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hxltic · 9 months

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ghost yellin pt. 2!! (and 2k followers. omg.)

(mention of blood n knives n stuff in here)

pt. 1~~~

It was still early in the morning when your puffy eyes blink open. Despite the mission that had your arrival around 3-ish in the morning, it was still the crack of dawn, which meant the start of your day, mission or not.

The warmth you had longed for encased you, but today, it felt unfamiliar.

You hadn’t forgotten about yesterday (or earlier today). And even though what happened upset you, you’d still wanted him, so you could feel the comfort your father never gave you after an argument. You’d never received a genuine apology from him, just an offer for new shoes or to go to your favorite restaurant that day.

Even in anguish after what he did, you still wanted his touch. Or that may have been what you thought, because now you were peeling his strong arms off you, and creeping to the bedside. You cautiously swing your legs over and slowly step to the door, but even though you were going unbelievably slow, the pain underneath your feet made you wince.

“Wait—”

There’s a gruff voice that your back is turned to, making you jump at the realization he was awake. You had been taught all your life to fight when your fight or flight response flickers, but he noticed how you almost bolted towards your room.

He had been awake the whole time. He’d vouched to himself he wouldn’t close his eyes until your breaths were regular again, but even after they had, he’d barely gotten any sleep. If he had tears left to cry, one would’ve slipped.

Whenever he did fall to the night, in any circumstance, his body physically would prevent him from staying such. He was a light sleeper to another extreme. His body was trained by none other than trauma and instinct. So when he felt you raising his arm, he’d awakened and watched you do everything silently.

He would’ve said something, but he didn’t know what. An apology would sound fake in this situation.

Ghost was a hands-on man, so he moved. His large body flipped the covers off him and hastily brought itself to you.

The last time you’d let him get close, he screamed in your face. You took an involuntary step back, but had you thought about it you probably would’ve taken it anyway. His quick steps pause.

He gazes into your frozen eyes, glistening and pretty even in upset, but underneath carrying fear and shock.

Seeing him, one side of you wanted to apologize for not taking your job seriously, even though you did, or say you were sorry for the other things he mentioned. And you may have when you were 13, but you were a strong woman that built off men’s bullshit over the years, so you hold your ground.

He shrunk himself and moved effectively before you. No unnecessary movements.

“Please. Wait.”

You could tell he was trying to make his voice soft, but the octave and accent just did not allow it. He was trying though.

Do you book it, or stay?

You stay, to hear him. He recognizes your stance as one specifically military-taught, ready to move.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you. I should’ve been better,” he started. You’d come to realize even with small issues, he was an okay apologizer. “I’m sorry. You’re the last person who deserved that.”

He inspected the way you heard him but just stood there awkwardly. You were never awkward around him. In fact, he was the awkward one.

His heart dropped at how visibly uncomfortable you looked. He wanted to touch you—to take all your problems away, but it wouldn’t work this time. Not when he was the problem.

Ghost was the type of person to do anything for you, anything to get you back. You were the only one who saw him as Simon now, ever since the others died or were killed. He ruined that.

He let the mask get the best of him, finally turning into the murderous, scary man the world sees him as, everyone but you. You’d never been afraid of him, and he himself had changed that.

So in the silence he scans your beautiful eyes again, the brightness they usually reflect gone and replaced. You blink at him like a puppy. A small, scared puppy.

He’d made you cry. He’d made you cry.

He wasn’t expecting forgiveness, or your usual unconditional love, but the silence was too much to bear. He knows what he did, but he genuinely has no idea how he could make it up to you. Once you realize the conversation was over, and that’s all he had to say, you turn your head and limp past the doorway to your room. You were going to cry again.

But that was far from what he wanted to say.

He didn’t realize it when a tear of his own bundled up under his blonde eyelashes, a feeling so rare that people’s jokes about him being a robot could seem true. It had been so long, but watching you sadly walk away from him was enough.

The door was wide open, but he stood there, feeling more useless than he ever had.

These were the times he wished his mother was here. To tell him what to do. To spread the emotional knowledge of loving someone so much it pained you, something she had perfected over the years. Instead, he picked up the brutalities of his father. And he will never forgive him for that.

. .

You’d avoided him for an entire day, almost two, despite being in such close proximity and having to do everything with the squad. He didn’t know whether to leave you be or try again and again. Ultimately, he picked the first. That didn’t mean there weren’t subtle things to get your attention though.

He couldn’t think about yelling again. But it was only at you. So everyone else was graced with their lieutenant in a worse mood than he’s usually in, but they wouldn’t dare ask what was up or say anything to you. Actually, they had barely spoken to you like they had orders not to.

Ghost was rarely in the common room anyway, but now he was really tucked away in his quarters. He preserved his words, though even then they were still snappy. He had an attitude, yes, but he’d come to his senses enough to reflect and prevent himself from saying anything potentially hurtful.

He’d cherished the moments you had no choice but to be close to him a lot more than before, and his voice was barely even the tone of regular speech. Because now, he was scared.

He’d seen how bad relationships can turn, and it doesn’t help it was the man he’s seen all his life ruining what a woman gave him. He doesn’t want to be like that. And if he already has been, he tries to calm himself at night by running through his head “you’re already better than him by trying to fix it,” like a mantra. He’s cried the nights without you. He felt like he was floating away all the time, away from the Earth and the people around him. He barely knows himself anymore.

Little does he know, the time spent without him converted your sadness to anger. Rage.

He has the audacity to scream in your face? After all you do for him? After you put your life on the fucking line and take bullets for him every day?

With your father, it never did convert to anger, because you refused to let it. Being a child, you were way too dependent on him emotionally and physically. He was still your dad, you’d think.

And yes, while you loved Simon, there wasn’t the biological connection to pressure you to him. He was just a man. And if there’s anything you learned yourself, it was that you wouldn’t be pushed around by one.

So the day progressed on with an assignment. The troops were sent out, Ghost in charge.

He had made an order to surround the building, stay hidden in tall grass. A few would push in. They were armed and dangerous.

His voice was loud through the comms, going directly through the headset clear as day. Your team pressed forward alongside his. He had made every order around the fact that you needed to be right next to him, always in view, so he could keep his watchful eye out.

You crouched around the corner, waiting for command. You whisper in mic to your own squad, instructing them to watch for third-party while everyone’s idle.

The second he calls it, you all infiltrate right after smoke grenades set off. It was quickly cleared of the criminal within a few minutes because there weren’t many to take out, just a few in nooks and crannies, but one of them had caught you through a closet door. It had small blinded windows in it.

A quick sharp pain let you know there was a knife drilled into your side. It was small, and could be a lot deeper, but it still hurt like a bitch.

You had taken worse, so you gunned him down with a swift turn and ignored it. The adrenaline was medicine.

Once everyone returned to base with evac, people noticed the spot of red on your uniform but brushed it off as a battle scar. Until they saw the knife. It would be stupid to remove it.

“That looks pretty bad, you should get that patched up,” someone says. Someone you didn’t know, probably from another unit. You refrain from saying no shit and keep walking to the infirmary.

You finally decide remove it with added pressure to the wound, keeping the gauze close and the slim slit through your skin tight. The adrenaline was wearing off now and everything started to come back to you. You groan loudly when you touch it.

Red stains your fingers. It wasn’t deep but it had to be pulled out, and standing would be hard. You sit to see what you were doing.

“Fuck!” you yell.

The pain was ten times worse when you sat down, the fold of your body at the hip right underneath the opening. You feel like you could imagine the knife scraping other parts of your insides.

Suddenly the door opens. No one other than Ghost stands there, fully in gear, searching for the source of the cry. Once he locates you, you barely hear him murmur “bloody hell.” You glance up at him, then back down to what you were doing. He tries to ignore the equivalent stab in his heart at that, the one that matched the way his face drops at the sight of you. You would be able to see the white of his eyes through the mask if you’d look at him.

You were unconsciously trembling, attempting to mentally prepare yourself to pull the knife out slow. The man before you just watched.

“Get out,” you demanded.

“No,” he calmly replies. Once again, barely above a whisper, but heavy with accent.

You visibly roll your eyes and continue picking at the knife, trying to find the easiest way to retrieve it. Of course Ghost would take this time to be near you when you can’t run away from him.

He removes his gloves and opens the cabinets beside him, getting peroxide and other medical things. He walks to you with them in hand, and you bring it upon yourself to completely ignore him.

He steadily drops to a knee in front of you so you see eye to eye. You hiss when you pull at one side and it doesn’t work.

Softly, he breaks the silence, “When did this happen?”

No response. He was looking you dead in the eyes despite how horrible at eye contact he usually is.

“When did-“

“Earlier, Lieutenant.” You speak. He knows this was you digging at him. It worked, but he brushes it off.

He reaches his bare hands rid of the supplies up to help you. He was mad at nobody other than himself for not being there.

“Stop,” you shoo his hand away, tending back to your wound. Even though he wanted to help, he backed off.

To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing, and he’d probably had this happen a thousand times. He was inevitably better at medical anything compared to you.

“How did it happen?” He waits. Wasting time talking to him will have you bleeding out. The knife was a little under halfway visible.

“I was taking my job seriously, Lieutenant.”

He cringes at the words he’s shameful to call his own. He wants nothing more than for you to at least be on speaking terms with him, but even that he knows he doesn’t deserve. He sighs deeply.

“I’m sorry, let me help you. Please,” he begs.

“I don’t want your help, and you don’t want mine. So we can keep it that way.”

What he said that night was far from true; you did more than just help him. He was dependent on you. He surveys the way you hiss at the straining feeling, attempting to take deep breaths between tugs, but only making it worse. He won’t let everything you’re throwing at him break him down in this state.

“Grab it from the top, do it all at once. Then stop the blood immediately.”

You huff in annoyance at his words, causing yourself pain from your own irritation. But, he did know what he was doing, so you followed the orders. He inspects you.

You tug on the knife with a painful deep breath and moan at the pain, shutting your eyes. The view alone gives Simon whatever you’re feeling tenfold.

It only goes up about a centimeter. It hurt so bad though, your breaths were heavy and enhancing the stinging sensation. Your audible whimper was enough for the man in front of you to take action.

You almost forgot how mad you were at him from the pain, so when his hands reached up to you, you just let them. His right applied pressure to the sides. He couldn’t care that it stained his rough, pale hands. The left rests on your hand planted on the seat, then he instructs you to lay down. It’ll avoid scratching any more areas inside by stretching out.

“Relax. It’ll hurt, but you got it.”

You don’t respond to this, and stare up at the ceiling. You still didn’t want to look at him.

Simon has to remember you were still fairly untouched in comparison to his background in the military, the scars and scratches proof to where he’s been. He’s not used to being gentle. He’s around grown men for god’s sake.

And while he knows you’re strong, he wishes someone took the time to allow him some vulnerability back then.

You’re on your back, awaiting his next move. He hovers over you.

“I’mna to count to three, alright? I know you can do it.”

You blink, but he knows you can hear him. Somehow it hurts worse to breathe so your chest runs shallow.

“One,” he starts.

Were you ready? He was going to-

You scream loud enough to have the entire base questioning what was going on before he gets to three, but Simon’s face doesn’t falter from his soft expression as he accurately rips the object out of you. Your hands subconsciously reach for his, then grip him with a pure strength you didn’t even know you possessed. You yelled a long line of curses with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes until it all ended as fast as it came.

You were heaving and your face was hot, sweat gathering along your hairline.

“There you go,” he praises, his movements were quick and efficient. The tape was being placed over the filled injury. “Good girl.”

You were breathless, tired, and red. You wanted to lay down.

“It hurts, Simon,” you whisper.

“I know baby, I know.”

. .

You laid in bed with the dinner one of the soldiers brought you. Simon walks in sometime later, his hand cupped.

“You alright?”

He steps in beside your bed, sitting on the covers. He releases some painkillers right next to the water on your nightstand.

You just nod.

He nods approvingly back, then rests his forearms on his thighs. There’s an uncomfortable silence. An uncomfortable silence.

The ink on his arm was visible along with the scars he’s carried. Some new, some old. It’s a simple t-shirt that stops at the bicep, but he never likes to have his arms out because he’s never comfortable with them showing.

“I just wanted to say—”

“I…don’t want to hear it.” You shut him down.

“Please?”

His ocean eyes survey yours for some type of mercy, some hint you’ll hear him out again. He has concluded that he can speak, but the worst that can happen is you’ll stop listening. You can’t really walk away.

And this was the first time his please seemed to end with a question mark.

“I didn’t mean to yell, but I did, and it hurt you. Even though I just aided you, I did it as a partner. Not just a comrade. You are great at what you do, but you mean a lot more to me than just business—I love you, because you see me differently than everyone else.”

Knowing Simon, it probably did take him the whole day and a half to come up with that and relay it. This tugged your heart strings a little, but then it all came back to you.

“On top of calling me useless you yelled in my face. What were you so angry for anyway?”

Truthfully, he felt that had he told you the real reason, It’d make him look worse. But you deserved it.

“One of the soldiers in another unit looked into my background. Found out about an old mission and the people behind it.”

You hadn’t known much about Simon’s life, because he never talks about it, but you knew enough. It was the mission where he was set up. Betrayed.

You would be pissed too.

But his head hung low in shame, angry that he let an old part of him rekindle in the form of fury. He let out said fury on you.

“Regardless, it was uncalled for. Just think on it, yeah?” He pleads. He’s not sure what he’s telling you to think on, though he doesn’t know the active status of your relationship. But he understands how degrading what he did was, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

But you already had an answer.

“I don’t have to think on it,” you say.

His head whips around, the sadness on his face replaced with shock, and the crinkles coming to form between his brows in confusion. He’d expected the worst, but the worst was what he deserved.

“I’m still very upset. But I don’t hate you. I want you to go to therapy,” you insist.

On the inside, Simon was thrilled. This is the best outcome, better than anything he’d conjured up in his head, and he’d been told a billion times to go to therapy. If it meant being able to hold you again, he’d stay the whole day on a little couch instead of downing prescribed medication that wasn’t working every night.

“I’ll think about what to do from there. But I don’t want it to happen again, because I promise I know what my decision will be the next time,” you declare. He took this message more seriously than he takes Price some days. There was a fire in your eyes to show him how serious you were, and that you’d get up extra close to him just to point your finger in his face if you could.

He understood you hadn’t forgave him, but was giving him some type of redemption. So he could prove himself.

And he was damn good at proving himself worthy of things, hence the Lieutenant in front of his name.

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yanderenightmare · 3 months

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TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, step cest, none of reader's holes are safe

fem reader

Thinking about step-daddy who only married your mom to get closer to you... who thinks an unruly brat like yourself needs his firm hands and teachings to set you on the right course.

You can't believe what’s happening – can’t believe his words.

Your mind is caught in a frenzied state of denial and panic as he forces you down on your bed after you'd told him to get the fuck out of your room when he walked in on you getting dressed to go out, standing there in only a dainty set of panties.

You brace your hands against his broad chest as he bears down on you – trying to create space for you to breathe but achieving little else than if you’d been trying to lift a mountain.

He’s too big and too heavy – too strong.

He doesn’t even bother restraining your fists – not even when you start banging them against him. It’s as if he doesn’t even recognize the assault – busy burying his face in your cute cleavage, nuzzling the soft mounds with sloppy kisses and his bearded chin.

“Stop it!” You hic through tears – sobbing now that the pursuing events dawn on you, coming crashing down, wreaking through your brittle head at the feeling of your panties being tugged down your thighs – flimsy lace splintering before getting ripped off.

He disrupts your cry with a firm hand, taking hold of your chin – and you fall still in wait.

“You' gonna let Daddy eat your pretty pussy out if you know what's good for you…” His lips brush yours with the vile threat while his other hand cups your bare cunt – whispering ruggedly, “Or I might just have to put you over my knee.”

You’re frozen beneath him – eyes shimmering with gloss, staring up into his impossibly dark stare – feeling leveled under the burden of his threat.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetpea? Y’gonna behave for Daddy? Or am I gonna have to use my belt on you?”

You stay still, and he takes it as your answer – smiling at you before placing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“That’s Daddy’s good girl~”

Leaning back, he wrings his shirt off over his shoulders, revealing his bulky chest of curls and worn skin before throwing the article aside and looking back down at you with drunken eyes that give you shivers. His old muscles are flecked with age but no less brutal to behold – all intimidating enough to make you swallow thickly.

