at a desk designed for a single person, pages overlapping and pens strewn across notes, your study materials leaking into his meticulously organized documents, the toes of your shoes consistently knocking against his as you fidget and fiddle around.

Yet somehow, you both manage, and for a moment it’s almost nice, a synergy of sorts forming between the continuous bumps of your sneakers and his routine shoving of your materials back onto your side of the desk.

But then you shatter the delicate, premature peace with a single question, all wriggling stilled as your voice grows serious.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Mad? No, I’m just—Annoyed, that’s all. I didn’t get you into this place so you could just take a photo of the original text. I could’ve done that for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you. Now concentrate on your work.”

It can’t be more than five minutes into your joint study session when he feels it again—a gentle yet distinct tap-tap-tap against the toe of his boot. It’s deliberate this time, methodical in the rhythm—one, two, three, breath, one, two, three, repeat.

Expelling a soft sigh, he looks up, searching your form. You’re still bent over your work, murmuring softly to yourself, seemingly oblivious.

“Stop that.”

You look up, a shock of genuine surprise across your face. “Stop what?”

“Stop squirming. You’re hitting my foot.”

“Oh? Am I? Sorry, I’ll stop.”

You don’t sound sorry, though, delinquency seeping through the cracks of the sugared sincerity coating your face.

It starts up again a mere few minutes later, just like he knew it would, except this time, he refrains from reprimanding.

You get this way sometimes, he’s come to learn—desperate for his attention and willing to do anything, including bothering him, to achieve it. He supposes he doesn’t necessarily mind it, doesn’t necessarily dislike it, sometimes even enjoys playing this game with you—this push and pull, this challenge and challenger, this predator and prey—however this is neither the time nor place for such trivialities.

And yet, despite his best efforts to entirely ignore you, to refuse you the attention you’re yearning for in an effort to encourage your productivity, he finds himself subconsciously hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours, engaging with your actions entirely without his own accord.

For the breath of a moment this seems to satiate you, the small repetitive action enough to fulfill your ever-growing needs, enabling the two of you to work in peaceful silence once again.

But something with sharp little teeth gnaws a hole in the pit of his stomach, bile oozing out slow and steady to embrace the surrounding organs in a tight, sticky film, and you’ve since kicked a shoe off, sock-clad foot curling around his calf, sliding up and down the muscle, giggling a little at the way it makes his thighs tense and twitch, the way it makes his hips spasm and shiver, and he can’t stay silent anymore.

“Stop playing around and do your work.”

“But I wanna know more about yours, Haitham.”

“You can know more about mine once you finish yours.”

“No fun,” you grumble, kicking at his shin, eyebrows pushing together as a pout scrunches your face. “No fun at all, you big stoic meanie.”

Nimble fingers rub at both of his eyes, a hefty sigh thick on the back of his tongue.

This is odd. You’ve always been chatty, always been bratty, but this—this is something different. This is something worse.

Something must’ve happened. Something must’ve set you off, triggered a response, awoken a deep-seated need for his attention, confusing it with affection. Something furls up in his throat, and he forces a strong swallow past it, voice grit and gravel when he speaks again.

“Hey,” he says, leg hooking forcefully around you own, halting its movement and garnering your attention with a cute little oh!. “What’s going on with you today? Did something happen?”

His eyes are startlingly sincere as they search your face for an answer, and you blink, floundering for a moment before your features harden again, expertly schooled into a carefully curated expression of carelessness.

“No,” you blow the word out your mouth, as if the idea is preposterous, but your smile is tight, small, stretched painfully across your lips.

There is a time where this might’ve fooled him, but not anymore.

He knows you too well now.

He knows you too well, because you’ve told him, secrets and sentiments spilled in the late-night hours at his office, terrors and traumas whispered in confidence under the dim gold of his desk light, veiled with tears.

Your leg tries to kick its way free, and his own tightens in response, shin pressed painfully to the edge of his seat.

“Are you sure?”

And, for a moment, he’s positive he’s got you, positive he’s broken through to you, crushed those heavy walls of protection to dust and is stumbling through the rubble towards your heart, towards the truth.

Your demeanour wavers, teetering on the edge of honesty, and he leans forward a little further, muscles loosening.

But then you haul it back from the ledge, countenance set firmly in place, leg slipping gracefully from his grasp, and you’re gone again.

“Of course I’m sure,” you say breezily, brushing off his concern as your roll your shoulders once, sitting up straighter.

“Just restless, then.”

“Just want to know more about you, actually.”

“You already know so much about me,” he says, a small jolt buzzing through his veins at the sheer validity of the statement.

“There’s always more to know when it comes to you,” you respond, words melting slightly, sagging under fondness.

Chuckling a little, he shakes his head. “We can talk more about me and my work once you finish yours, okay?” his voice has softened a little compared to the first time he offered this solution, tinged with the hope of compromise. “I promise.”

Your eyes search his own, hunting for shards of dishonesty and coming up empty.

“Now be a good girl, and finish up your translations.”

You grumble a little under your breath, too low for him to make out the content, but obey anyway, picking up your pen again, so he let’s it slide.

As it turns out, though, not even the enticement of future attention is enough to pacify your brattiness—and he was stupid to think it ever would be.

Because then you’re restless again, hungry again, craving again; because you want it now, like some sort of sick compulsion that compels you to act out; because no matter how much he promises you, it’ll never be enough.

Because too much is never enough for a greedy little girl like you, who takes those shards of notice he’s paid to you and chews them up, spits them out, demands more.

It was always only a matter of time.

And his few remaining vines of patience, weak and worn and withering in your presence, are about to decay.

He flinches when he feels it, the tip of your shoeless toe tracing up his calf, circling his kneecap and pushing up his strong thigh, then trailing back down his shin to repeat the process all over again.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you hum, eyes never straying from your work.

A hand snatches your foot just as it reaches his knee again, palm wrapped around the arch, squeezing hard enough to force a yelp from your throat. You look up suddenly, eyes wide and surprised, foot squirming in his grasp.

“Yeah? Is it nothing?”

“I was just…” you trail off, head shaking in short, quick motions. “I didn’t even realize, Sir, I swear—”

“I don’t believe you.”

The heel on his thigh squirms a little, the cap of your pen caught between your teeth oh-so-innocently as you shrug and lean forward, perky breasts swelling almost daintily as you draw in breath to respond, straining against your sweetheart neckline.

“I don’t know what to tell you, other than that I’m telling you the truth.”

Your actions contradict your words, toes pointed tightly and poking at his hipbone, foot trying to wiggle its way along the curve of his thigh, straight to his half-hard cock.

“Enough with the lies. I’ve tried to be strict, I’ve tried to be nice, but I’m at the end of my rope here.”

“Oh?” you giggle. “Can I give it a little tug?”

“Don’t play with me,” he warns, short nails digging into the arch of your foot.

“Or else, what?” you goad, curious to see how far you can take this, how far you can push and prod and pinch before he snaps; a fly teetering on the teeth of a venus flytrap, waiting.

“Or else I am going to move to another table if you don’t cut it out.”

“Why? Am I making it hard to concentrate?”

“No,” he says, defensive, too quickly, cock jumping at his lie. “You’re pissing me off. I have allowed this to go on for far too long.”

“Oh, you’ve allowed it, have you?” you snort, rolling your eyes. “What do you think? Just because you’re one of my teachers you’re suddenly the boss of me, or something?”

“I am—”

“You know what I think?” you reach across the table, two tiny hands clasping his large one, pen skittering from his fingers, leaving an ugly mark across his paper. “I think—”

And it’s the touch that does it, the shock of skin-against-skin, warm and soft and buzzing, that has him ripping himself from his chair in an instant, moving so quick that the metal legs teeter against the linoleum floor, a caustic growl in his words.

“I don’t really give a fuck what you think,”

A large hand clamps around your bicep and yanks, hard, pulling you unsteadily to your feet with such strength that it sends your seat clattering to the ground, legs kicking wildly as you struggle to find your footing.

A gasp catches in your throat, mangled and choked, your gaze snapping to his with a ring of shock tinging your irises, and the corners of his lips twitch.

Good. It’s about fucking time.

He says nothing as he shoves you towards the endless rows of shelves, all shrouded in darkness, keeping a firm grasp on your arm while he does so, his broad chest pushing against your shoulder and forcing you to move forward.

The harsh, pale lights overhead flicker to life one by one as he barges deeper into the stacks, fluorescent tubes creaking from disuse.

Your combined footsteps echo throughout the aisles—his steady, clear and cruel, yours stumbling, toe of your singular shoe catching on the tiles, sock slipping against the waxed floor.

“I—Are you taking me to see those books you promised to show me?” your voice trembles slightly, threads of terror sewn into your question.

He stays silent, his cool, even breaths forcing chills to erupt across your flesh, each exhale against your dampening neck sending another bout skittering up your spine.

“Well, Christ,” you snort, but it comes out as more of a snivel. “The least you could do is tell me where—”

The breath is kicked from your lungs suddenly, a sharp gasp lacerating your complaint as he slams you against a bookshelf, your head whacking against the wooden ledge, book spines vibrating against wood and pages rustling together.

“Ow,” you whine, features twisted in a wince, hand attempting to rub at the sore spot and colliding with his body, your own caged tightly between a wall of muscle and a wall of books.

His breath is coming quicker now, short little puffs that flare his nostrils and heave his chest, rising and falling against your own. His hands, planted on either side of your shoulders, curl around the edge of the shelf, blunt nails audibly digging into the wood.

A steel-toed boot kicks at your ankles, forcing them further apart, a strong thigh slotting between yours and keeping them spread wide.

Your mouth falls open, in shock or surprise or scare, he can’t tell, he doesn’t care, a pitiful little squeak—a poor imitation of what was once words, he’s sure—strangling itself in your throat.

“You have been exceptionally bratty today.”

The back of his hand collides with your cheek, stark and sudden, the sharp sound of skin slapping skin echoing down the vacant aisles.

The bite of betrayal hurts, and you keep your face pressed flush to the wood, chin jutting defiantly, refusing to look at him.

He grips it easily with a pinching thumb and forefinger and hauls it harshly back toward him. The rest of his fingers wreathe around your jaw, clinched so hard that your mouth puckers.