“You can cry out all you like, pretty girl~” He grins as he takes your thighs in his hands – lifting them, spreading them, then pushing them flat down against your chest – tipping your cunt up to his mouth. "A good girl knows how to scream." His breath is ticklish on your exposed sex. “But the only words I wanna hear come out of your mouth is – yes please, daddy – more please, daddy – and pretty please, daddy, can I cum?”

You whine when he licks a stripe through your folds – dark eyes glinting at the sound, chuckling hotly under his breath.

“Walkin’ ‘round my house dressed up like a little slut – teasin’ me all day long.” He gruffs. “Tch – this pretty cunt’s gonna get what you’ve been beggin’ for, and you’re gonna take it with a smile – understand that, little lady?”

Your toes are immediately curled, gripping the air for purchase as he buries his face in your muff. And he’s messy with it – spitting, then slurping it up again – splitting the lips to suck your clit, then pressing a deep kiss into it – tongue flatly running over the pearl, lapping at it like a dog. All with a heated glare – hungry like a starved animal – eagerly set on your face.

You squeeze your eyes shut to avoid it, lip caught between teeth – trying to stifle all moans.

But the folded position he has you in presses you free of air – soon leaving you to pant out like a silly bitch in heat – thighs wanting to squeeze shut but kept pinned and trembling in the harsh grip he has on them.

“Oh~ look at yah~ my little slut~” He hums between licks, a grin still slickly plastered on his face – mustache glistening with drool and arousal. “Must feel good to make you tremble like that – does my little girl wanna cum?”

You whine, trying to shake your head in denial – but the pressure builds whether you want it to or not – squeezing tight like a fist in your gut, desperate to unknot.

“Better ask for Daddy’s permission, or I won't be happy.” He adds, giving your thighs a pinch – hard enough to make you yelp – sure to leave bruises.

“Ah – no.”

You don’t want it – you curl your head to the side with a grimace.

You feel gross – reeling as his tongue circles your hotspot, unable to deny the tickle in your gut – recognizing the blossoming, knowing you’d soon bloom.

“Mgh," You whine. "Yes, please! I need – can I please cum?!”

“Call me Daddy.” He demands, talking into your cunt while nuzzling his nose against your clit.

“Please, Daddy – please, can I cum!”

Another chuckle makes you shake – almost impatiently – before he purrs, “Sure, baby – go ahead – make a mess~”

He gives your clit one last harsh suck before sticking his tongue inside you, deep with a grin, while feeling you tremor on it, tasting your sweet release like it was a victory.

You throw your head back and your chest up – whole body quaking – trembling at the thrill pulsing from your core, zipping along each limb – leaving you feeling cottony and numb from the pleasure.

You pant with softer moans when it dissipates – still feeling twitchy.

Hooded eyes with teary lashes fall from the ceiling to his face – then regret it.

The shame washes away all pleasure – making your sweat go cold.

But if he sees it, he doesn’t care. “That was beautiful, baby girl~” He moans instead, eyes still keenly set on you.

You cringe, chagrined as he kisses your slit once more – tonguing the slick opening and humming at the sweet taste.

He finishes you with a sharp kitten lick flicking off at your clit – then releases your thighs. Pulling you with him as he got up on his feet by the edge of your bed.

“C’mere – on your knees.” His fist wraps your hair – tugging your head back. “Open wide and tongue out fo’me. It's my turn.”

Your brows cinch, feeling your scalp sting from the grip, making you timidly obey.

He groans at the pretty sight – looking so cute with that dewy glow on your cheeks – plush lips wet and welcoming – pink tongue trembling in eager wait of him.

Sighing with a leer, “Such a pretty little thing~” His other hand zips down his fly, pinched free the button, and let the baggy slacks drop to the floor.

Thicker tears pool in your eyes – a horrid burn of humiliation making your tongue feel heavy, kneeling beneath him with your mouth gaping – knowing what was coming.

“This is what you wanted, right – why you've been acting like such a brat?” He pulls your face against the pudgy bulge in his boxer – warm and thick beneath the black fabric with a ripe smell of musk. “You wanna be Daddy’s big fat cock to satisfy all your greedy little holes, hm?”

You don’t close your mouth – the fist ripping your strands from their roots was warning enough to keep you pliant.

“Come on then, little slut~” He started cooing, nudging the sack against your tongue, dipping inside the warm opening. “Show me how much you want it – and don’t look away.” The smile on his face made your guts fold. “I wanna see those pretty eyes beg for it.”

He gives your hair a sharper tug, forcing out a whine from your throat. It spurs him on, making him chuckle – watching your eyes tremble up at him – struggling against his bulbous crotch, cuddling it so cutely, making him twitch.

Rasping out, “Such a needy little whore~” while his other hand dragged the band down.

Your mouth sealed closed on instinct – eyes too – shutting tightly once his cock sprung free. Whimpering when feeling it slug on your face – you tried to turn your head away – but was kept close by the hand fisting your hair.

“Bad girl, I told you to keep your mouth open and your eyes on me.” He sneered, pinching your cheeks open with the other hand – hard enough to make you wince.

You peeled your eyes open again – with tears slipping down your face as you dropped your jaw for him again.

“Playing games like a snotty brat.” He hissed, rubbing his leaky cockhead over your parted lips – smearing his pre on them like lipstick while you shuddered. “Look at you now, mmh~ such a good girl for Daddy~ taking it on your knees.”

He dabbed himself on your tongue, and you had to keep yourself from retching – tasting the bitter salt.

“Mmh~ begging for it like an eager little cum-junkie~” He groaned, lolling forward, cock sliding over the bed of your tongue and hitting the back of your throat in a soft kiss – only with half his veiny shaft in your mouth.

He licked his lips and threw his head back.

“I knew you just needed a firm grip – knew you’d make the most perfect little slut fo’me~”

You gagged when he started thrusting, hands positioning themselves on his sturdy thighs, fingers digging into the muscles as he stuffed your mouth full of his length – weighty balls clapping against your chin where spit started frothing.

He held your jaw in guidance – keeping you steady to receive him.

Throaty moans grated your ears as he abused the wet warmth – looking down at you and how you struggled, unable to take all of him. It didn’t bother him, though – the tight ring of your lips sucking along his veins was enough to make him go crazy.

It felt so right to be throat-fucking your pretty little face; he couldn't believe he hadn't done it sooner – creating such a cute mess all over you – looking so hot on your knees for him like this, with spit and pre cum slicking your face like a young prostitute in the making.

You obeyed as best you could – not used to the size or tempo. You'd given few blowjobs before and never been facefucked. But you figured the sooner you could make him cum, the sooner all this would be over.

He thought about it, too. He could cum down your throat like this, make you swallow – drink his seed like a good whore should.

But the idea is soon replaced by the thought of stuffing your sweet cunt instead – feed your womb his hot load – wear your tight pussy like it was tailored just for him.

He popped out of your mouth, and you coughed before heaving for air – panting – nearly barreling over if it hadn’t been for the grip he still had around your hair.

Pulling you up by it – his other hand found your throat, and your mouth was taken by his – kissed hungrily with teeth pulling at your lip while tickled by his facial hair.

“Mh- c’mere,” He groaned into your mouth – plopping himself down on the mattress while pulling you along by the neck. “Up on my Daddy’s lap, baby.”

He continues kissing you, with both hands slipping down to squeeze each asscheek, rolling your hips back and forth on him, making your wet cunt grind against the stiff underside of his cock.

You can’t help but make a noise as it licks your sensitive clit, rubbing over it in wet warm strokes. You balance yourself against his chest – hands placed on his muscles – pushing yourself up from slacking against him.

You’re still breathless, left gasping – too weak to fight it when he leans after you, mouth on your tits, sucking your nipples into hardened little peaks.

Your hands go to the hair atop his head, gripping the locks to steady yourself.

He chuckles at the pull, looking up at you while rasping out a filthy “Is my little girl excited to get her little pussy stuffed by Daddy’s cock?” with a lazy grin carved on his face.

And before you can deny it, he’s already confirming the statement.

“You must be – your little cunt is so fucking wet for it.” He cheered. Hand slipping between you to slap his thickness against your slit – rubbing himself between the lips with a mocking pout on his lips. “This poor little pussy, cock-starved and empty~ I know, I know, you want to cum on Daddy’s cock, don’t you?”

He lifts your ass up so that you’re hovering over the tip – using the other hand to angle it against your entrance.

Purring, “Don’t worry, baby~ finally gonna stretch you out nice and tight~ fuck you into size like a proper cock-toy~ fill you up with my hot cum~”

You shake your head and squirm when he begins to nudge the head inside – but both hands place themselves back on your hips, gripping them firmly enough for it to find purchase.

“There we go, ease on down it, baby~ get comfortable~” He coos, even though you’re sinking your nails into the tough muscles of his chest – gasping at the ill sting of the stretch as he pushes you down despite the tight resistance. “Oh, fuuuck – so wet and snug on me~” He sucks his teeth, snapping his hips up to bottom out deeply. “Take all of me, now~ let Daddy bottom out~”

His head hangs back – Adam’s apple bobbing up with his mouth hung wide in a silent moan while you wince – desperately wanting to lift off.

But he keeps you seated – tensely made to cock-warm him while slowly adjusting to the size – taunt walls rippling along his veins, sucking on it as it settles inside you, molding you to accept its shape.

He squares his jaw, then gives a breathy hum that makes his beard dance – lifting his head to look at where he’s got himself sheathed to the hilt – his eyes lost in it as he sets a slow pace – using both hands to steer your hips, rocking you back and forth with barely any lift to relieve you – keeping himself lodged just as deep – cozily kneading your cervix.

“That’s a good pussy right there – wet and tight and all mine.” He groans, lolling you on him sweetly. “Isn't that right, baby? This pretty pussy belongs to Daddy, doesn’t it?”

He watches your perky tits jiggle for him. Leaning forward, he gives it a suckling wet pop.

“Every inch of this slut’s body belongs to Daddy, isn’t that right, little one?” He demands a little harsher, threatening the nipple between his teeth.

“Ye-yes…” You whimper.

It’s been a while since you’ve been stretched like that – it’s been a while since your insides have been given any attention at all. When you do it for yourself, you mostly just settle for playing with your clit – happy with one orgasm to take the edge off.

This is touching on more nerves – lighting other fires – different wells – tapping all sources – you’re leaking juices all over him, practically sopping, sucking him in – all but your head overly ecstatic for the attention.

“You wanna cum again – don’t you, my little slut?” He murmurs knowingly, giving your ass a harsh slap while pressing his forehead against yours.

He groans as he picks up the pace – dragging a moan out from your chest.

You want to deny it again like before – but the pleasure allows little else than to be appreciated with heavy shuddering breaths.

“Remember the rules, sweetie. Better beg permission, or you’ll be punished.” He warns.

You spot a grin forming on his lips – sharp like a knife – before uttering the next words.

“Better say, please let me cum on your big fat cock, Daddy~”

You scowl, trying to sneer, “Fuh-fuck you…” but your voice weakens to a whine.

Still, it’s unacceptable.

“That’s not how you speak to your Daddy. Bad slut.” A harder slap cracks across your ass – this time, making you yelp.

Your hair is pulled before you recover – and you’re thrown off his lap. Placed with your knees on the floor and your face in the warm and sweaty seat he’d just been sitting.

He stands above you – using a hand to pin your wrists to the small of your back while another hard smack is given to your already throbbing rear.

“If your pussy won’t follow the rules…” He licks his lips, looking down at the sight of you bent over beneath him, sobbing fat tears from the abuse. “Then this ass is next in line.”

You flinch with the words, eyes going wide. “What?” Already shuffling uneasily, gasping once his heavy hand came back to pet the welted cheek, branded with his handprint, giving it a firm squeeze that had you wince.

“It seems you don’t understand who’s in charge here…” He chided, with a coarse finger settling on the untouched rosebud slicked in pussy-juice, rubbing it slow and steady. “But I bet fucking your tight virgin ass is gonna make that crystal clear.”

“No – please no-” You plead, jostling weakly with your remaining strength – but the digit enters you anyway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s too late to beg now – you gotta take your punishment,” He dismisses, digging knuckle-deep inside your butthole. “But to be honest with you… I was hoping you’d bite back like that.” He gruffs eerily at your ear. “I dream about putting your bratty ass in its proper place every night.”

His finger twists and curls inside the hole, loosening it a little before skewering another two in.

“Make you cry as I turn you into a good little butt-slut for me – get this sweet hole to gape for my cock to fill it up.”

He puts you in a headlock after pulling his three fingers out of your stretched opening – letting go of your wrists in favor of reaching under you to play with your pussy as he bullies his bulbous cockhead into the tight ring while you cry. With nails biting into your palms and your poor gushing cunt clenching around nothing.

He enters slowly, giving it shallow thrusts to fuck it open before feeding it another fat inch. Rubbing your clit between gritty fingers as he sinks inside you – burying his shaft within the snug walls of your tight ass as your hole gives in to his size, swallowing him up until he’s kissing your stomach with his heavy balls squeezed flush against your cunt.

“There you go, my little anal slut~ That’s Daddy’s brat getting taught her place!” He gives your butt another firm slap as he starts dragging out and stuffing you right back up again. “Getting her naughty ass spanked and propped with cock like a little whore~”

The fat arm squeezing your neck and the fingers swirling your clit make your head cloudy – even as your ass screams from the pounding, your cunt begs for the attention – milking nothing as it weeps with slick, running down your thighs into a little pool where you kneel.

“Aah- Daddy…” You moan through a sob. “Please…” Whimpering while you throttle his cock with your taunt ass, all but fucking yourself back on his shaft as he keeps rubbing your clit in steady patterns that have your cunt kissing the air. “Daddy, please – please let me cum…”

His chuckle is lazy and grating, feeling your cute ass swallow his cock all on its own.

“Y’know, only a real whore cums from having her ass fucked, right?”

You can’t help but buck your hips, shaking your ass like a slut as his fingers pick up the pace and rub your bundle of nerves in quicker circles. Begging, “Please…”

“Oh, what a filthy little girl~ bent over like a mindless animal, fucked in her tight ass.” He patronizes. “Okay, my sweet little slut~ I’ll let you cum – but only after I hear you Say, please, Daddy, can I cum on your big fat cock~”

You’re too close to refuse. Desperation lacing your cute moans, “Ah – Daddy, please – mh-please can I cum on your big- ah – fat cock, please, Daddy please~”

He shoves three fingers in your cunt at that, curling them into your soft spot each time he pumps them inside, finger-fucking the sloppy hole until it spurts, making you scream while you squirt, drooling on your sheets like a mind-broken mess as your thighs and ass shake from the release.

“Good whore~ Remember to say thank you.” He mocks.

“Th-thank you – thank you, Daddy~” You mewl out cutely before he sticks all three slick-glossed fingers inside your mouth – fucking the tired opening as you pant out dewy moans around them, sucking them clean of your mess.

He keeps a steady rhythm, continuing to ream your poor butt until it's his turn to cum.

“Such a good slut~” He slinks out of your pummeled ass and slaps his wet cock against your face where you rest against the bed, all sweaty and dumb from your orgasm. “Come’ere, cum-baby, tongue out as you look up at Daddy~”

He smiles, smothering you between his fat thighs while his balls cover your face, pulling back to tap the tip on your lips.

“Here it comes!”

White ropes lash your tongue, leaving a bitter taste – bejewelling your face with pretty pearls that melt down your smooth skin like drying paint on a canvas.

He groans as he tugs the last few spurts out of his balls, wiping the messy cockhead on your tongue.

“Aw, I gotta have a picture of that. Daddy’s little cum covered whore on her first day of training~”

He holds your chin, rough-handling your jaw between strong fingers as he angles your face to meet the flash of his phone.