“Oh no,” he spits, words quietly seething. “I’m about to handle it, right now.”

“Fuck you,” you try to say, but it comes out jumbled, spit collecting in the divots of your lips.

Ignoring you, he continues, smooth and cold despite the sapphire flames licking at his pupils.

“You’re going to learn to respect your superiors tonight,”

“Oh yeah? And how are you gonna do that, Haitham?”

Yanking again, he tilts your head up further, forcing your face to his, wood digging into your scalp. He’s so close you can feel his words waft across your face, can smell the musky cedar wood twining through them, lips nearly brushing yours as he speaks.

“I am going to fuck the brat out of you.”

His breathing is calm and controlled now, his voice low and even the way it gets when he’s made a definitive decision.

Yet despite the sheer severity of his words, sincere and serious, you can’t help the incredulity that bubbles up your throat, spilling past your lips in infuriating little giggles, and the rage in his eyes blazes.

“Something funny about that?” he’s growling as large hands slide up your thighs and under your dress, hem and excess material bunching around his wrists as he pushes up, up, up, until he hits delicate lace, pretty and pink and clinging to supple flesh.

Of course there is. You both know that’s impossible, both know that the brattiness is inherent, rooted so deeply within you that it’s woven into the fabric of your very soul itself, irremovable, irrevocable.

“Yeah,” you say, residual amusement still tickling your words. “I’d like to see you try.”

Rough fingertips sprout through delicate lace, invasive and uncontrollable like weeds as they ravage the fragile fabric and tear it from your body, elastics popping as they snap against your skin.

“You know what’s funny?” he’s murmuring into your neck, nose nuzzling the curve as nimble fingers massage the ruined garment in his palm. “How fucking wet you are.”

Using the thigh crammed between your legs, he keeps you steady, keeps you trapped as strong hands swoop beneath your ass and heft, your limbs automatically wrapping around his body; fingers lacing at the base of his skull, tufts of silver tickling your knuckles; ankles linking at the base of his spine, heels digging into the dimples engraved into smooth muscle.

There’s no romance to it, no kisses or caresses or tenderness at all. He doesn’t bother himself with such trivial matters, head ducking in an almost violent manner, nudging your jaw upward and forcing you to bare your neck to him. Sharp teeth sink into thin flesh, giggles dying to gurgles in your throat.

The hinges of his jaw flex, tightening the grip of his bite, teeth latched deep in muscles and arteries. A yelp cracks loudly in your throat, nails burrowing into his scalp and scraping, contriving a low moan from deep in his chest.

“Is this what you wanted, huh?” A theatrical gasp falls from his lips, head pulling back enough to blink at you with feigned surprise. “Trying to get my attention so I’ll fuck you? Is this why you’ve been acting out so much today?”

“Maybe,” you breathe, little tongue darting out to lick at his lips, then the tip of his nose. “Maybe I just wanted to know how much I’m your favourite.”

He laughs at that, a dark, smooth sound vibrating against your neck, and you can feel his lips mold into a genuine smile.

Your desperation is precious, he’s mumbling into your skin, slick tongue sealing his words into the flesh in slow, fat, sticky strokes.

He sucks another claim of ownership into the flesh of your neck, signs his name in broken blood vessels and splats of violet ink, rapidly developing beneath your skin.

Your hips grind into his own, gyrating in quick little circles as he works at etching an impermanent masterpiece into your body, his teeth and tongue as his tools.

The denim of his jeans is caustic against your sensitive cunt, but that doesn’t deter you from grinding keenly on his bulging cock, a hoarse whine spilling from his throat as he looks down, webs of translucent slick stretched shimmering and sticky across the coarse material, shining almost iridescent in the harsh light of the library.

You’re struggling a little, restless in his arms as your hips rut and rock, almost as if you’re trying to fuck yourself on his cock through his clothing.

“Christ, I haven’t even done anything yet and you’re already soaking me right through,” he snorts, as if it’s pathetic, but his voice tapers off into an airy little wisp. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“Jus’wanna—ugh—” you wail a bit, pitchy and petulant, hands squeezing their way between your pressed bodies to scratch at his waistband, fingers hooking in his belt loops and yanking. “S’not enough, Haitham. Need more, Haitham.”

So fucking greedy, so fucking needy, he’s huffing out to himself as he demands you get his cock out, hips drawing back just enough to allow you to shove his pants down, dainty fingers wrapping around the base and guiding it toward your glistening pussy, blunt head bumping against you.

You can’t help but play with it a little, gliding the head along your slippery slit and glazing it in your arousal. Because, oh, it’s so pretty, so perfect, straight and symmetrical and softer than velvet as you roll the shaft a little in your palm, feeling it thrum with simmering blood in response.

That feels good, has you mewling out melty versions of his name, spine arching reflexively as pleasure climbs the notches. But it doesn’t last long, he doesn’t allow it to, hips surging forward with impeccable precision and pushing the head into you.

It stings, thick cock splitting your ill-prepared hole wide open with each slow inch, fragile flesh aching as it stretches around him, stretches for him, a hiss spit from between your teeth as your features crunch in pain.

“Shut up,” Alhaitham snaps coldly. “Impatient little teases don’t deserve to be prepped, do they?”