Grinning as he sing-songs, “Say, all my holes belong to Daddy~”

Your expression is still dumb, softly blinking up at him with one eye weighed down with his cum, simply mouthing the words back to him. “All my holes belong to Daddy~”

BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji, Aizawa

JJK – Nanami, Geto, Toji, Higuruma

HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Ukai

AOT – Erwin, Zeke

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teabutmakeitazure · 1 year

Text

Coincidental Smiles and Hard Working Humour

How the Yan Genshin boys react to a genuine laugh from you and try to dig for more

Characters included: Childe, Diluc, Zhongli, alhaitham, Pantalone

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Childe: Going to the kitchen first thing after waking up and seeing him half covered in flour with his hair ruffled up like he just got hit by electro did wonders on your brain. The sight of him disheveled and disorderly had made you chuckle, the bubbles of laughter slowly turning into giggles. Childe watches you with eyes as wide as saucers as he remains frozen where he stands, saucepan in hand. The sound of your laughter echoes in the kitchen, and you briefly clutch your stomach during your unguarded moment. Watching you pour out such joyous sounds makes Childe's brain hyperactive and he tries his best to get into circumstances similar to that. He messes up his shirt's buttons and goes to you, asking you to fix them for him. He purposely lets his hair dry all weird so that you could see how funny it looks. He even goes to the length to make up some puns in his head, but that horribly backfires when you mockingly gag. Childe tries his absolute best to make you laugh again all the while going to sleep with the memory of that heavenly sound replaying in his head over and over again.

Diluc: Dawn Winery is no stranger to nature. There's crystalflies, grapes, carrots, potatoes, the occasional boars and your favourite, the resident cats. Having recently befriended a mother and her three kittens, you often sneak out to the vineyard to find them. Diluc is obviously aware of the little rendezvous that frequently occurs but takes no action since, well, you come back inside out of fear anyway. Plus, the staff in the vicinity always keeps a close eye and Diluc himself, when at home, watches. So when he hears you giggle from around the corner as he hides in the shadow of the estate wall, he is enchanted. Not because he's never heard you laugh before, no no. It's because of how genuine it is. He peaks out of curiosity and sees three kittens climbing on top of you with different angles all the while one licks your cheek. More sounds of laughter from you put Diluc in a kind of spell, and he finds himself slowly taking steps towards you. Naturally, blood drains from your face when you see him towering over you. Diluc feels guilty when you go as silent as a mouse, but ends up bringing the cats inside to dig up more smiles from you. Can't say competing with them for your attention was easy but hey, it's a small price to pay.

Zhongli: The harbour is bustling with business during the evening hours. Working people leaving for home and grabbing necessities on the way back and children playing by the docks during the rush hours just to hurry back home when it gets dark. While the ex archon thought you would be interested in shopping, it seemed that the youngsters of Liyue Harbour had been your point of interest all along. You had slipped away when he was analysing which hairstick would suit you better, and though Zhongli would usually be worried, he is aware that there's no place you may run off to. Thus, him being perfectly fine with you roaming about. However, had Zhongli known that you would be engaging the children in different games with so much laughter and joy, he would have let you go sooner. As he stood there, watching with a smile, only one thought crossed his mind. Perhaps you would display the same joy if you had children of your own, right?

Alhaitham: The Akademiya can be... ruthless, even for the feeble scholar. The other day, alhaitham, absolutely sleep deprived, had fallen asleep while drinking his morning coffee and while he would have thought that you'd leave him be, you actually took the mug from his hand and placed it on the counter to avoid any spills. Alhaitham's lack of sleep haunted him for a few more days and on one fine morning had fallen asleep while doing paperwork. Being someone who avoids his attentive stare in the mornings, it had been a few hours later that you had exited the bedroom for breakfast. It would certainly not be an exaggeration to claim that seeing the acting grand sage sleeping on the sofa with his coffee mug empty and the beverage spilled onto the floor is in any way, shape or form reassuring for Sumeru's future. However, catching sight of the little amount of drool spilling from his lips had caused you to erupt into a fit of giggles, waking up the sleeping man. Maybe you should atone for your transgression with offering yourself as a pillow.

Pantalone: The Regrator's job is a stressful one. There are idiots of all types present everywhere and are far too much of a nuisance. Pantalone had summoned you into his home office in an attempt to catch a well deserved break from being hunched over paperwork, but when you had walked in, he didn't even so much as look up from his desk, scowling at the papers haphazardly scattered about. Having to witness such a stoic and composed man scowling and glaring at papers all the while muttering something about 'buffoons' and 'imbeciles' had made you stop in your tracks, suppressing a smile. It was when he had made a disgusted face before grabbing an abacus that you couldn't hold in a chuckle. The sound morphs into laughter, and Pantalone freezes on the spot, head slowly rising to look at you. Seems like today is a blessed day.

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florencemtrash · 4 months

Text

The Artificer: Part I - Azriel x Reader

Warnings: None

✨Based on this ask ✨

Masterlist of Masterlists

"Azriel flipped through the information in his mind like a picture book: She specializes in crafting fae-bonded weapons using autoimmune magic. Brilliant, capable, and loyal - only a fool would underestimate her."

The air burned with unknown magic, mingled with the heady smell of smoke and metal and something else… something sweet and clean. Azriel couldn’t put his finger on it as he followed behind his brothers, weaving through the packed, but homey workshop.

Bookshelves filled with carefully attended tomes on woodworking, metallurgy, glassblowing, and more lined one of the walls, some faint traces of magic keeping them safe from the dust and soot that tended to accumulate in the corners.

The other wall was decorated with an assortment of keys - brass, gold, silver, steel, even glass twinkled in the faelight, like a hundred pairs of eyes winking. When Cassian reached for one, the metal began to glow and spark, spitting out thin bursts of magic that smarted until the Illyrian had the sense to pull away.

When Helion first offered your weapon-smithing services to Rhys, he had sung your praises so loudly that Nyx had awoken from his nap, whining incessantly for his father to rock him back to sleep.

Originally born to noble parents in the Dawn Court. She moved to Day thirty years before Amarantha’s rule to escape an ill-suited marriage and has been quietly designing weapons for Helion ever since. She specializes in crafting fae-bonded weapons using autoimmune magic. Brilliant, capable, and loyal - only a fool would underestimate her.

Azriel flipped through the information in his mind like a picture book, cycling through the lines Helion had spoken and his own independent research. He could recite your birthday, the names of your parents, your grandparents, your older brother who’d been killed in the war against Hybern, and the day you graduated university. He even knew the planned date of your wedding to some pompous Lordling from Summer.

What he didn’t know was what you looked like, and he wasn’t sure what to expect.

Perhaps he’d expected someone more refined and regal - you were of noble blood after all… but then they rounded the corner and your soot-stained face popped out from beneath the workbench, purple lens goggles magnifying your eyes to vibrant proportions.

You flipped the goggles up, resting them on your head like a crown.

Azriel blinked.

Strands of hair curled around your fire-blown eyes, framed by soft skin that had been spared the worst of the soot by your goggles. You looked like you had stepped out of a flame - strong and resilient as steel.

You were absolutely breathtaking.

“Oh shit.” You quietly cursed, bouncing to your feet.

You chucked the gloves to the side, hastily wiping away at your cheeks before dipping into a perfect curtsy. You were an actress caught in the spotlights after an ill-timed curtain opening, and you needed to make up for the poor first impression. You hastily slapped on the costume of the High Born Lady, feeling every etiquette lesson your mother had hammered into you slide over your limbs until you were a puppet on strings.

“My apologies, my Lords. I lost track of time.” The words rolled out automatically, perfectly timed and perfectly pleasant, “Forgive me.”

Azriel frowned. He didn’t like the change that had just taken place.

You held one hand artfully over your chest, the other flowing out to the side as you remained frozen in your bow. His eyes traced over the curve of your neck, catching on the sliver of skin that peeked out from beneath your work shirt, then down the slope of your sturdy shoulders and arms - strong and limber after decades of hammering away at glass and steel.

The High Lord of the Night Court waved off the comment, a charming smile brightening his face as he hoisted you out of your curtsy. If he cared about getting soot on his fine clothes, he didn’t show it.

“There’s no need for any apologies. It’s a pleasure to meet you Y/n. Helion’s told me much about you.”

You blushed, subtly brushing back the hair that stuck to your forehead and wishing you’d taken the time to clean yourself up… maybe wash your face properly and change into cleaner clothes.

“My brothers-” The High Lord swung his arm out in a slash of Night Court velvet, “Cassian and Azriel.”

You had to keep yourself from sighing. They were all terribly attractive. It almost wasn’t fair.

“The pleasure is all mine, High Lord,” You curtsied again, “And Lords.” You appended gracefully.

The High Lord was as sensual and charismatic as everyone said with his twinkling violet eyes and perfect smirk - the kind of smirk that announced to the world that he was very aware of the effect he had on males and females alike.

Your eyes flickered down to the tailored velvet suit. It clung to his body impeccably, carving out his broad shoulders and trim waist. How he wasn’t stifling in the heat was beyond you. The furnace roared a little louder, as if to push the point.

The Lord of Bloodshed - Cassian as he was called - possessed a wilder beauty. He was all hard-cut lines and cords of muscle with a faint brush of stubble along his jaw that suited him well.

But the Shadowsinger. He was the one you had trouble dragging your eyes away from. There was something heartbreakingly solemn about him, like a hero plucked out of a fairytale bound to end in tragedy. The same boyish joy that touched his brothers seemed to have skipped over him, and you couldn’t help but wonder why. In fact he seemed… displeased, and your heart began to beat a little faster.

“Call me Rhys.” The High Lord winked, drawing your attention away from the dark and silent Shadowsinger, “Any friend of Helion’s is a friend of mine, and I like my friends to call me Rhys. It keeps me humble.”

Cassian snorted, “Sure it does.”

He shoved past his brother, settling into a comically wide stance. You tried to disguise your surprise and confusion when he leaned down further to be eye level with you. His eyes twinkled with mischief, as if he’d caught onto the slip in your perfectly tailored costume and he wanted to rip it off and burn it to the ground.

“The name’s Cassian,” He held out his hand for you to shake, “Or Cass,” He tilted his head to the side, deep in thought, “Or Bastard brute, as my wife so lovingly calls me.”

You snorted, then froze in horror, one hand flying up to slap over your mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Cassian tipped his head back and roared with laughter. It was the kind of sound powerful enough to fill a tavern and made you feel as giddy as three glasses of wine.

Azriel tamped down the jealousy that flared to life in his chest upon seeing that Cassian was the first to make you laugh. Not that he would have been able to make you laugh as easily as breathing… but he could dream.

Your eyes were blown wide, confusion racking your body as every etiquette lesson crumbled into a pile of dust. Your mother had warned you of what to do with males that were too forward, too cold, too dramatic, too charming. But Cassian was a different breed entirely - he was too casual, too friendly and normal. It took you aback.

Rhys rolled his eyes. Leave it to Cassian to make a High Born Lady crack as easily as fresh ice on the Sidra.

Cassian tapped his chest, looking quite satisfied with himself, “There’s no need for bowing or Court pleasantries. Rhysand’s the only one of us with any real house training anyhow. Prissy little Lordling.”

“Hey.”

“You know it’s true, Rhys. You’re wearing fucking velvet.”

Rhys snorted, “Don’t attack me because I have some sense of style.”

You swiveled between the two of them, uncertain of how to continue. “Well I-” You stammered, taking a step back and straightening your shoulders.

Your mother’s words rang through your mind: Don’t slouch.

“Apologies, for my… manners.” You finished lamely.

“Good manners are wasted on Cassian,” Azriel said. Gods, even his voice was tragically beautiful, like the sound of rain drumming against a window, or the crisp call of wind when Autumn sighs its last breath and gives way to Winter. “And Rhysand too, actually.” He added, ignoring the sounds of protest from Rhys and Cassian.

His heartbeat picked up when your eyes fell on him completely.

“Are they wasted on you?” If they were going to act so… uncouth, perhaps that gave you a pass, “Or did I suffer through endless hours preparing for my debutante ball for nothing?”

Azriel tilted his head. He tried to imagine you as a debutante, paraded around to various suitors in a puffy dress like the gods-awful one Feyre had been shoved into for her first wedding, and it left a sour taste in his mouth. But when he tried imagining you in Night Court attire - something blue - he couldn’t help but find that he quite liked the scene he’d conjured up for himself. He smiled - a faint and quiet smile that made your heart go still.

Cassian and Rhys gaped when their brother quietly closed the distance between you two and bowed. He was the picture of grace - deadly, beautiful grace.

Azriel took your hand in his, reveling in the feeling of your calloused fingertips against his scarred palm, and gently brushed his lips against your skin.

“No.” He murmured, casting his eyes up at you. You melted, falling into the molten sea of his hazel eyes, and it wasn’t because of the heat, “Good manners are not wasted on me.” He finished, straightening up and taking a step back.

He didn’t look disappointed anymore. If anything he looked… amused and… at ease.

You tried to imagine him smiling - a true smile full of teeth and unburdened joy - and found you quite liked the image you’d crafted for yourself.

You tilted your head to the side, trying to disguise just how much he’d affected you. One kiss and a look and you were a goner. How silly of you.

“That was quite good. I’ll give you that.”

Azriel tipped his head in a subtle bow, “Thank you, My Lady.”

You scoffed. No one had called you by any proper title in centuries.

“Shall we begin with you, High Lord?” You asked him first out of propriety, missing the faint frown on Azriel’s face.

He knew he shouldn’t take anything personally. This was a business meeting first and foremost, but that didn’t stop the flicker of jealousy from budding in his stomach whenever you laughed at Rhysand’s teasing or whenever he leaned just a little too close to look at the sketches you drew. The only moment of satisfaction he felt was when you slapped Rhysand’s hand away from the wall, choosing to pull the samples from the chestnut shelves yourself before taking notes on the styles he preferred.

Are you ok? Rhysand asked, raising his eyebrows. It was Cassian’s turn now and The Lord of Bloodshed sat beside you, carefully watching your hand drawn sketches come to life.

I’m fine.

You don’t look fine, brother. Rhys said with a smirk, You look like you want to murder Cass.

Azriel wiped the faintest hints of emotion from his face, turning away from Rhys to look around the workroom.

Everything was warm and coated in soft orange light from the raging forge. It felt like the moment before the sun sinks into the horizon, when the world is as syrupy and comforting as caramel. Chestnut bookshelves lined the wall, filled with as many trinkets, plates of armour, and weapons as books. A long workbench ran the length of the room, neat stacks of paper punctuated by gleaming blades of obsidian, moonstone, and steel. It was where you currently sat, outlined by the fire like some angel sent down from the heavens.

Azriel’s eyes stuck on one blade in particular, carefully laid out on a bolt of midnight blue velvet. Its bronze handle gave away to gold threaded steel sharp enough to cut light and shadow. The sheets had been folded over and hammered so many times that thin rivers of radiance twisted and turned down the blade, mirroring the runes that had been painstakingly etched along its spine.

“Lord Azriel?” His head snapped to the side, following your lyrical voice. You’d soundlessly made your way around the table without him noticing and now stood at his side, “Do you like anything you see?”

Azriel froze. From this close up he could see the faintest gold flecks in your eyes, as though a forge was burning there too, some piece of you always hammering away at an anvil… but maybe that was just the hammering of his heart.

Cassian coughed. Loudly. Rhysand smirked, elbowing his brother, but Cassian was successful. Whatever spell had come over the Shadowsinger broke and color dusted his cheeks.

“It’s just Azriel - or Az. Either works.” He was technically a Lord… emphasis on technically. “Could you tell me about this one?” He pointed to the brilliant blade, hating the sight of his ruined hand so close to it.

You picked it up with ease, spinning it around your body with a strong grace that made Azriel’s breath catch. You weren’t the most skilled swordsman by any means, but you knew enough. After all, if you were going to spend your life making swords you’d be damned if you couldn’t wield one properly.

“This one,” You said with a smile full of pride, “Is Sunseeker.” The blade began to glow, content to once again be in the hands of its master, “It took me decades to figure out how to bind weapons to one master, but once I did - well - I thought if anyone should have that kind of weapon first it should be me.”

To your surprise, a faint smile graced Azriel’s lips. It was such a minor display, but it brightened the air around him. Even his shadows began to emerge, wrapping around his arms and inching towards you like a moth to a flame.

Sunseeker truly was a work of art, beautiful and deadly in equal measure.

Cass whistled low, coming closer to admire it. “How does weapon binding work?” He asked curiously.

Your eyes lit up mischievously, “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

Cassian had just enough time to say “yes” and stretch out his hands before you handed him the blade and he dropped like a stone.

“CAULDRON FUCK ME!”

Rhysand sputtered, doubling over in laughter. Azriel snorted, a hand flying up to cover his mouth in surprise. They watched Cassian fall to his knees on the floor, grasping the handle of the blade that felt two thousand pounds heavier in his hands.

You looked rather pleased with yourself.

Cassian growled, bracing his feet on the floor and pulling up so hard Azriel could see the veins pop out of his neck. “Fucking hell.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Come on, Cass. Get up.” Rhysand teased, shoving his brother with the toe of his boot.

Cassian kicked him in the knee, but from his position the blow didn’t land properly, “I would if I could, you son of a b-”

“Don’t talk about my mother like that.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just. Get. Up.”

“I. Can’t. You piece of shit. I can’t let go of this gods-damned sword.”

Azriel shifted closer to you, heavily amused as Rhys leaned down and grabbed hold of the hilt. His signature charming smile slid off his face.

“What the fuck-” He pulled once. Twice. Tried to pry his fingers off the hilt, but he couldn’t let go no matter how hard he tried. It was as though he’d been glued to a boulder.

Cassian smirked, “I told you.”

You smiled up at the Shadowsinger as the pair continued to bicker, stretching up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “Hardly anyone knows about what I do so I have my fun when I can.”

He fought not to shiver, feeling your breath curl around him as intimately as his shadows. Azriel chuckled - a low rumble in his chest that reverberated through your bones.

“And how many have fallen victim to your tricks?” He asked. His voice was as smooth as butter and honey to your ears. “Just three. Your brothers and Helion.”

“Helion?”

You nodded.

“I would have paid good money to see that.”

You grinned, leaning closer to him. Without a second thought, Azriel leaned in as well, as if he were a light-starved flower and you were the sun.

“Sunseeker is bound to me - tied to my magical signature and my blood. To me, she’s as light as a feather. To anyone else, she may as well be a mountain.”

“And why can’t they let go?”

“It’s another trick. If anyone tries to go for my weapon, they’ll be brought down to the ground and I’ll have enough time to kill them first.” You cleared your throat, “Not that I’m a naturally violent person but… well it doesn’t hurt to be smart about it.”

“I would agree with you.” Az smiled once again, “Incredible.” He whispered, looking you in the eye, “You’re incredible.”

You shifted on your feet, clasping your hands behind your back and looking away so he wouldn’t see how much his praise affected you.

“If you two are done flirting with one another, can you please help us?” Cassian grumbled. Rhys and Cass had both given up, opting to sit cross legged on the floor like a pair of scolded children.

You hurried over, muttering sheepish apologies. You’d overstepped and you knew it but… well they just seemed so casual with one another and with you that you’d forgotten they were highly powerful fae first, and your clients second.

The spell broke the moment you touched the sword, Cass and Rhys groaning in relief and jumping to their feet. You polished off the sword and placed it back on the table.

“Ta da.” You wiggled your fingers. Cass huffed and Rhys cleaned off his clothes with a sweep of his hand.

Az leaned down and spoke in your ear, hazel eyes glowing, “I think it’s my turn now.”

You shivered, feeling both small and powerful under the weight of his gaze. Azriel decided to forgo the chair, choosing instead to kneel beside you. One arm rested on the back of your seat, hovering dangerously close to your shoulder blades as you repeated the same questions you’d asked Cassian and Rhys.

You jotted down notes diligently and Azriel took the time to admire your neat and simple handwriting. Your hand stilled over the paper as a tendril of darkness curled around your fingers. Azriel sat so close that your head swam with his scent. He smelled like winter mountains after rainfall - crisp and clean like a breath of fresh air. His shadows had similarly begun to wrap around you like an Autumn breeze, slipping through your hair and around your neck like they wanted to feel the pulse of your beating heart.

Azriel swore under his breath, pulling them back as quickly as he could, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“I like them.” You said quietly, registering the shock in Azriel’s hazel eyes. You quickly went back to your sketch, “They remind me of home.”

As a final step you took their measurements - the length of their arm, shoulder width, the distance between their hips and knees. Measuring Cassian and Rhysand went without incident, although they did poke fun when you pulled out a stepladder.

“It’s not my fault you’re all so ridiculously tall,” You grumbled, stretching out the tape across Azriel’s shoulders, “Did your mother fuck a tree?”

The Illyrian snorted, “I wish.” He flinched once the words left his mouth, his smile twisting into a grimace.

“Hmmm?” You hummed curiously. Azriel felt your breath brush against the nape of his neck and shivered.

“A tree might have treated her better than my…” Azriel trailed off.

You’d been too young to attend Court when you still lived with your parents in Dawn. But even so, whispers of the Night Court were always followed by discussions of Amarantha’s whore and the Illyrian bastards.

His wings drooped and from the corner of your eye you saw Cassian’s gaze fall to the ground. Even Rhys bristled, the charisma sliding off his skin and replaced by something colder.

He loved his brothers more than himself, and the lack of a blood connection had never minimized the fact that they were his family - his legitimate family. He liked you, but one wrong word about his brothers and he would take his business elsewhere, no matter how talented you might be.

Azriel dared to glance at you, wondering if some part of you believed in the truth - that they were bastards unworthy of attention and respect in the eyes of true high fae nobles, or anyone for that matter. Even in your mussed up clothes you were radiant, carrying yourself with a confidence and grace that came from birth as much as it came from upbringing.

You were royalty… and Azriel suddenly didn’t seem worthy of your attention, even though he was craving it right now.

Your lips tightened into a flat line, anger flaring up in your deep eyes, but you swallowed that anger and channeled the energy into making the brothers laugh once again, “Well I’ll go down on a limb and tell you trees are fantastic lovers.” You said, followed by a cheeky wink.

Cassian turned to look at you, absolutely dumbfounded. Rhys was similarly shocked, violet eyes twinkling and mouth twisting into a smile. But it was Azriel who broke the silence first, tipping his head back and laughing so hard that his shoulders shook from the effort. The sound rang through the workshop, like the sound of rain falling. Cassian and Rhysand joined soon after, clutching their stomachs and leaning against chairs and tables for support.

You bowed dramatically, arms sweeping to the sides like a tropical bird, “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all evening.”

And Azriel took that very seriously. After the sketches were finalized and the blood samples were collected to be bound to metal, Azriel hung close to you, quietly begging Rhys with his eyes to stay longer. They wouldn’t be back for another six months after this.

Rhysand raised his eyebrow knowingly at Cassian and The Lord of Bloodshed smirked.

“Y/n,” Rhys said, voice dripping with persuasion, “Are you hungry? Perhaps you’d like to join my family for dinner?”

You blushed at the invitation, “That is very kind of you, but I think I’ll stay here and work on these further.” You shook the papers in your hand, “I don’t want to forget anything.”

“At least let us bring you food then,” Cassian jumped in quickly, “Az! Why don’t you keep our favorite artificer company until we come back.”

Azriel blanched, stiffening up like a board. He could admire you in the company of his brothers when you were distracted, but he would be hopeless if left alone. “Cass, I don’t think-”

“Oh, I don’t want to take up-” You stammered.

“What a wonderful idea,” Rhys clapped Cassian on the back, all but shoving him back the way they’d originally came, “We’ll be back soon!”

The door hissed closed behind them and you blushed, daring to glance over at the Shadowsinger. At least he also looked flustered. You could find comfort and hope in that.

“I guess it’s just us now.” You murmured.

His eyes softened, taking in your figure, “I guess so.”

You spent hours talking with him that night, both of you leaning over the tables as you discussed your work and what your life in Dawn had been like. Your parents’ marriage had been arranged in haste after a drunken one-sight stand resulted in your brother’s conception. There was little love to begin with, but after his still-birth, whatever affection had existed between them vanished into thin air. You’d been born seventy-three years later - a true born noble in name only. Your parents never hated you, although sometimes you wished they did. Their indifference was a unique pain that you’d never been able to shake off.

But Azriel… Azriel was anything but indifferent. He hung onto every word like it was liquid gold dripping from your lips, and you did the same. Clutching what he said like pearls and committing them to memory.

You couldn’t hide your disappointment when Cassian and Rhys finally reappeared four hours later. “Oh.” You whispered, pulling your hands away from where they brushed against his on the table.

“Apologies, it took so long.” Rhys grinned.

He didn’t look sorry at all. In fact, he looked very pleased to see you and Az pressed together, sharing the same seat despite the empty chairs scattered about the room.

Azriel was less pleased and Rhys didn’t miss the faint frown on his brother’s lips as you begrudgingly reclaimed a seat of your own, nestled between Azriel and Cassian. He also didn’t miss when one of Azriel’s shadows curled around the leg of your chair and tugged you closer to him.

You listened to the brothers talk. Rhys and Cassian carried the weight of the conversation, as they usually did, bickering over lunch leftovers and proudly discussing the progress their mates were making with their respective projects - Feyre with her art studio and Nesta with her Valkyries. Azriel’s shadows shrank away, a glint in his eye dimming when the subject came up.

You stole a glance, watching him carefully. When he caught you staring you smiled and some of that glimmer came back.

“Can I see you again?” Azriel asked quietly once you’d finished eating. Rhys had already cleaned up the food scraps with a snap of his fingers and now lingered by the door, speaking with Cassian.

You looked puzzled, “Won’t you be here when the swords are ready? It shouldn’t take longer than six months. Maybe less. And I can still make adjustments then, if you don’t find it to your liking.”

Azriel shook his head, smiling softly, “No I meant before that.” He glanced at his brothers - his lovingly overbearing, nosy, matchmaking brothers, “Just us again.”

Your heart skipped a beat, tempo quickening after the momentary stillness. “Oh.” You breathed, “I would like that. I would like that very much.”

“Good.” Azriel took your hands in his, feeling the rough calluses of your palm against his scarred skin. He pressed a kiss to both hands, then looked at you, “Until next time then.”

Azriel could never regret meeting you that day, nor could he completely regret seeing you the next week… and the week after that… and the week after that. He burrowed underground with you, sought after the warmth of your home and of your heart like a moth to a flame, daring to brush closer and closer with every beat of his wings.

But it had been a mistake to visit you so often, and so brazenly. Here, in the safety of your workshop, he forgot there were fires that were not so nurturing and lovely. And he forgot that there were others who sought your power and not just your company.

Next Chapter ->

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar #fluff #meet cute #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #rhysand #cassian #azriel #the artificer

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beansprean · 8 months

Text

Exit Interview

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Bust of Nandor on a streaky blue background, leaning forward on one hand, the other raised in the air, palm-up. His eyes are closed on a nonchalant expression, head tipped down, as he casually states "Then it is settled. You are officially released from your service." 1b. Reverse shot of Guillermo, leaning forward as he stands from a chair, looking up at Nandor with a hesitant smile. He asks, "...That's it? I'm not your familiar anymore?" 1c. Close up of Nandor's left hand settling on Guillermo's shoulder as he responds, "Not my familiar, not my bodyguard..." 1d. Wide shot of them both standing in profile, facing each other, the background now streaked with gold. Nandor smiles down proudly at Guillermo, hand on his shoulder, and continues, "...but a fully-fledged member of the household. And my friend." Guillermo happily meets his gaze, lips pressed around a smile of genuine joy. 1e. Close up of Guillermo, the panel back to the streaky blue as the background beyond the panels begins to lighten to the grey of dawn. The next 4 panels are no longer square but angling inwards as if pulled together by an unseen force. Guillermo leans his head toward the hand on his shoulder, his own hand rising up to hold it, and smiles wide even as his gaze dips shyly. He asks, "So...what next?" 1f. Reverse shot of Nandor barking out a nervous laugh, gaze fixed on Guillermo as he replies, "What next indeed!" 1g. Zoom out to them both in profile, Guillermo's hand still on Nandor's hand on Guillermo's shoulder. Guillermo grins affectionately upwards as Nandor straightens and takes a step forward, nervous grin still wide and frozen on his face. He tosses out his free hand in some kind of shrug and says, "Well!" 1h. Repeat. Nandor steps closer still, and his flailing right hand comes to rest, very gingerly, on the side of Guillermo's face. Guillermo's hand slides down Nandor's arm as his left hand shifts to touch his neck, smile gentling as he blinks in surprise. Nandor's expression softens as well, head tilting slightly as he moves his gaze toward where his hand rests on Guillermo's cheek and he continues, "Perhaps..." 1i. Repeat, closer. Nandor has both hands on Guillermo's cheeks now, head dipping down so their noses are only an inch apart. His expression is almost dazed, as he murmurs, "Just..." Guillermo tips his head up as well, lips parted, his left hand sliding up Nandor's side. Their hooded gazes are each fixed on the other's mouth. The center of the panel begins to lighten with a white-gold glow as the shape continues to distort, parts of the characters stepping out of its bounds completely. The background behind the panels continues to get lighter, and the silhouettes of flying birds begin to fly in, closer and closer, growing lighter a step ahead of the background. 1j. Repeat. They move closer, Nandor's eyes now closed and head tilted as their noses slide past each other, lips only centimeters apart. Guillermo's hand slides up further to press against Nandor's ribs, gripping, his eyes still open the slightest amount as if to ensure this moment doesn't disappear. The panel lightens. The birds fly closer.

2a. Repeat. The center of the panel bursts into bright vertical beams of white and gold, the border bleeding from black to a wall of light as they close the final distance between them. Guillermo's eyes finally close, mouth pushing into the gentle kiss. 2b. Repeat, a wider shot as the glowing light inside the panel breaks the borders completely, flooding into the background as it begins to turn to streaks of purple and pink, birds now flying through the broken panel walls. Nandor pushes forward to deepen the kiss, hands clutching at Guillermo's face, Guillermo's head tilting back further as he presses himself close. 2c. Repeat, wider shot of them both now freely standing in the background, streaks of light blooming into yellow and orange. Guillermo is leaning back even further, fingers digging into the back of Nandor's shoulders as he is nearly dipped, their heads tilting the other way as the kiss continues. Nandor, expression blissful, smiles slightly into it. 2d. Close up in a panel bordered by light, the colors inside bolder and brighter: reds and oranges on top, blues and purples on the bottom, the center streaked with light. Both a sunrise and a sunset. They have broken the kiss and Guillermo has straightened, but they do not part from each other. Nandor's right arm curves around Guillermo's back and his left cups the back of his head, keeping him close as he nuzzles their noses together with a serene smile, eyes closed. Guillermo pushes up into the contact, flushed and smiling, one hand at Nandor's back, keeping them pressed together, and the other sliding up Nandor's chest. Guillermo lets out a breathy chuckle and whispers, "Yeah. That could be next..." /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described #oog i had fun with imagery here dfkhjfkjf #this is how the finale is gonna go right?? RIGHT????

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Fourteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Angst, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Slight!Heartbreak, Begging, Ab!Riding, Throat Fucking, Oral Sex (m rec.), Sexual Aggression.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Your eyelids fluttered open, the world gradually shaping into focus around you. Confusion, muggled by the drowsiness due to your utter exhaustion, fogged your vision for a moment, until it cleared to the soft glow of the room illuminating your intertwined forms--Mattheo’s presence still enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

As you began to regain your sense of consciousness, a sudden surge of panic gripped you, tightening like a vice around your chest. Your eyes darted frantically, scanning the room for any sign of a clock or timekeeping device. The urgency of the moment bore down on you, the seconds ticking away in your racing heartbeat. Mattheo stirred, his awakening a slow unfurling of consciousness. His eyelids, heavy with remnants of sleep, flickered open, revealing the depths of his confusion. His brows furrowed, a silent question lingering in the lines of his face as he met your gaze.

In a groggy, half-asleep murmur, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Mattheo blinked a few long, slow blinks before his eyes, drenched in genuine concern, sought yours, searching for answers. As the realization of the situation slowly dawned on him, as he slowly comprehended your distress, his grasp around you immediately loosened, pulling away from you with a swift impulse.

"Mattheo, please, what time is it?" you implored, your voice laced with desperation as you tried to gauge the hour.

His eyes, still heavy with sleep, shifted to the clock across the room. Time seemed to stretch infinitely as his gaze met the numbers, and his eyes widened in shock. He whipped his head back to look at you, panic spreading through his eyes in the same instant that yours widened, both of you internally freaking out as the reality of what you'd done sank in.

"It's almost five in the morning," he said, his voice carrying the weight of realization, your pulse echoing in the tense silence that had now enveloped the room.

The pale light filtering through the window painted a surreal scene of dawn, a stark reminder of the night slipping away, carrying with it the consequences of your actions. The horror etched across both your faces underscored the need for swift action, but in that moment, you both were frozen, caught in the grip of shared regret and fear.