No, you suppose they don’t, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

“I can take it,” you huff out stubbornly, brows knitted together, though your words wobble a little.

“Oh?” he asks, and he nearly sounds genuine, eyebrows raising in derisive astonishment. “Is that so?”

It only takes one sharp, swift thrust before he’s buried inside you, cunt stuffed full to the hilt, poor little hole spasming as it attempts to adjust to his girth.

It knocks a cry from your throat, eyes squeezed shut as your fingers tangle in the knit collar of his sweater and pull, tugging yourself closer.

Your head falls forward, face pressed tightly against the junction of his neck, trembling breath fractured by whimpers as your cunt pulses, tiny spears of agony slicing through your gut, flesh tearing into tiny fissures.

“Aw, what’s the matter, baby?” he murmurs mockingly into your hair, cheek grazing the crown of your head. “I thought you could take it. What happened?”

“I—I can,” you whine through gritted teeth.

“Yeah?” Alhaitham pulls back a little, shoulder gently nudging your face from it’s hiding place. “Prove it to me.”

A fire of determination sparks in your chest, catches on your heart and embraces it in its flames, the blaze doused in desperation to show how good you are, how good you can be for him.

“Start fucking me, and I will.”

And, for only a second, his true nature breaks through the hard annoyance coating his features—the smile he gives you is nothing short of fucking breathtaking, teal eyes glinting with something akin to pride, appreciation, approval, delighted that you’ve risen to meet his challenge, just like you always do—before that mask is back in place, expression expertly repositioned, and then his hips are drawing back, large hands flexing, fingers digging into your plush skin.

A few of the books fall from the shelves, knocked from their homes by the force of his immediate thrusts, hips snapping hard and fast and ruthless as he grips your body to his.

It hurts, the consistent slam of his cockhead against your cervix leaving it bruised and swollen, spikes of pain rippling through your gut. It only feels as though he’s ripping you open more, each drive of his massive cock into your cunt splitting your core further and further until reaches your soul, carving out a little space just for him, a mold where only he can snap into place, planting shards of himself within you, never to be removed.

“Ha—ah—Haitham!” you manage to breath out, stuttered from his rough movements, the name quivering on your tongue.

“What? Huh? What? I thought you could take it, sweetheart.”

And irrespective of the slamming of his hips and the shuddering of the shelves, he sounds almost entirely unaffected, his slight breathlessness the only indication this is having any impact on him at all.

“What’s the matter, my cock too big for you?”

And, oh, it’s so condescending, the question cooed out through an exaggerated pout, exhilaration shining in his eyes.

You don’t answer, won’t answer, can’t answer, the ramming of his cock smashing any semblance of a response to pieces, nothing more than shards of letters that dissolve into airy little mewls on your tongue.

“That’s cute,” he spits, though his voice fades into something softer, something sweeter, an insult rolled in icing sugar.

That fire, kindled from pride and a fierce need to prove yourself, flares in your chest, and you grit your teeth, resolve hardening.

The words are splintered and breathy as you force them from your mouth, the whole sentence cracked by the piston of his hips, letters flowing into one another, messy and slippery and soaked with saliva as you spit them out.

“C’mon, Sir, you said you were g—g—gonna really fuck me—fuck the brat right outta m—me, yeah? But you’re not doing—you, ah—you’re not doing a very good job, are you?”

A snarl rips from his chest, rattling his ribs against your own, and he surges forward, smashing his lips to yours—an easy way to shut you up—teeth gnawing on your lips.

It’s hardly a kiss, the edges of sharp ivory slicing into delicate flesh, procuring pretty ribbons of crimson that ooze slow and steady, mixing with your interspersed drool and turning it a sticky pale pink. The small gashes stain his mouth, scarlet gathering in the creases of his lips and the curves of his gums, painting him in strokes of you.

“You won’t be able to fucking walk when I’m through with you, you little bitch,” he hurls the words into your mouth, coated in venom so bitter it stings your tongue.

“You better—” you begin, cut off sharp and sudden as he sucks your tongue into his mouth and clamps his teeth around it, biting down hard enough to push a high little cry from your throat.

It’s already swelling, tiny bumps beginning to bulge and bloat beneath the rims of his teeth, still burrowed in wet muscle. You manage to yank it free, wincing as his teeth drag across it, harvesting rows of bloodied saliva.

There’s barely a moment to reflect on it, though, the consistent pounding of his hips keeping you from forming a coherent thought at all, ideas snapped like weak threads with each quick drag of his cock, senses dulled to everything but him.

Dull pain sprouts across your body, the sharp edges of the shelves tilling the beginnings of long, thin bruises into your skin. The wood grinds against the knobs of your spine as he fucks you, hard and brutal, your skull loose and heavy on your neck as it thwacks off the spines of the hardcovers behind you.

“How’s this for really fucking you, huh? You little brat,” he rasps out, eyes hard and eyebrows pinched, dewdrops of sweat decorating his temples, catching in the florescence and glittering like diamonds.

You’re rendered speechless yet again, the harsh, fast rub of his cock against your favourite spot causing your eyes to roll, lids drooping under the heavy weight of pleasure, mewls of his name flowing choppily from your mouth, half-finished and fading into pitchy moans.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” he taunts, though the question is panted out in hot huffs, strings of silver hanging in his eyes, trembling with each brush of his eyelashes. “Can’t speak?”