"Oh, Gods!" You finally said, leaping up from the couch, your mind racing with panic--the reality of the situation hit you like a tidal wave, and your thoughts spun in frantic circles.

Contemplations about what to tell Emily swirled through your mind, your heart hammering in your chest as you envisioned the countless possibilities. Creeping out unnoticed became your immediate mission, every step and breath need to be calculated in order to avoid detection. With your heart in your throat, you began to plan your escape, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

As your fingers tightened around the fabric of your clothes, a sharp pang of realization gripped you like a vice--your hair carried the undeniable scent of weed, alcohol, and sweat from sleeping against Mattheo.

"Oh, Gods..." you stammered, your voice trembling with panic as you clutched your clothes against your chest. Your frantic eyes met Mattheo's, desperation written all over your face. "I-I'm fucking screwed...I..."

Mattheo, still struggling to fully awaken, swung his legs over the edge of the couch and stood, his hand raking through his messy, disheveled hair in a gesture of exasperation, the muscles in his arms tensing and contracting with each movement.

"You, what?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion. "What is it?"

You were trembling, every fiber of your being vibrating with fear. "My hair...I...I smell like-"

"Hey, it's alright," Mattheo, sensing your distress, gently interrupted, his voice steady yet comforting. "Calm down, Raven, okay? It's bloody early; you'll be able to sneak out without anyone even noticing. No one is awake before eleven on fucking Sundays around here, let's be real..."

His words were a lifeline in your moment of crisis, his calm demeanor offering a glimmer of comfort amid your rising anxiety.

But your overwhelming panic refused to subside. "I just...Emily will smell it on me, I'll have absolutely no excuse, she knows I've never...she knows I-"

"Take a shower." Mattheo's eyes softened with understanding as he cut you off again, his mind racing for a solution. "Just...just have a shower, wash the smell off and tell her you fell asleep in the library...if she catches you while walking in, tell her you used the prefects washroom because you didn't want to wake her..."

His words hung in the air, a liferaft amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. Take a shower, Mattheo had said, a flicker of relief trickling through your veins, pushing back the tide of panic that had threatened to overwhelm you as his suggestion sunk in.

Okay, deep breaths, you coached yourself internally, your racing mind slowly beginning to steady. Shower, wash it off, and a plausible excuse...the library, the prefects' washroom. It could work. It's believable.

With each exhale, the grip of panic began to loosen, replaced by a fragile sense of hope. Mattheo's idea, simple yet effective, became your main focus now, a plan to navigate the storm. You released a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, feeling some of the tension seep away. In that moment, you clung to the belief that maybe, just maybe, you could salvage the situation and keep your secret safe. The shower suddenly seemed like a sanctuary, a place where you could wash not only the physical traces of the night but also the lingering fear that had settled deep within your bones.

"Yeah...yeah, that might actually work," you said, your voice laced with tension. "Can...can you show me to it...?"

Mattheo parted his lips, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes at your question, the corners of his lips working hard to fight off an arrogant smirk. However, sensing your lingering tension and stress, he decided to skip the teasing in a surprising act of understanding.

Instead, he simply nodded, his expressions stoic and almost empathetic, and with a gentle motion, he directed you towards the washroom, silently acknowledging the unspoken fears that weighed on your shoulders.

As you stepped inside, a sense of tranquility enveloped you. The space was adorned in calming earthy tones, from the soft beige walls to the rich brown accents of the wooden cabinets. The ambient lighting, casting a warm, golden glow, lent an air of serenity to the room. The focal point was the walk-in shower, a sleek and elegant structure with transparent glass walls that made the room feel even more expansive. The shower's interior was fitted with gleaming chrome fixtures, accentuated by a tiled seat in bench, giving you a perfect place to sit and contemplate your questionable life choices, should you have had the time to do so.

So many thoughts swarmed your brain at this moment, watching as Mattheo padded toward the shower, turning it on and adjusting the water temperature for you--part of you cursed the Slytherin students, why was it fair they got private dorms, laced in luxury like this?

As you stepped closer to him, the nerves inside you intensified, manifesting as a persistent tremor in your hands. The reality of the situation washed over you anew, your palms clammy, and your heart hammering in your chest. The gentle sound of running water filled the room, its rhythmic flow serving as a reminder of the passage of time, urging you to act swiftly.

Sensing your returning panic, Mattheo veered closer, stopping in front of you as he met your eyes. Time seemingly stalled as he allowed his gaze to travel over your body, taking your clothes from your hands and placing them down on the counter before he met your eyes again, his gaze seeking permission before he reached out, hands finding your waist and tugging down your skirt. His fingers brushed against your bare skin, a touch so delicate yet electrifying that it sent shivers down your spine.

You felt your pulse quicken in response to his confidence and strength, unable to ignore how his movements flowed with ease, how he seemed so bloody in control, just as he always did--his every movement deliberate and reassuring.

You swallowed the jump of anxiety in your throat, unable to deny that being with him created a paradoxical sense of safety amid the chaos. Despite the fact that your life outside these walls was seemingly careening out of control, Mattheo's presence was a grounding force, a steady anchor in the storm.

"Might as well join you, yeah?" He murmured as he began undressing. "You don't seem to do very well under pressure, Raven...I'm worried you'll just stand there all day staring at the floor instead of actually fucking showering."

Your heart raced as you watched him shed whatever was left of his clothes, revealing the entirety of his physique that was utterly mouthwatering, for a lack of better words. His body was a canvas of scars, each one a testament to altercations fought and challenges surmounted. As your eyes traced the lines of his chest, your gaze was drawn to the stories etched onto his skin, mingling with the striking contours of his abs.

His figure was far from flawless, yet it held a raw, captivating beauty that transcended physical perfection. The scars spoke of resilience, and in their midst, his sculpted abs stood as a testament to his enduring strength. A mixture of desire and reverence washed over you, a profound appreciation for the strength that lay beneath his skin. You licked your lips, your body responding to the allure of both his physical form and the unspoken tales written across his flesh.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Mattheo..." you whispered, hiding your grin. "Sounds like you just want to shower with me."

Mattheo stepped into the shower, the water running down over his skin, and held out a hand to you. You took his outstretched hand, closing your eyes as he pulled you in close to him under the steaming hot water. The feeling of his skin against yours was electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body.

"Of course I do," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress against your cheek. Your entire body tingled as his hands roamed over your back, massaging the knots that had formed there as a result of your stress and anxiety. "I want to do a lot of fucking things with you, Raven..."

"Yeah?" You melted into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he worked out the tension in your muscles. "Like what?"

"Like kiss you here," he murmured, his lips grazing against your neck. "And touch you here..." his hand slithered down your side, curling around to your ass, gripping a possessive palmful--a low groan escaping his lips as he did. "I want to give you pleasure you've never known...pleasure you'll never forget..."

"Mm." His words filled you with a sense of calm, the comfort of them washing over you like a warm blanket. You leaned into him even more, running your hands through his damp hair, loving the way it felt between your fingers. "You already have..."

"Not enough." Mattheo's muscles tensed against you, teeth nipping your earlobe. "Not even fucking close to enough, princess..."

For a few minutes, the two of you just stood there in silence, letting the hot water wash away the sweat, the tension, the anxiety surrounding the past few weeks. You were lost in the feel of him, the way he moved against you, the sound of his breathing in your ear.

Eventually, though, he pulled back, his hands cupping your face as he looked down at you with an intense expression.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent, his dark eyes pouring into yours as though he could give you parts of his own strength, parts of his own resolve. "Everything will be okay, no one is going to find out...and besides, this...this is over...so there's nothing more to be worried about...you're just my tutor after you step out of here, that's it..."

You nodded silently, the weight of his words settling over you. There was a pang of fleeting sadness, a desire for this moment to linger even though you knew it couldn't. Mattheo's arms encircled you, his touch firm, almost protective, as if he was shielding you from something more than hypothetical prying eyes. The reassuring spell that were his words seemed to erase some of the burdens that had weighed you down.

With anticipation hanging thick in the air, the shower head jets pounded against your skin while streams trickled between your bodies. Mattheo, seemingly composed, spun you around and grabbed a cloth, meticulously rubbing a scented soap bar onto the fabric, lathering it with methodical precision. And then, before you could even realize what the fuck was happening, he began washing your body, his movements deliberate and controlled, covering every inch of your skin with his efficient touch.

You closed your eyes, letting your mind drift away as you surrendered to the sensation of his practiced hands, ignoring the complexities that screamed beneath the surface. As he finished washing you, the water cascading down your skin and the scent of the soap permeating the air around you, he pressed his body against yours, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sighed as he shifted your hair over your shoulder, grazing his lips against your neck as his hard, insistent cock pressed against your back. The sensation of his entirely naked body pressed against yours ignited a heat within you, a fervor you hadn't ever known before. A soft moan escaped your lips as he teasingly nipped at your earlobe, his hands firmly gripping your hips, creating an electric connection that sent shivers down your spine, even amidst the scorching heat of the shower.

"Matty..." you mewled, your head spinning as it fell back against his shoulder, fingers trembling as your hands found his, still tightly holding you against him. "Fuck..."

Mattheo huffed, his hands leaving your hips to roam over your body as you squirmed against him, electricity sparking through your veins and he cupped your tits, kneading the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples, his breath a hot pant against your ear.

"If you want something, you'll have to ask for it nicely, princess..." he teased, his lips grazing against your pulse. "We said last night was the last time...didn't we?"

"We did..." you let out a breathless laugh, his teasing only fueling the overwhelming heat between the both of you. "But one more time can't hurt, can it?"

Mattheo grinned against your neck, his large, firm hands slowly moving back down to your hips.

"Filthy little thing," he murmured, fingers slipping lower, trailing cautiously between your thighs. "Tell me what you want, Raven..."

You groaned in frustration, your mind clouded with lust as he teased over your mound, one finger brushing against your clit, only briefly, but with enough pressure to send a jolt of pleasure through your limbs, melding your body against his, his cock twitching with need behind you.

"I...I-fuck..." you whimpered, almost embarrassed at how badly you wanted him, your mind sparking with lust for the power of his body. "I want to ride your abs..."

"Fucking hell...just when I think you can't surprise me any fucking further..." Mattheo groaned, squeezing you with enough force to illicit a squeal from your throat, his teeth sinking into your neck and undoubtedly breaking blood vessels before he released you and gripped your wrist, tugging you toward the tiled bench. "Take me...use me, Raven, I'm yours to fucking use..."

His words slammed your chest like a fifty pound brick, your entire body vibrating in place as he released you and turned to lay down, his lean body tensing and muscles rippling with each movement--your thighs screaming in desperate fucking need at the sight of him as he settled there on his back--his thick erection pressing against his belly, his abs glistening with diamond droplets, his eyes urging, daring you to come closer.

"Don't be shy now, little slut..." he teased, brushing his wet curls back from his forehead, that perfect smirk painted across his lips. "Come and fucking get it..."

Your feet carried you closer, lost in the pull of his eyes, climbing up onto the bench, body trembling as you straddled him once again, your heart racing with anticipation. Mattheo's hands immediately moved up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples until they hardened against his touch. You moaned softly as he played with you, your hips grinding instinctively against his hard, wet body.

With a moan, you began to rock back and forth on top of him, the water cascading over both of you as you moved. Mattheo's eyes were locked onto yours, a dark fire burning in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine.

"Fuck-you're so fucking sexy," he whispered, his hands trailing down your body until they found your hips, aiding you in moving against him. "Look at what I do to you...the power I fucking hold over you and I haven't even fucked you..."

You shuddered at his words, silently acknowledging them in your head, knowing that what you were doing right now was unlike anything you'd ever fucking imagined you be doing, making yourself cum from grinding on his fucking body--ready to reach your high without him even having to touch you. It was a moment of silent realization, forcing you to acknowledge your desires. That's how much you desired this man, that's how much power he held over you. He was right, he was always fucking right. You were helpless to fight it, helpless to resist.

"Fuck..." the pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. You couldn't help but moan loudly, the sound echoing off the steamy walls as Mattheo's fingers dug into your skin, leaving deep red marks in their wake. "Gods, Matty...shit..."

The water fuelled the heat against your skin, steam rising up around you like a lingering ghost. Droplets dripped from your hair, running down your body. Your skin flushed with exertion, all your focus locked on the messy haired, complicated man sprawled out below you, his dark eyes piercing into yours, his gaze darkened with lust and his lips parted in utter fascination.

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" He growled, the muscles in his abs tensing underneath you, intensifying the sensations coursing through your limbs, his hands trailing up your sides. "You like using me like this, don't you? Using me like I fucking used you..."

"Y-yes, fuck..." you mewled, your lungs sputtering as Mattheo squeezed your breast with one hand, the other moving back down to your heat, bringing his fingers to your clit. You moaned, far louder than you intended, head falling back as the world around you slipped away, your only focus being the electric pleasure wrought from the possessed man beneath you. "Gods, I love your abs, Matty...I fucking love your body..."

"Yeah, yeah you fucking do..." Mattheo's voice left his throat in a growl, his movements becoming more precise and focused. His muscles flexed and rippled beneath you as he brought you closer to orgasm. You cried out as the pleasure overwhelmed you, your body shuddering with ecstasy. "Remember this...remember it when some other stupid prat asks you out...remember it when my brother hits on you...remember it when you're alone at night and fucking thinking of me..."

"Oh, fuck...I-I..." whatever you were going to say was abruptly cut off as your orgasm charged you, banging at the door and demanding to be let in, your body trembling and convulsing, eyes rolling. "I'm-I'm going to cum, Matty..."

"Did I say you that you could?" Mattheo hissed, the words spat through barred teeth, his grip on your breast tightening, eliciting another gasp of pleasure from your lips. "You know what I want to fucking hear, princess..."

As his abs tensed beneath you, you felt your body climbing higher towards orgasm. The pleasure within you was unlike anything you had ever experienced, its ferocity almost overwhelming to the senses.

"Oh, Gods," you gasped, voice torn. "Please! Please let me fucking cum, Mattheo..."

"Shit..." Mattheo continued to stroke your clit with expertise, using just the right amount of pressure and speed to keep you on edge and gasping for more. You felt your body shudder and writhe above him, waves of pleasure rippling through you as he brought you ever closer to the brink. "One last time, Raven, cum for me...fucking cum for me...."

As Mattheo's fingers sped their pace, working furiously against your most sensitive spot, your entire body tensed for a few seconds before waves of intense pleasure coursed through your veins, wracking your sanity at its seams.

Unable to comprehend it, you screamed. "Fuck...fuck, yes..."

Every muscle in your body clenched and all thoughts were obliterated from your mind as you were consumed by the delicious sense of release. As your orgasm reached its peak, Mattheo's fingers never stopped their relentless assault, drawing out your pleasure with every passing second. The euphoric sensation radiated throughout your body like ripples in a pond, your back arching and your nails digging into the strong muscles on Mattheo's chest as you rode out your orgasm, collapsing down against him once you had.

"Raven..." he whispered, his voice shredded with desire, hips bucking up against you. "Get on your fucking knees for me."

Your stomach leapt with excitement, not needing a millisecond to contemplate your next actions as you climbed off him and positioned yourself on your knees in front of the bench, warm water cascading around your skin, washing away the remnants of your orgasm as Mattheo rose to his feet, fisting his throbbing cock with one hand while the other gripped your hair, urging your parted lips toward his length, twitching in anticipation and glistening with precum.

His salty taste coated your tongue as he slowly thrust into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours for a even singular second. You could feel the excitement building within you once again as you began urging your head back and fourth along his shaft, revelling in the feeling of his smooth heat between your lips, savouring the feeling for as long as you could.

Gods, just to have him in your mouth again was enough to grind your thighs together, sore clit swelling for more--groaning, you clutched his thigh for balance, bobbing your head, swallowing inch after inch with every dip of your neck.

"That's it." Mattheo's fingers dug into your scalp, the familiar sweet sting making your eyes water. He surprised you with a sharp thrust, pushing further into your throat, and you wailed--muffled by his length as he drove deeper and deeper. "That's it--fuck--listen to you. You can't get enough of this cock, can you?"

You couldn't respond--he was slamming into your mouth. Tears brimmed your eyes, and you folded your lips around your teeth, sucking hard against him.

He growled and ripped you from his length, holding you by your hair. "Answer me when I ask you a question."

"I-I can't," you whined, shame searing your skin, "it's never enough..."

"That's right, that's fucking right..." he sank into your throat again, hips snapping with fierce, angry strokes. "You're a filthy little slut. Desperate to fucking please me...desperate to be mine, even though you're ashamed to fucking admit it..."

The pulsing at your tongue became desperate, rapid--he was close. You moaned in agreement, hoping it was enough to satisfy him--because, after all, he was right. A wave of shame engulfed you, crashing over your conscience like a relentless storm. How could you possibly want someone so inherently opposite to everything you believed in?

He embodied a carefree, easygoing lifestyle, a man unburdened by the constraints of education or goals. His rough edges and rebellious spirit clashed with your meticulously planned world of ambitions and studies. He was the epitome of trouble, a stark contrast to everything you should have been attracted to. And yet, here you were, time after time, inexplicably drawn to him, your desires defying all fucking logic and reason.

Seething with pleasure, Mattheo's hips thrashed, and he yanked your head free, holding it still while he savagely fucked his fist.

"Beg for my cum." His voice was ragged, he shuddered as he held off his peak. "Beg for it-fucking slut."

You whined. "Please give me your cum, Mattheo, please!"

"Fuck, yes," he hissed, "fuck--"

A deep moan choked in his throat and he sputtered your name, his cock twitching as it shot jets of white cum onto your tongue, the salty taste of his release spilling out over your palate as you swallowed it down greedily, savouring the taste as he held you there, his head bowed and chest heaving in the wake of his climax, until he had seemingly gathered himself and finally released you.

As you pulled yourself up to your feet, Mattheo met your eyes, his breath still coming to him in shallow bursts as he regained his footing in reality. Silence hung heavy between you as you both stepped out of the shower without exchanging another word, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the weight of the agreement you had tacitly made. Another shared glance passed between you, a wordless acknowledgment of the finality of this moment.

Your hands trembled slightly as you dried yourself off, the soft fabric of the towel absorbing both water and the remnants of your shared intimacy. Your mind reeled with the passing moments, how every touch--every movement was laced with a bittersweet awareness, a bittersweet acknowledgement that this was the last time. The last time you'd feel his skin against yours, the last time you'd share a kiss, taste the salt of his lips, among the salt of other things.

Dressing in the quiet aftermath, you fought to steady your breath, grappling with the storm of emotions inside you. It was a struggle to keep your composure, to suppress the ache that had settled in your chest. Each article of clothing you put on felt like a barrier, a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to consume you. Mattheo's presence in the room was both comforting and agonizing. His body, once so intimately close, now seemed miles away. As you caught his eyes for a moment, there was a flicker of something, a mixture of regret and longing, mirroring your own internal turmoil.

This was it. The final chapter in a story you had never intended to write, a tale of passion and connection that had defied the boundaries of reason.

As you reached the door, you spun back around to face him, and your eyes briefly flickered towards an astronomy book seated on his desk--a puzzling sight, since you knew he had little interest in stars, or studying, for that matter. It was a stark reminder of the disparities between your worlds, a tangible representation of the divide that had always existed. Yet, before you could dwell on the thought any further, his voice cut through the air, drawing your attention back to him.

"See you Wednesday…for tutoring," he said, his tone steady and businesslike, as if the intimate moments shared in the shower were but a distant memory.

With a nod, you mustered a weak smile, concealing the storm of emotions within you, and replied, "Yeah, Wednesday."

The finality of his words hung in the air, a reminder that your relationship was now confined to the realm of academia, a reality you couldn't escape. As you made your way towards the door, you stole one last glance at him, the man who had turned your world upside down in the span of a few stolen moments. With a heavy heart, you stepped into the hallway, leaving behind the echoes of what could never be.

————————

Chapter fifteen->

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lunargrapejuice · 1 year

Text

husband tax

alhaitham x fem!reader

whipped & teasing ‘haitham<3

sleepiness clung to your bones like dew on blades of grass in the warming morning sun, crystalline drops once frozen in the quiet night though unlike those droplets last night, and now as you waited to the side of the coffee stand for your drink to be made, you were warmed by your husband at your side and the way he kept you tucked in close to his chest, his heart beat steady in your ears.

with one arm around you, his thumb rubbed back and forth in slow motions on your waist that was not helping you shake that last bit of tiredness but that you didn’t want to stop all the same. you wanted to melt into alhaithams touch. it was quiet between you as he finishes the last few pages of the chapter he was on before you both headed out the door for work and after little convincing, though you did bat your lashes sweetly once or twice just for good measure, he indulged in your request to stop for coffee, even though he had already had a cup at home, and was far less bothered than you when you showed up and had to stand in a long line. he just pulled you close, got out his book and told you it’d be fine. and you found it hard to disagree when it dawned on you it meant you’d get to be with him a little longer before you parted for the day.

it seemed to end all too quickly too when they called your name and tore you from your beloved's embrace, reminding you there was more to do today than just lay against alhaithams chest and relax, even though it's what you’d both rather be doing.

“i’ll get it, stay here,” he says, his fingers running across your lower back as he closes his book and slips it back into his bag, stepping away from you with long strides.

you grumble as he leaves, just like you had this morning when your alarm went off and took you from your dreams. your ears fill with the noises of the waking city, his warmth lingers on your skin but his scent quickly dissipates, replaced with the strong smell of coffee. your eyes follow after him, watching the sway of his cloak, the bounce of his ahoge. you smile as he thanks the stand owner and heads back your way, looking not nearly tired as you even though he’s harder to get out of bed.

he stops in front of you, his tall frame lingering over you as he grabs for your outstretched hand that was meant for your coffee but was still happy to be met with his skin, the softness of his gloves. he laces your fingers together and brings them between you while he takes a sip of your drink, a smirk pulling at his lips at the way you look at him quizzically.

“husband tax,” he says in answer and you don’t miss the teasing lilt in his tone. falling into step side by side, headed towards your work, he hands you your drink and feels his chest swirling at the pleased look on your face at your first sip of your drink and the smile you give him after.

“it’s gonna be a good day ‘haitham,” you beam, your smile growing brighter and he can’t help the way his own lips twitch upwards, though he hides it well by pulling you closer, leaning down and placing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“yes, it will.”

cuddled up in the little nook inside alhaithams home office, afternoon light spilling through the stained glass windows, your favorite blanket layed over your legs and a book in your hand, your eyes drank in the images being painted with words on the bound pages in front of you. the story had you captivated, your gaze not breaking from the pages even when you reached to grab a chocolate covered biscuit, a sweet treat imported from inazuma to go with your book from yae publishing house.

you were so sucked into the world laid out by the author you hadn’t even heard the opening of the front door or the clicking of alhaithams shoes against the hardwood making their way towards you. you were right where he left you an hour ago, having only slightly shifted into a more comfortable position and now with many more pages finished.

had you been able to look up from the pages you would have seen an image of alhaitham not many would ever see or even believe the stoic scribe was capable of; a smitten man taking in the joy and comfort of his beloved as he leans against the door frame with his arms folded. the warmth of the afternoon sun clung to his dark clothes but his chest was filling with another kind of heat and another emotion he found himself so weak to when it came to you, need. the need to have your attention, to kiss your lips, have you welcome him home, to tease you for making him feel this way because only you could make him feel so.

it’s only when long fingers come into view at the top of the page, the book leaving your grasp for the first time since you picked it up, do you finally realize alhaitham is home. he’s caught you at the perfect moment, a chocolate covered stick poking out of your mouth that’s now curling into a smile, matching the light in your eyes, when you see who it is.

“welcome ho- oh~”

he doesn’t give you a moment to speak before he’s closing the distance between you, the hand not holding your book keeping you caged between his large muscular frame and the back of your chair. the scent of rosewater and hibiscus envelopes you and his proximity sets your heart to an unsteady beat. it grows more erratic when you can feel the warmth of his breath on your face, the tickle of his hair on your forehead and find your eyes unable to leave the image of his pink lips parting before he breaks your treat in half, little crumbs clinging to his lips as he takes a bite and swallows, still so close but never touching your lips with his own.

“husband tax,” he says with a smirk that told you all too well he was enjoying the way he felt your skin burning up, like he might have heard the thump of your heart in the quiet room.

all too casually he slips the book back into your hands and takes a step back, ready to head to his own corner of the office to read but letting his eyes linger on your adorably flustered face and the way you try to hide it behind your book.

“habibti, dinner’s ready,” you hear your husband's voice call from the kitchen followed by the soft clank of plates being pulled from the cabinets.

“coming!” you call back, quickly slipping on your sweater, well alhaithams sweater, before emerging from the bedroom feeling much better than you had when you first arrived home with heavy eyes and a pout on your lips.

it wasn’t usual that either of you worked overtime but lately you didn’t have a choice if you wanted to get your work done by its deadline so you had arrived home much later than your lover, much later than you would have liked to. upon seeing your exhausted state, he pulled you into his arms, your face buried into his chest, kissed your lips tenderly and easily coaxed you into a hot shower while he promised to prepare dinner.

you could smell the food he had been cooking the moment you stepped into the hallway and felt your feet practically float into the kitchen after it. your stomach grumbled upon seeing the food laid out on the counter and your whole body filled with love that melted the entries days stresses away when seeing alhaitham untying his apron as he turned to meet you.

he was always so handsome but there was something about seeing him like this, in comfortable clothes without his headphones and a messy apron after making you dinner, soft eyes to match his loving tone as he spoke to you, makes you ever weaker to the beauty that was the scribe.

“feeling a little better?”

“mhmm,” you hum as you wrap your arms around his middle and bury your face into his chest. he responds in kind, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other at your lower back. “much better now.”

“good,” he replies with a chuckle that makes you feel even lighter as you nizzle into him. “go sit down, i’ll get your plate ready.”

“thank you ‘haitham,” you whisper over his clothed heart, earnest and honey sweet, before reluctantly pulling yourself away from him and going to take your seat at the table.

with a tired smile and your head resting in your propped up hand you watch as he plates your favorite foods of this dish first and in the portion you like, followed by the things you liked less but were just as full of nutrition to help you through your long nights and hard work. your heart skips a beat seeing a bit of sauce dripping from the spoon and clinging to the edge of the plate before he wipes it off with his finger and licks it off, his eyes flashing up to yours just to see if you were indeed staring.

quickly you look away, clearing your throat like you weren’t just caught with shameless hearts in your eyes. you half expect him to tease you, to at least point it out like a smart aleck but he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to you and places your food in front of you. it's only when he grabs you a fork, not yet handing it to you and the action causes you to look at him in question, that he speaks.

“husband tax,” he says, taking a piece of your food for himself, ensuring that you’re watching as he takes a bite and licks his lips before handing you the fork with a knowing look in his eyes but acting all innocent just the same.

“you know if you want to share all you have to do is ask,” you coo sweetly at him, your cheeks warm, your heart full knowing just how much you love when he does this.

“i know,” he replies. but whether it be to tease you, to see if your drink is cool enough, to ensure your food is to your liking or any other reason he could think of, he’ll always be happy to see you smile, make you blush and hold your attention, your love. “but this is more fun.”

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

#genshin impact #alhaitham #genshin impact x reader #al haitham #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #genshin impact fluff #al haitham fluff #alhaitham fluff

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bo-katan · 6 months

Text

@giftober 2023 | DAY #18: ROMANCE

He saw the Twi'lek's cloak nearby, pinned beneath a heavy girder. She did leave me a souvenir, after all. With great effort, he pulled the metal aside. He took the garment into his hands and held it up. It was a good find, he thought, as he turned to stagger out of the alley. Because he was starting to believe she had never been there.

He stopped thinking that when he stepped out into the street—and found himself looking into her eyes.

"Ah," she said, seeing her cloak.

"Ah," he repeated. Kanan stood frozen, studying her under the bright light of the moon. She was shorter than he was, with deep green skin, full lips, and a chin that came to a pleasing point. She wore a gray pilot's hat that allowed exit for two head-tails that hung at a little more than shoulder-length. She wore a brown vest, gold-colored slacks with utility pockets, and black gloves that matched the cloak in her hands.

"I knew I'd forgotten something," she said, removing the garment from his hands so deftly he barely noticed she'd done it. Then she looked at him with concern. "You okay there?"

Kanan nodded.

"You speak Basic?"

"Words fail me."

She smiled. "So they do."

A New Dawn by John Jackson Miller

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moonlight-prose · 7 months

Note

If you’re taking those as prompts, ❛ don’t you know what you’re doing to me? ❜ with Din perhaps?

LOVE IS A FIRE THAT BURNS UNSEEN

a/n: so i took forever on this, because i kind of fell out of writing for din for...well....awhile. i can tell you this sat in my wips folder half finished for months. honestly i was wondering if it would even get finished. but i was re-watching mando last night and decided why the fuck not. i can't remember which prompt list this was from because it's been so long, but that's okay. this is not beta read or edited, but we live and die by the pen.

summary: on your list of things that could possibly happen while bounty hunting with din, dying from hypothermia wasn't included. nor was finally admitting the truth to yourself about your feelings.

word count: 3.1k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, near death experience, angst, feelings being admitted sort of, p in v sex, a hint of choking, they're so in love it's sickening.

It’s fucking cold in the Razor Crest as you sit in the cockpit waiting for his return. You’re bundled in a jacket that has seen better days, but even with the extra layers you swear you’ll freeze to death before he comes back. Tempted to turn the ship back on in order to get some heat—you do the most to distract yourself from the frost currently eating away at the skin of your face. Din’s instructions were clear. Keep the ship hidden until he comes back with the bounty, which would be simple enough.

That is if the bounty he was currently hunting resided on a planet with a temperature that wouldn’t kill you from exposure. Everything had been fine two hours ago. You were working on repairing an old comlink as he tracked the bounty through space, having caught their signal on the outer edges of the galaxy. Except then…they were attacked. Neither of you could see who caused it or even why, but suddenly a lone ship was heading into the atmosphere on the one planet you always said you’d rather die than visit.

Hoth—a frozen pit that once housed the Rebellion of all places.

So, there you were. Shivering to gain some warmth as you scanned the area for Din’s signal. If the ship was right, he still remained alive. You only wished you could say the same for yourself by the time he came back.

The cold had begun to seep into your layers, hitting your chest directly and causing you to cough harshly. If he didn’t return within the hour he would find you dead due to hypothermia. Except that’s not what scared you. It was the fact that he would be the one to find you—a man who showed absolutely no interest in you whatsoever.

You weren’t sure when the crush started or even why, but you do know the realization hit you harder than a speeder-bike going at full speed one day while you were sitting beside him in the cockpit. He laughed at something you said, the chuckle low and slightly clipped due to his modulator and that’s what did it. What had you sitting there in shock—eyes wide—as it suddenly dawned on you that…you liked him. A lot more than you would have ever thought before.

“Maker fucking above,” you muttered, your teeth chattering with the words. “Hurry up, bucket head.”

Vaguely you recalled some survival tips from your time as a teenager on Bracca working as a scrapper. Never touch live wires, always look out for yourself, and when stuck in freezing temperatures—layers become your best friend. So, you stumbled out of the cockpit chair and towards the ladder that would lead you to the rest of his ship. Slow small steps were all you could manage as your body went into overdrive to try and keep you warm. Except the ship acted as an icebox rather than a heater.

You could lock yourself in his small cot, burrowing under the blankets he’d bought because of you complaining there wasn’t enough on the ship. But you’d first have to get there. It was a struggle to even climb down the ladder—your breath coming in gasps as your lungs fought against the freezing air. How long had you been sitting up there? You held no answer to the question, because the results were clear to you now; you were up there long enough to lead you right to death’s doorstep.

Dragging yourself along the side of the ship wall, you flinched as the cold metal touched your cheek. You should have gone against his orders and simply turned the ship back on. It would keep you from this—currently fighting against hypothermia as Din took his sweet time coming back.

The sound of the airlock on the door releasing when it opened brought a small flicker of hope to life, burning bright in your chest. But it faded just as quickly as it came. You caught sight of him dragging a half dead bounty up the ramp—his helmet turned towards you—before you collapsed to the ground. Your body shivering in a final attempt to generate enough body heat in order to keep you alive.

His voice calling your name echoed in the back of your mind as you drifted off—the concept of sleep far more enticing than it should be.