A sharp whine of frustration breaks to pieces in your throat, face scrunched and eyes clamped shut in concentration as your sloppy tongue attempts to mold wisps of fleeting thoughts into letters.

But it’s no use. Everything feels floaty, dreamy, almost, the edges of your vision gone hazy, softening all of the honed lines and harsh corners of the library.

He’s all you can see, his features the only thing in focus; aquamarine gems glimmering with a type of intoxicating rapture, a brilliant smile sprawled across his cheeks, salt-saturated tuffets of platinum and flint embellishing his forehead and cheeks.

He’s all you can feel; his large hands beneath your ass, grip tightening with the acceleration of his pace, fingertips sowing deep blotches of navy and amethyst into your cheeks; his smooth pubic bone, clit gliding over it with each of his thrusts, slick and sticky and so, so good.

He’s all you can smell, hear, taste—cedar wood and breathless grunts and blood-tinged mint.

“Are you going to fucking behave now?” he asks, pace never faltering. “Guess brats can’t be brats if they can’t talk, now, can they?”

Your head is nodding without your permission, automatic and instinctual, sharp mind and sharper tongue dulled down to one singular aim—to please him. His cock is the only thing you can focus on, now. His cock is the only thing you want to focus on, now, all of the tension and trepidation from the past few days—from the past few weeks—ebbing away, corroded by bliss.

The stress that’s been straining your face releases, expression fully relaxing for the first time tonight—pure, authentic—smoothed out by hedonistic ecstasy.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, the softness of his tone contradicted by his merciless actions, the short legs of the bookshelf beginning to creak and wobble, oak scraping against linoleum. “Turns out all you need is a good, hard fuck to turn you into a respectful little girl, isn’t that right?”

“S’right, Sir, s’right,” you slur, words sloppy and stuffed with spit, letters loose and languid on your tongue. “I—It’s—ah!”

It’s so much, too much, emotion welling up in your chest and your eyes, pushed to the surface by his warm pleasure, his warm presence, submerging you in its enticing embrace.

Because it is only here, with your bodies knotted and your breaths twined, where you feel safest, where you find solace, where you are supported, in a way you never before have been, in a way no one else ever has.

It is only here, drowning in him, where you can let go, give in, give up, allowing yourself to be guided.

“I know, baby, I know,” he soothes. “Don’t worry, I’m here to handle it, I’m here to make it all better,”

The words are so fucking genuine, ringing with such sincerity, instinctual tears pricking and nibbling at your lashes as emotion roils in on itself in your throat, forming a hard lump, lodged in the column.

It renders any sort of response incapable, impossible, consciousness overwhelmed and overridden by the pleasure sprouting across your body, every new crop reaping another wave of undeniable relief, undefiable release.

It’s okay, though. It’s okay, because you don’t need to say anything at all, because he already fucking knows—can decipher it through the water glazing your eyes and the feathery little moans routinely fragmenting in your throat; can decipher it through the clutching fingers scouring and scuffing his skin, pressing him closer, holding him tighter.

Those initial spikes of pain have morphed into sparks of pleasure now, tiny little cinders wrapped in barbed wire, scraping against the walls of the capillaries as they rush through your veins, leaving your limbs tingling. Desire flares in your chest, stuffed full and scorching, as they collect at the core of your body, blossoming into a blaze of heat.

“Oh, oh, Sir,” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut before springing open again.

“That’s better,” he teases, though you can see it, the genuine pride shimmering in his eyes. “Look at that, look at how much of a good little girl my cock turns you into.”

“Uh-Uh-huh,” your head lolls dumbly before a stinging slap echoes throughout the vacant aisles, his hand colliding with your skin. A raised outline of his palm and all five fingers sears itself into your flesh, shocking some semblance of wakefulness back into your stunned stupid brain.

“I want you to cum on my cock, sweetheart,” he demands as his forehead falls forward, pressed to your own. “Do you think you can do that for me?”

“Yes!” you nearly weep out in a high, stringy whine. “Yes, Sir, please, Sir, please!”

He placates you with a quiet hush, blunt nails digging deep crescents into your plush ass while he shuffles your weight, his knees bending slightly as he re-angles his hips, cock drilling fast and strong into your cunt, shaft jabbing against your favourite spot.

That fire he ignited furls in on itself, coiling into a firm, concentrated ball of ardor, twisted tighter and tighter and tighter with each grind of his cock until finally, it bursts, hot droves of ecstasy flooding your body.

It’s so potent that it whites your vision and wipes your brain, breath stalling in your throat as pleasure wrings your body, and you cum so hard, so much, more than you ever have before, warmth gushing out of you in heavy torrents.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it—just like that, make a mess for me,”

And he sounds almost as if he’s in awe, eyes drifting down to where you’re connected, watching as your cunt throbs and spasms around him, watching as streams of shimmering slick glisten on his cock, flowing down his balls and soaking the waistband of his jeans, stretched taut around his thighs. A thick but neatly trimmed sprout of dark curls mops up the remaining wetness, matted and glimmering with your essence.

Muttering, low and sharp, lures you back to reality, misty daze beginning to dissipate, still gauzing up the edges of your vision and encasing your brain in a soft cloud. It isn’t clear how long you’ve been drifting for, sweetheart neckline of your dress clinging to your body and sopping with sweat, apex of your thighs aching as Alhaitham jackhammers into you, jutting hipbones carving out the perfect place for themselves in supple flesh.

“Goddamn it,” he’s groaning, brow furrowed and hands slick with frustration as they attempt to readjust you again, hoisting you up further and tightening his grasp. “I can’t fuck you properly in this position.”

You’re not quite sure what he means, your cum still dribbling down his cock, cunt giving weak little pulses as he pounds into it, every drag of his cockhead against that plush spot procuring another pitiful gush of juices, filmy and sticky, shocks of overstimulation quivering your blood.

There isn’t a moment to ask, though, because then he’s hauling you away from the bookshelves and slamming you down onto the nearest independent study desk, flailing limbs knocking a small table lamp to the floor, skewed light casting crude shadows of your forms on the wall.

A loud cry lacerates your throat as you thwack against the surface, eyes shut tight and nose crinkling as spears of pain shoot up your spine, nestling into the base of your skull.

But he doesn’t seem to care, your discomfort hardly a nick in the fabric of his plan.

Large hands skim along your thighs, molding flesh as they go, hooking beneath your knees and tugging your languid legs from around his waist. A simple jab to each has them reflexively straightening, Alhaitham smirking at the soft whimper of surprise that slips from your lips as he places one ankle on his shoulder, then the other, sharp eyes holding your bleary gaze the entire time.

That’s the only reprieve you’re afforded from his brutal fucking, merciless hips picking up right where they left off the moment your ankles are hooked securely over his shoulders, feet curling around his neck, the tips of your toes routinely bumping together.

“Fuck,” he nearly whines, head rolling back, defined jaw and prominent Adam’s apple on full display.

The fingers burrowing into your hips twitch, grip relaxing then tightening, a feeble attempt to keep your body from sliding away from him, the pumping of his hips shoving you further up the desk, slick skin squealing as it rubs against lacquered wood.

A hand comes to collar your throat, long fingers curling carefully, one by one, as they cuff your neck, while the other stays clamped around your waist, stern and unyielding, fingertips submerged in plush tissue.

Impossibly, this position is so much deeper, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach, a palm slapped flat between your hipbones to feel the bulging head pressing through your flesh with each rut of his hips.

Because he’s so fucking big, cute little hole still straining to swallow down his girth, raw cunt stretching in an attempt to take him, to be good for him.

His fucking has turned vicious, every ram of his cock jostling your entire frame, the hand latched firmly around your neck clutching in retaliation as his grip tightens, using this point as leverage to hold you down, to keep you still.

Your vision begins to blur at the edges as your air supply diminishes, precious little sounds strangled to pitiful little squeaks, wrung out by the palm flattening your windpipe.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his voice simultaneously close and far, wisps of words wavering in the atmosphere around you, caressing your flesh before they vanish. “Good girl, take my cock, such a good girl for her teacher,”

“Yours,” you babble out, the word tangled in threads of spit, muddled and sticky. “Yours, yours, yours, Sir, yours.”

“Mine,” he whimpers, the vice grip on your throat letting up for a moment, the tips of his fingers stroking the line of your jaw, possessive. “My good girl.”

Your entire backside is going to be scraped and slapped raw by the time he’s through with you, dainty hands wrapping around his wrist, holding onto him for stability. And, God, you’re so fucking gorgeous as you stare up at him with such unadulterated devotion, glimmers of admiration in your eyes as you beg him for more, more, more!

“Greedy,” he chastises, the scold nothing more than a huff, voice hoarse as it bows under pleasure. “You want more, huh?”

Christ, yes, please, yes, give me more, Sir, I need more!

And although you’re sure you’re saying them, boiling up your throat and brimming past your lips, the string of pleads is nothing more than indistinct noise to your ears, reverberations shaking your ribs.

His thighs are slamming into the edge of the desk, sharp wood leaving a crease in his skin, muscles flexing and shifting in a desperate attempt to stabilize himself. Rusting metal rakes against the linoleum, its creaky wail twining through the empty aisles, chased and promptly devoured by your cries and his groans.

But you’re barely paying it any attention at all, slushy brain turned amorphous, nebulous, evaporated into a tiny ecstatic galaxy of half-finished rhapsodies, full of him; clusters of his gorgeous noises burst into stars, supernovas of his name blooming across your flesh.

You must be begging for something, babbling on senselessly, nothing more than a cluster of indistinct shudders in your chest, because then he’s speaking to you, the contracting of his fingers nothing more than a blunt pressure.

“You want my cum, baby?” his voice breaks through the universe he’s birthed in your skull, clear and curt. “That what you want?”

Yes, your head is nodding in quick little movements, chin bumping against his forearm. Yes, yes, yes!

“Yeah? Yeah? Show me.”

“Oh, God, Sir,” you nearly sob, feet curling around his neck, gripping him closer, muscles in your legs pulled taut. “Please, please, gimme your cum, Sir, need you to stuff my tummy full of it, Sir, stuff my whole body full of it, Sir, I want it s-so bad!”