Steady breaths against your bare back was what you woke up—your mind drifting slowly back to reality. Or at least what you thought to be reality. The last thing you could recall was seeing Din’s helmet as your body did what it could to survive. How you ended up in the darkness of his cot, pressed against someone you assumed to be him…naked, was a mystery to you. Perhaps you were still dreaming. This must be how your mind envisioned some form of peace to ease your soul into an afterlife.

“You’re awake.” His voice caught you off guard—the breath in your throat catching.

“How…”

The shift of his body created a low burn of heat to appear at the bottom of your stomach as his arm tightened around your waist—drawing you closer. “You almost stopped breathing when I got back. Your body went into shock from the cold.”

“I was dying,” you said softly, the realization far less jarring than waking beside him in the nude.

He hummed, the low pitch a vibration you felt along your back. “I had to get you warm.”

“So you took off my clothes?” you asked, the smile prominent in your tone.

“Generating enough body heat only works when—”

“Both of us are naked.”

His fingers gripped onto the soft skin of your belly. “Yes,” he replied—voice slightly strained.

Somehow it never registered that he was actually sans armor and clothing until you felt his hand glide further up. The soft skin of his palm turned the spark into a fully formed flame that traveled its way through your body. He was laying beside you…naked. If you concentrated hard enough, you could feel the rise and fall of his stomach against your lower back—his skin soft there too.

Any other time your brain would have short circuited, but the sluggishness from sleep had yet to wear off. It made you rather docile—something you felt oddly grateful for. You were entirely aware, fully conscious of your words and decisions, but the tranquility in your body seemingly spurred you forward. No other time would you be this centered—this sure of yourself—and maybe that’s where you made the mistake, because this was dangerous. Revealing the feelings you’d harbored for months was like poison to your heart…positively lethal.

“Din,” you murmured, the soft heat coming from his body now spreading into yours.

If you knew you’d end up like this after one visit to Hoth, you would have come here a lot sooner.

“Yes?” Even his breath was warm as it brushed across the bare skin of your shoulder. Maker you were close in his bed that was barely big enough for him, let alone you beside him.

“I—” The words caught in the base of your throat, lodging themselves there like a stone you couldn’t swallow. You wanted to say it. Get everything out into the open and be done with it, but your mind seemed to be slowly coming to its senses.

“What is it?”

Closing your eyes, you let out a shuddered breath in the hopes that it would push down the erratic nerves which jumped under your skin. If you chickened out now, you’d never say the words. They’d be your secret—forever trapped in the cage of your heart until it was far too late to confess them. What’s funny is that they seemed like such easy things to say. How hard was it really to say I love you? How much effort did it take? Only you now realized it took a lot more than you expected.

It was far easier to die than to admit your feelings.

“I have to tell you something and I just—” Inhaling, you curled your hand around the blanket beneath you. “I don’t want you to look at me differently if things don’t turn out the way I hope.”

His thumb rubbed a soothing circle against your hip. “I won’t.”

You scoffed. “You probably will.”

The subtle shift of his body against yours caused flutters to go through your heart—rendering you speechless for a moment. He was so close it was maddening. If you had the courage you’d turn around, press yourself to him, and whisper the words against his lips. But you were practically stone, unable to even turn your head slightly to feel the press of his lips against your neck.

“For a while now I’ve felt…well…my feelings towards you have changed.” You blurted them out, hoping it was like ripping off a bandaid. Except the silence of his response hurt more than you expected.

Until—

“I know,” he said, his hand pressing a bit harder on your hip.

Nothing could have prepared you for the shockwave that went through your body. “You know?” you exclaimed.

“I’ve known since our trip to Coruscant.”

You paused, trying to form something to say, but all you could come up with was: “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Why had he let you think he held no feelings towards you? That you were alone in this. You felt him stiffen behind you, his hand pulling away slightly and your heart sank in your chest. Perhaps you had asked the wrong question. Or even touched on a part of this he didn’t want you to see. But you had to know the truth. You knew why you waited—why you couldn’t get the words out for the life of you—but why had he?

That is until he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly, jolting you back towards his body. A soft yelp left you as you tried to refocus yourself in the pitch black space. Except then you felt it. Pressing hard and insistent against your lower back—a part of Din you had only ever imagined, but never seen.

He grunted, his hand splaying across your stomach as you shifted against him. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

You gasped. “Din—”

“What you’ve been doing?

His hips canted downwards, grinding against you and sending heat sparking up your spine. Enough to combat the cold that still remained in you, but you wanted more. You craved it. Moaning softly, you pushed back against him, pressing your thighs together to hopefully appease the growing ache that formed. Except he was one step ahead of you. Shoving his bare thigh between your legs, he pressed it upwards, grinning at the way your head fell back against his chest—a guttural moan leaving your lips.

“Every day is fucking torture,” he rasped, his hand sliding even lower until his fingers were hovering right above where you needed him most. “Because I can’t touch you.” His lips pressed against the curve of your jaw. “Because I can’t kiss you…”

“Maker,” you gasped, reaching down to wrap your hand around his wrist. “I-I want you to touch me. Want you to kiss me.”

His fingers dipped down even lower, finally parting your folds. A ragged groan was pressed to your jaw, his teeth scraping down against the skin when he found you wet and dripping for him. You could feel his heartbeat against your back. How it was erratic and almost as quick as yours. He was just as nervous as you were—if not more so, because of his creed.

He wanted you to be his, to love him as he was with his creed, but he was scared that this wasn’t permanent. You wanted to show him the inner workings of your mind, the makeup of your heart—how he was seared into it. He was ingrained so deep into your soul that you couldn’t even fathom the thought of being parted from him.

“Are you always this wet for me?” he asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

Nodding, you felt another moan begin to form, only for it to die as he pulled his fingers away. “No—”

“Shh,” he breathed, cupping your jaw as he moved even closer. “I’ll take care of you.”

Heat flooded your stomach, a whine forming in your throat as he pulled you back, the head of his cock now nudging against your entrance. You dug your nails into his forearm, your lips parting to form around his name. A ragged moan echoing in his small quarters, and he began to push forward. Sliding into you slowly as you fought to keep yourself quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed, wrapping his arm around your torso and thrusting into you completely, his hips pressing against your ass. “Won’t last—”

You keened when his hand fell to your clit, circling it with enough pressure to send jolts up your spine. For a moment he simply held himself there. Encompassed in your heat as he worked you over, building your release steadily until you were pressing into him. Your hips rolling against his fingers—fucking yourself on his cock. Soft moans were pressed to your skin, the stubble on his jaw scratching along your shoulder, and that only heightened everything.

For the first time…he was entirely yours. Bare and open as he indulged in something both of you had held back from doing for so long.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you turned your head and caught the corner of his lips in a kiss. Something so tender yet so powerful. It nearly sent you over the edge and you felt Din’s surprise at the action. How his body jolted, his hips nudging forward and fingers stuttering in their motions. Even though he had proudly claimed he wanted to kiss you, to finally feel your lips against his. He had never expected it to come true.

“Cyar'ika,” he breathed.

“I want…” You gasped, hips rolling against his fingers in quick movements as that blinding feeling continued to overtake you. “Kiss me Din. Please, please—”

His mouth found yours in the darkness of his cabin, and you felt your heart scream out. Felt your entire body give into him, his name, his signet forever carved into your heart. He was your future and he knew it. Which is why he kissed you with a fervor that you believed only existed in your dreams—a passion that you felt right down to your toes. His tongue slid along yours, tasting the shitty caf you had earlier—the desperation on your tastebuds.

“Ah…” You tried to form the words on your tongue. The feelings that were trapped in your heart, but they refused to be let loose.

“I know you want to cum,” he breathed, fingers speeding up as your walls began to flutter around his cock. His other hand shifted, wrapping gently around your throat to keep your face close to his. Pressing down lightly as you gasped. “Let me feel it.”

A keening broken moan of his name ripped from you, hands scrabbling to grasp for something, settling for his arm that kept you pressed against him. White flashed behind your closed eyes, his lips swallowing every sound you made as you writhed against him. Gushing around his cock.

You didn’t hear the hoarse shout that he pressed into your mouth, his hips thrusting into you quickly as he followed you off the edge. Filling you with a warmth that you swore you felt in your chest. Biting down on his bottom lip you sucked into your mouth, moaning when he canted his hips forward, prolonging the sparks that ran up your spine. He was a panting mess and you tried to picture what he looked like.

Was his hair a mess? Were his cheeks stained red? Were his lips swollen?

The urge to simply open your eyes nearly overtook you, but you understood what came with that action. What would have to happen afterwards. Din had explained enough for you to grasp the basic details of what being a Mandalorian meant. So you kept them closed and opted to simply feel. You memorized how his lips against yours felt, what being full of him felt like.

You kept what you could nestled against your heart, remaining here for as long as possible. Din’s cock softened in you, twitching every now and then when your walls fluttered. But you solely had him to blame. Because he was running his hand along your body, grazing your nipples lightly before pulling away—the familiar feelings in your stomach stirring once more. If he wasn’t careful neither of you would be leaving this bed for quite some time.

Which didn’t bode well for you seeing as how you hated the planet you currently resided on.

“Din,” you breathed, pulling away to catch your breath before he dived down again—ready for round two of the hottest makeout session you’d partaken in.

“You want to leave,” he panted. There was something scary about how he could see your thoughts so clearly. You’d have to ask him about it later.

“No…” Your head fell back against his shoulder. “I want to stay here, but Hoth.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We can stay here for as long as you want.”

Half expecting him to pull out and place his helmet back in its rightful place, you were a bit surprised when he remained put. Curling himself around you closer until his body perfectly molded yours. The cold still remained in the ship—the heaters unable to counteract the snowy planet—yet you found that you were perfectly content to remain right where you were. Wrapped in his arms—the certainty of your future now nestled in his heart. Mimicking yours in every way.

“Din,” you breathed in the darkness, feeling him trace something along your waist.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say…” You took in a breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart. “I feel like you should hear me say it.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers pressing down. “I know cyar'ika. I feel the same way.”

“You do?” you asked softly.

“I do.”

You settled into the bed, allowing your muscles to relax and your body to once more give into the temptation of sleep. With Din right there, you felt as if you were able to finally relax. To give in and allow yourself to float.

“You know…” You yawned, feeling his chin settle against your shoulder. “Maybe Hoth isn’t so bad.”

He smiled, his lips brushing along your skin as you drifted off, mind succumbing to the sweet snare of unconsciousness. “No,” he breathed, continuing to trace the shape of his signet on your skin, because whether you wore it or not…you were a part of his clan. His life. “It’s not.”

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #my writing

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solarisfortuneia · 10 months

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— 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.

even the sweetest of scents eventually turn bitter.

✦ featuring: zhongli.

✦ warnings: angst.

"why do you seem to adore this particular flower?" he remembers asking you, one still night, when even the moon has decided to go to sleep. for as long as he's known you, your entire life seemed to revolve around jasmines.

he remembers you laughing as you hang a bunch of them from his horns mischievously. "i love its versatility, my dear morax. it can be a garland, an accessory, a perfume, it can be infused into tea; it's wonderful, really. and it smells and looks divine." you playfully add later, "in addition, you look absolutely fetching with them on, don't you think?"

it dawns on him that he's never seen you without a cluster of them nestled in your hair, he's never seen you drink anything but various varieties of jasmine tea; at this point, he cannot think of one without thinking of the other. he doesn't even remember what your name means. to his mind, all it invokes is vivid pictures of your smile and the fragrance that always surrounds you.

and when you stand in front of him, a determined aura about you, that memory swims to the surface and he knows. he knows exactly what you'll say.

morax dreads those words he knows will come out of your mouth, and for the first time in a long while, he's afraid. he's afraid of breaking your heart, when all he wants to do is cradle it in his palms— but he knows he must.

"i cannot return your feelings," he says, steeling his gaze, lifting his chin and hardening the curve of his mouth.

he watches the hope in your eyes break, shatter like glass. he watches passively as somewhere, deep within, your heart cracks, and he swears he could hear the sound reverberate throughout the stone hall the two of you stand in. he watches as your hands start to tremble, your voice shake the tiniest amount.

he almost reaches out with his pattern covered arms, desiring naught but to hold them still and whisper honey-glazed words in your ears, rock you in his embrace and offer you uncertain promises of a happy future, but he forces them down. there is no place for love in a war, he thinks. and my presence cannot make them smile more than my absence would make them cry.

"why?" he hears you ask, voice barely more than a breath. "i-" you seem to be frozen in place, only capable of moving your lips the tiniest amount. "i thought we had something."

he swallows, saliva scalding his throat. "i'm in love with another," he blurts, knowing this would stop you from chasing after him. every syllable stabs at him as it leaves his mouth. "i always have been."

"oh," that soft, silent, broken breath of yours cuts through his armor and pierces through his core. "i understand," you lower your eyes, displaying the same grace you've always shown, and he hates that he cannot be true to both himself and you. "i hope you will be happy. i wish you the best, morax." he nearly winces. morax. not 'dear morax', and not 'my dear morax.' just morax.

as you turn to leave, he gets a whiff of the flowers in your hair, and he retches at how absolutely acrid they smell. he takes a step backward, once again fighting the urge to reach his arms out. he plants his feet firmly on the ground and watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller before you start running.

if doing it this way is how he must keep you safe, then he'd step on his own body, heart and soul, without hesitation.

of what use is a god who cannot control his own destiny? who cannot promise happiness to those he cares for?

he will wait, he swears. he will wait for as long as it takes. after the war, he promises himself. when time is favorable, he promises. as long as it takes for him to see you again, meet you on the other side, where the future is bright. but he knows it, in all the possibilities of the world, is pointless. after all, you were just a mortal, with a life akin to the blink of an immortal's eye, were you not?

it is the unmistakable scent of jasmine that wafts through his nose, many, many, many years later. he is simply zhongli now, the funeral parlor consultant who frequents teahouses, nothing more, nothing less, but the bitterness still bites at his nose each and every single time, all the same.

he smiles into his cup, a little sad, a little nostalgic and he absentmindedly wonders why he chose to order jasmine tea today, of all days. a cheerful lilt reaches his ears, and he laughs to himself.

why do you think of them now, after all these years?

the voice grows louder and he jolts uptight, not trusting his hearing. he stands up hesitantly, searching, scared all over again. and it is then he hears a laugh he never thought he'd hear again. he finds the same set of features, giggling at something the other person in front of you said.

impossible. people rarely reincarnate with the same face. but hope strikes to a flame nevertheless, and he sits back down again, looking for signs that it might be you.

sharp amber eyes find a small jasmine flower nestled behind your ear, and he can't help but smile.

perhaps, this time, he could try again?

#—🖋#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #zhongli angst

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gffa · 7 months

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Was it really Anakin? Was it Seatos being heavy in the Force to give her a vision? Was it just Ahsoka's oxygen-deprived brain giving her hallucinations? I love that it doesn't matter, that whatever the source behind all of that, the result is the same, that it was about Ahsoka still not having put her feelings to rest about what happened to her. If it was the Force, trying again to get her to face her feelings, like it did on Lothal, it hurts like hell. If it was just her own brain giving her hallucinations because she hasn't faced her feelings yet, it hurts like hell. If it was really Anakin, using her half-dead state to come through and poke and prod at her through the Force, to really make her finally take a step forward instead of staying frozen in place, it hurts like hell. Ultimately, it was about Ahsoka feeling like she didn't have anything more to give to a Padawan than fighting, that even all these years later, she feels like she never moved on from the war and never had a chance to grow. We know she wanted to go back to the Jedi Order after the war, she was so hopeful after the Siege of Mandalore, when she heard the war was over, her face slowly dawning with hope that she could rejoin the Order and be something other than a soldier. And then Sidious and Anakin stole that chance from her--Vader stole that chance from her--and she could never go back. She was forever stuck feeling guilty about whether she could have helped Anakin, wondering what she could have been if the Jedi hadn't been genocided nearly out of existence. This doesn't solve everything, but it forced her to accept that sometimes you do have to fight or die. That she's not just a soldier, that's never been all of who she is--because that's not who all of Anakin was, either. If that had been all he was, she wouldn't still be stuck on him. She's part of a legacy, she is everything that Anakin was, just as Anakin was everything Obi-Wan was, just as Obi-Wan was everything Qui-Gon was, and back and back and back. That's who the Jedi are, they are everything their Master was and more. Ahsoka is everything they were and more, too. And she has to fight to accept it, she has to fight to find her balance again, she has to fight to survive. Whether it was Anakin or her own brain kicking her Jedi philosophy back into gear, it doesn't matter, the point remains the same--she's more than what happened in the war and what happened with Anakin, and sometime that means she has to get up and fight to keep moving forward.