A sardonic little laugh huffs past spit-slicked lips, as if you attempt was downright pathetic, as if he knows you can do so much better than that.

“Aw, c’mon,” he scoffs. “That’s the best you got? Show me, baby, show me how badly you need it.”

Nothing more than a mass of pulsating pulp now, your mind can hardly comprehend what he’s saying, unable to stitch together any semblance of meaning from his words, but that’s alright, because it doesn’t have to.

Because your body knows. Your body knows exactly what he’s asking for.

And it gives it to him, almost instantly.

It’s so immediate, so intense that it strikes a scream from your throat, shatters the cosmos he had instilled within you and sends scorching glints of starstuff shooting through your veins, ripples of flesh quavering inward, towards your core, only to be dispelled yet again, forced back the way they came by the incessant snapping of his hips.

The hands curled around his wrist clamp, grip so strong it makes the bones in your fingers ache, stiffly frozen in tiny claws as your orgasm wracks your body, a sticky stream of unintelligible sobs flowing from your lips, hitching in time with his hips.

They’re so dense, so thick, so fucking heavy that they clog your throat, obstructing what little, narrow gaps for air you had left, and you feel like you’re drowning in them, in your desperate pleas for his cum, residual flares of starstuff melting your flesh from the inside out.

Clouds of bliss have formed at the corners of your vision again, and everything feels abraded, overexposed, hypersensitive, nerves gnawed raw to their frayed roots by the pleasure, sweet little cunt sore from such strenuous clenching.

And finally, finally he gives you what you want, the vicious throbbing of his cock the only thing your hazy mind can concentrate on, can grasp ahold of, shreds of focus melding together in an effort to pay attention to it.

Faintly, you can hear a moan fracture on his tongue, lips molding into an involuntary pout at the pleasure muffling your ears and misting your eyes that eclipse his gorgeous sights and sounds from you.

The pressure on your windpipe lets up, wheezy air rushing into your lungs in razored little breaths, Alhaitham’s big body suddenly blanketing your own, his elbows resting on either side of your head. Slim fingers caress your skin, brushing back sweat soaked strands of hair, teal eyes tender as they study your face, careful and courteous. His chest vibrates against yours—warm little tingles that zip through your flesh—and you struggle to listen, muted static fading in and out as your ears begin to tune into his frequency.

“...About, baby?”

“Hmm?”

He laughs, and it’s a fond little sound, mirth-infused breath wafting across your lips, nimble fingertips tracing the curve of your cheek.

“I said, what are you pouting about, baby?”

“Couldn’t see you,” your mumble out, forehead crumpling cutely with the distasted scrunch of your nose, lashes fluttering rapidly as if to accentuate your point. Drops of crystal escape the corners of your eyes, pushed forcefully from their home by your hard blinking and rolling into the hair at your temples. “W-Wanted’a see how pretty you look when you cum.”

“Well,” he begins softly, though there’s a self-satisfied smirk on his face, corners of his mouth twitching slightly, threatening to spread into a full-grown smile. “I’m sure you’ll get another chance soon.”

As your fucked out mind chews on his words, features still chiseled in a deep pout, he stands slowly, taking your rigid hands between his palms and smoothing out your crimped fingers one by one, massaging each joint as he goes.

He’s saying something else to you, something about how lucky you were to be on such a high, vacant floor, something about how you should both right yourselves before one of the monitors wanders on up and catches you, but none of that matters to you; not when his softening cock is slipping from your abused little hole, and thick dollops of his cream are drooling out with it, and if he doesn’t do something soon, it’s gonna be wasted!

“Haitham! Haitham!” you whimper loudly, body thrashing weakly beneath him.

“What?” he asks, sounding just as alarmed as you feel, fingers halting their ministrations as wide eyes scan your face.

“Your cum!” you practically weep out the word, features screwed up in in distress, as if the thought of wasting even a single drop physically pains you.

Head tilting, he frowns slightly. “What—”

“It’s leaking outta me!” you whine, lidded eyes springing open with some effort, beseeching him. “Don’wanna waste any of it! Do something, please, do something, make it stop!”

Another one of those fond chuckles pries past his lips, head shaking a little and muttering to himself about how you’re still his little fucking brat, aren’t you? as he kneels between your thighs, your knees still slung over his shoulder.

You’re still murmuring to yourself, wrecked little complaints that keep slurring together, and Alhaitham hushes you, a thumb stroking the silky skin of your inner thigh. A sharp gasp slices through your words as his tongue pushes into your cunt, tip curling in an attempt to scoop out his cum, the cutest little squeal mangling itself in your throat as your hips wiggle.

“Hey,” he says sternly, fingertips denting plush flesh as the grip on your thighs tightens, your squirming halted immediately. “Stop moving or I won’t give you any at all.”

“M’sorry, Sir,” you say as seriously as you can manage, ghosts of giggles still bubbling in your throat, haunting your words. “I promise I’ll behave, please gimme some.”

“That’s a first,” you hear him grumbling to himself, words slightly garbled by the cum he’s storing in his cheeks. “Maybe I should feed you my cum more often.”

You aren’t afforded a moment to respond to his musings, though, because then his tongue is plunging back into you, hollowing out your cum-stuffed cunt in an almost meticulous method, twisting and twirling and lapping up every last bit of the viscous substance.

You’re pushing yourself up eagerly as he rises, desperate to meet him, arms wobbling a little as you strain, legs falling off his shoulders to pillow his hips.

Large hands wrap around your shoulders, thumbs pressing into the dips of your collarbones as he stabilizes you, tugging you closer to his body and slotting his lips against your own, opened wide and waiting.

He practically shoves his cum into your mouth, tongue grinding in repetitive little rhythms against your own, each stroke depositing another coating of his cream, now diluted by your interspersed saliva, on the slick muscle.

It’s the closest thing to a real kiss that he’s given you all night.

And you can’t help but moan into him, sucking his tongue further into the heat of your mouth, lips puckering tightly around it in a feeble attempt to slurp and swallow down every last drop, bitter and tart and strong, just like his favourite blend of dark roast coffee. Your own tongue twines around his, starved and scrupulous and licking it clean, before the tip dips into the crevices near his molars, sopping up any remaining notes.

“Fucking greedy little girl I’ve got myself here,” he’s mumbling as he finally frees his tongue from your kiss, saliva shimmering on his chin.

“Can’t help it,” you shrug, suddenly feeling shy, cheek tucked into your shoulder and resting against his knuckles. “You just taste so good.”

His gaze softens, melting under your scalding sincerity, and his index finger crooks, tilting your chin up.

“You’re precious,” he admits after a beat of silence, eyes skimming your features in a way that feels light, faint, dainty, as if staring too hard, or observing too assiduously, might break you.

Blinking curiously, your head tilts in his grasp, a question written in the movement.

But he doesn’t answer.

“Here,” his arms hook beneath your own, hauling you off the desk and onto unsteady feet. “Let me fix you up a little. You look all...”

“Fucked out?”

“I was going to say dishevelled, but yes.”

“Your fault,” you say simply.

“It is my fault, which is why I’m fixing you up, brat,” teal eyes flick up from his motions, hands still fussing as he holds your stare, the satisfied little giggle spilling from your throat procuring a small grin from him.

He’s nearly finished righting you when the elevator dings, sending a startle through the both of you, combined gazes flicking towards the chrome doors just as they slide open to reveal a man.

“Uh,” the man begins dumbly, the patch sewn onto his shirt delegating him as library security. “The library’s closing in about ten minutes, so start wrapping up whatever it is you’re working on.”

Despite Alhaitham’s fussing, you still look absolutely fucking wrecked—lips swollen and stained with blood, cheeks and neck streaked with salt and sweat, sweetheart dress still damp and clinging to all your curves and contours—and he’s sure the guard can tell exactly what you were just doing, the man’s beady eyes busy glueing themselves to your body, pupils sucking up every fine detail, singeing them into the tissues of his brain for later use.

A thread of protectiveness surges through Alhaitham’s veins, and his arm curls around your front, shuffling you behind his shoulder; a shield of sorts, a nonverbal warning to the guard and his grubby gaze.

“We’ll be out before closing,” he promises, voice strong, stern, curt, snapping the guard from his perverted reverie.

The guard mutters some nondescript jumble of an approval and nods to himself, Alhaitham waiting until he’s shuffled back into the elevator before he turns towards you, tiny fingers burrowed in the hard muscle of his bicep, clinging to him as you totter on your rickety legs.

And he can’t help the adoring little snort that tickles the back of his tongue as he stares down at you, lashes clumped together in thick spikes and that shimmer as they flitter.

“What does he mean, the library closes in ten minutes?” you ask as Alhaitham finishes tidying up your combined study materials, hands still twisted in the fabric of his sweater, hindering his movements slightly.

“He means that the library closes in ten minutes,” your TA responds dryly, sardonic amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What? Wait!” you cry, voice streaked with high panic, fingers flexing against him and yanking him closer. “But I barely started my research! I—I’m not even close to finished!”

A strong arm twines itself around your hips, heavy palm curled in an almost possessive manner around the bone as he supports the majority of your faltering weight, exhausted body fusing into his touch and allowing him to guide you toward the exit.

“Well, then I guess we’ll have to come back, won’t we?” he responds coolly, smoothly, leaning down to murmur in your ear as the pair of you reach the elevator. “And you better not be such a fucking brat next time.”

“I mean,” you’re saying nonchalantly as you step through the chrome doors, mischief dancing on your lips and glittering in your eyes, both arms wrapped around his waist squeezing him closer, tighter. “If that will be my punishment again, then I can’t make any promises.”

It’s impossible to impede his head as it droops to plant a doting kiss to the crown of your head, pausing for a breath before sowing a few more along your hairline for good measure, doused in affection.

Because it’s then that he realizes that the brat that resides within you—inherent, instinctual, in a way—hasn’t actually been sated or tamed at all, but merely lulled into a sort of complacency; a sweet slumber that it’ll be snapped from the moment something doesn’t go your way, or you don’t get what you want.

It is untameable, insatiable, nearly uncontrollable, always ready to resurface at the best of times, the worst of times, the most unpredictable of times, to dare and challenge and defy, and that’s exactly why he loves you.

#alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham thirst #genshin smut #genshin impact smut

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