#star wars #ahsoka series #ahsoka spoilers #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #meta

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chastiefoul · 9 months

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frozen in time | kaeya

back with kaeya angst word count: 1.1k words theme: neglect, regret

gone were the days where he looked at you and saw his world, and somehow he’d always find a way to remind you of that fact.

and today is just the last straw.

when you first started dating him, you wondered how could kaeya never get tired of sweet-talking and complimenting you and the answer came as naturally as breathing for him, you deserve it. now that a few years passed, and his song of praises gradually dulled.. in-between exasperated sighs and spaces, was he implying that you have become someone who is not worthy of it anymore?

⇲

“kaeya, will you come home early today?” you asked, voice still laced with sleep as you catch him already up and about in the break of dawn. funny how quickly things change. he used to be the hardest person the get rid of when you wake up in the morning as he cling into you until the very last second where he’d be late to work. but now even the hold of his arms when sunrise peeked is turning into a rare occasion.

the question lingered in the air, enough for it to sink into you how you’re now so accustomed in asking a question you never thought would be asking. kaeya who’d be running home the second his job allowed him to, spring on his step now barely come home early, now most often than not reeks of booze when coming home and you no longer have the heart to ask why. Not when the man seemed to be avoiding your shared house like a disease, going to work early, coming home late.

though sometimes a little bird with the title outrider would always tell you that kaeya drinks alone, it feels like it doesn’t mean anything anymore. nothing does, when he’s not by your side; and you’re starting to think that it’s not the case for him. kaeya has changed and unfortunately not for the better, not for you anyway. but you’re sure the knight of favonius hq was cheering now that the cavalry captain seemed to be taking his job more seriously.

he sighed, you stiffed slightly. he’s been doing that too many times these days, so loudly that you knew he’s making sure you heard it. making sure you know what you’ve asked inconvenienced him. “there’s a lot of work i need to catch up on,” he said coldly, tidying himself in front of a mirror, not sparing even a glance at you. your stomach tightened at the tone no matter how many times you’ve heard it, “okay, um.. well i’m planning making your favorite meal today for dinner, can you try?” you asked softly, another one of your many wasteful efforts to spend time with him, or lately, it feels like you wanted to reassure yourself that kaeya still loves and wanted to be with you. but why is it that each day the only reassurance you’re getting is that you’re being completely wrong?

no good morning or night, nothing of his gentle voice when speaking to you as he couldn’t seem to get his hands off you, no more of sweet nothing whispers, no more of... everything.

every day you keep building a hope that today will be different, that his reponse to something will be different, will get less cold but alas, those expectations keep being crushed by the man himself; leaving you to almost nothing to hang on onto this strained relationship except for the most important reason of all—that you love him. so completely utterly in love with him. however you’re not sure you can keep doing that when he slowly but surely showed that he perhaps no longer feel the same.

he let out another of his signature annoyed sigh. How many times must you be reminded that now kaeya thinks talking to you is a chore?

“i can’t, (y/n), just.. drop it okay?”

you knew that one, a rhetorical question he had expected the answer to, assuming that you’d be okay with that. well, you thought that maybe it’s finally time to tell him that you were definitely not okay. “no, kaeya, i will not drop it this time, what is it today? another drinking session that’s why you can’t come home early?”

he’s quiet for a moment.

“can you really blame me? the house feels a little suffocating lately.”

that stung. oh that stung like a bitch.

because you were there. the unsaid words were clear the second he let out those words and he knew that because his face turned into one of ‘fuck i didn’t mean to say that’ so quickly. regret apparent on his features.

you didn’t even know how else you’d react to this horrible revelation that you just laughed. but instead of joy that it emitted, it just sounded incredibly painful. the back of your eyes felt burning, the lump on your throat hurts. his hands reached out to you but the thought of him touching you right that second just felt revolting. “don’t. even.” you whispered, gritting your teeth.

“(y/n), i-“ kaeya started and you just had enough. you’ve heard him talk for far too long. “no. you felt suffocated by this relationship? tough. i felt unloved and unwanted for the past few months and you don’t see me drinking my life away at some bar. you know what i did? i tried. i fucking tried, kaeya. i woke up earlier so maybe we can talk more, i visited you at work to bring lunches even when what greeted me was a ‘thanks’ you muttered to your documents, i organized the file of work you brought home when you accidentally slept on your desk, i tried making your preferred meals for dinner in hope you’d come home and spend time with me like we used to, i-“ you took a deep breath, your voice had become so shaky from the threatening sobs of cries.

you covered your crying face with your palms, not giving him the luxury of your defeated face, the face of someone who tried and lost.

“i give up, kaeya. the house feels suffocating? then i’ll leave.” you whispered, tears streaming down your face as you started to go to your shared room, wanting to pack up your stuff. kaeya who has been stunned for the past two minutes, processing your outburst finally snapped out of his trance. remorse and sorrow were all over his face as the usually calm and collected male panicked.

“honey, wait please. fuck. i’m sorry. (y/n), please, don’t leave.” he followed you closely, knowing his place and didn’t dare to touch you. you kept adding clothes to your bag, packing as lightly as possible cause the main thing for you that second was to get away from him, get away from that house that was full of your past and memories.

beside you kaeya kept apologizing multiple times, yet it’s all like a jumble of noise in your head. he kept hovering over you until the last step before the door.

“please, i can’t live without you,” his voice was incredibly weak, strained and would absolutely made you caved in if it was a few weeks ago, before all his actions proved otherwise and your presence there was not a welcomed one.

“kaeya, you haven’t been living with me at all for the past few months except when we’re asleep, i think you can get used to me not being there pretty quickly, you’re very good at that, right?”

your words once again left the man stunned, he's having a hard time finding words that would make all of this a bit more okay however it would be the same as sticking a band-aid on a stabbed and bloody stomach. it doesn't fucking work.

you stared at the man who once made you believed he loved you. anger, frustration, and betrayal all flooded in your chest but above all of that it's just sorrow.

you left, not looking back even once.

part 2.......?

#genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin angst #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you

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ohbo-ohno · 4 months

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merry christmas @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's the ghoap x reader purge au! (a week and a half after you posted about it... im so sorry)

5.7k, mind the tags <3

cw: ROUGH NONCONSENUAL SEX in all caps, pwp, under-prepared/painful anal sex, some pretty intense fear stuff, people covered in blood and referenced violence (it's a purge au lol)

Your hands tremble where they’re tucked close to your chest, blood sticky and thick between each finger. You feel coated in it, like someone has taken a brush and gone over every inch of your skin, painted you in red.

It’s in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of it on your tongue, the taste of iron sickening. You tell yourself that maybe you bit your tongue, that it’s not really your ex Phil’s blood coating your teeth.

Your thin pajamas are hardly any protection against the chill of the night air, less so with how soaked they are. The stench of piss is heavy in the air, a mixture of yours and his, but you don’t have time to go back inside and change.

You’re running on pure instinct, an animal urge deep in your mind insisting you run. You’d always thought you’d have more of a flight instinct than fight. Despite how you feel now, how your legs itch to carry you as far away as possible, the cooling corpse left behind tells you the truth.

You stumble into the wall, a wave of nausea knocking you off balance. There’s a trail of red left behind as you use one hand to balance yourself, the other held protectively over your heart.

Your security system - cheap, but usually enough to let you sleep through the Purge - is completely destroyed. There’s no chance of it protecting you, and the bust in windows will let anyone on the streets see your vulnerability. You’ll never feel safe there, and you can’t shake the need to run.

There’s no chance of any of your neighbors helping you. There’s some neighborly camaraderie between your floor-mates, but that all disappears on Purge night. It’s every man for himself, every year, without fail. You know that. You even think the same as them, pretend no one else exists when that siren goes off every year.

But now, shaking and terrified, you wish you could knock on a door and see it open. Hear the security system disengage and see a familiar face, beg for help and thank them on your knees.

It’s a nice fantasy. Reality is less kind, seeing you shake with a dawning chill as you manage to shoulder open the door to the stairwell, cringing when it slams behind you.

The cold cement is rough on your feet, and a distant part of yourself worries about slipping - your feet are slick with blood, and you can hear yourself leaving a trail of footsteps. You don’t try to slow down, holding tight to the metal railing and shuffling down the stairs.

You’re halfway down the first of four flights when the door on the next floor opens, a large figure stepping into the stairwell. Your stumble to a stop before you even register that you’re not alone anymore, and you’re backpedaling before you even fully realize.

He’s big, his face covered in a red skull mask. From your vantage point you can see his hair is shaved into a mohawk, and he’s shirtless with only a pair of gray sweatpants on.

He’s drenched in blood. Even more than you, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. If you’re painted in blood, someone took a bucket and dumped it on this man. You can hardly see any unmarked skin, and you wonder for a split-second if the skull was once white.

There’s an audible grin in his voice when he calls up to you. “Look’it you, bonnie thing. You tryin’ to run?” He steps to the side, leaving a wide open space for you to pass him to the next staircase. You’re frozen where you’re leant against the railing, hardly able to breathe. “C’mon, give it a shot.”

You listen, scrabbling further back and all but throwing yourself up the stairs on all fours. You’re only the need to get away, an innate fear that tells you to get as far from the blood-soaked man as quickly as possible. You swear you hear him laugh as you launch yourself up the next flight, panting already.

There’s no safety found in going up though, as hardly two flights later you’re tugged to a stop by your instincts alone.

Standing above you, hardly six feet away and blocking the door he must’ve just come from, is another giant. This one fully clothed and with a white skull mask, somehow bigger and more intimidating than the man you can hear coming up the stairs behind you. You can’t see even an inch of skin, black gloves on his hands and mean black combat boots reaching nearly his knees.

There’s a moment, before the chase ends, where you contemplate jumping over the railing. There’s no going up, there’s no going back, and you can’t even begin to imagine what these two men want with you. The only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself over is the fear that you wouldn’t die on impact, that you’d be left injured and even more vulnerable to these men.

You’re not sure you could’ve tried that plan had you even wanted to, because the moment it forms fully in your mind a pair of thick arms wraps around you, and a heavy weight forces you to the ground.

You cry out at the sudden shove, palms scraped raw against the cement. The man behind you covers your body completely - his knees bracket yours, his hands rest on either side of your head, and there’s no part of the back of you that isn’t cloaked in him.

He doesn’t say anything as he ruts against you, the blood from his chest soaking through your tank top and making you cringe further away. You can’t stop the quiet stream of whimpers as you try to shrink into the stairs, try to get away from the beast behind you. He doesn’t care, only drops more of his weight onto you and pantomines fucking you.

You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, as thin as the clothes both of you are wearing are. If you weren’t wearing your shorts, if he tugged the waistband of his pants down, he’d be inside of you.

The thought makes you tear up, makes you want to slam your head back and try to knee him in the balls, makes you want to fight.

But all your fight is gone. It died with Phil and your security system, and you’re left only with a weight in your bones that makes you wish you could sink through the floor.

The hard plastic of the skull mask presses to the sensitive skin of your cheek, biting into the fat there. You can see the gleam of bright blue eyes in the sockets, the creases at the edges that tell you he’s smiling.

“You gonna fuck her here for the first time?” The white skull asks, voice deep enough that you hardly register the words. Your eyes are jerked to his form and it makes you shiver to see him sitting on the top of the staircase you’re pinned to, legs spread wide as he stares down at you with a cigarette between lips exposed by the tilted mask. You feel like a sacrifice, thrown to the stairs of a temple for a god.

“Can I?” The man over your shoulder pants, accent roughened from his own movements. You can’t tell if the wetness between your thighs is piss, blood, or an even worse option. You bite your tongue to hold back a whine, wince at the burst of iron in your mouth.

The man above you tilts his head, smoking blown into the air. “You fuck her here, you won’t get to go again on the roof. Don’t need you gettin’ spoiled.”

Your nails dig into the concrete, folding beneath the pressure as you shake beneath the red skulled man. He whines over you, like a petulant kid being told no for the first time, but goes still against you. That alone has you blinking open damp eyelashes, watching him from the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll wait,” he pants, chin resting on your soldier. “Give ye some time to get ready, huh lass? It’ll be easier for ye then. Just think about what we’ll do to ye, how good it’ll feel to get properly fucked, yeah?”

You sob when he grinds one final time against you, your hips pushed into the harsh edge of the stairs.

He’s dragging you up after that, hardly letting either of you stand fully before shoving you up the stairs. You can’t catch your balance and let out a small cry as you fall back to your knees, mouth twisting in pain at the unforgiving surface against your naked knees.

You flinch when a gloved hand grasps your chin, tugging up until you’re forced to look towards the white skull above you.

You’ve landed between his feet, a boot on either side of your body, and if you’d moved forward even another half foot, you’d have face planted into his lap.

Your heart skips a beat when you realize you’re making eye contact with him. The dark brown of his pupils blends almost seamlessly with what must be black paint smeared around his eye sockets, and the only reason you even realize you’re locked in a staring contest is the way the light reflects off the whites of his eyes.

You don’t have time to try and move away from him on your own (or, more accurately, to throw yourself backwards and pray you didn’t break something falling down the stairs) before a pair of bare hands are shoving you up from beneath the armpits, making you almost squeal as you jerk in the direction you’re forced.

“Up, c’mon,” red skull grunts, hands flitting from one part of your exposed skin to the next as he herds you upstairs. “Need to get inside ye, kitty, fuckin’ walk.”

You sob as you stumble up the stairs, the top of your foot scraping painfully against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see White stand to follow you two, but you’re nearly sent sprawling again when Red only shoves you all the more harshly.

“Pl-please,” you manage to gasp, shoulder roughly bouncing off the wall. A glance up tells you you’re two full flights away from the rooftop. “Please, I don’t know what you want, b-but…” You can hardly talk around the sobs floating in your throat, choking you. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

Red groans as he tugs you nearly off balance, the sound echoing off the walls and full of what you can only describe as hunger.

“Fuck, haven’t even gotten ye naked yet ‘n yer already beggin. Knew ye’d be perfect for us.”

You can hardly see through the tears in your eyes, the rest of the trip up to the roof all gray with streaks of red and black. You can’t focus enough to try and get away again, can’t get enough of your panic under control to fucking think.

The red skull catches you when you almost go careening over the rails, one broad hand catching you by the chest and gripping.

He groans, you flinch. “Fuck, cannae wait to get my mouth on these.” He pinches with his whole hand, your breast going sharp with pain on every fingertip. You whine, flinching further against his chest and trying to shrink away.

“Keep movin’, Soap.”

“Aye,” Red - Soap - pants, and you can practically hear the saliva gathered in his mouth when he swallows. “C’mon, kitty, only a little further.”

The blood on your hands has dried by the time White is shouldering open the door to the roof, your hands itching and the red flaking away every time your fingers twitch. The night air is a cold shock, just jarring enough to tug some reason back into your brain.

Soap doesn’t stop his herding until you’re far enough from the door for his partner to block it with an old metal chair, the back tucked under the door handle. You tuck your hands beneath your arms, shoulders curled in in an attempt to preserve warmth.

You wouldn’t have expected the night to be so cold. Half of the street is burning - flames painting the sky, giving you the exact opposite impression of the biting chill you feel. There are dozens of people in the streets, carrying guns and axes and chainsaws and all sorts of other weapons you can’t see. You feel bile rise in your throat when you realize the dark pools reflecting flames in the street are blood, not water.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap grumbles, and you don’t have any time to think before his mouth is pressed forcefully against yours, tongue shoving at your lips.

Your eyes are wide open, unlike his, and you make a shocked sound high in your throat at the sight of his maskless face. You can’t really see what he looks like with the way he’s pressed against you, but it’s a shock nonetheless.

You keep your lips pressed tightly together, no matter how much his tongue prods and tries to force its way into your mouth. You feel more than hear him laugh against you after a few long seconds, and one of his massive paws comes up to cradle your jaw pointer finger against your temple and thumb under your chin.

He stops trying to force himself between your lips after almost a minute, instead shifting to just… licking your lips. His tongue paints wide across your mouth, soaking you in his saliva. He’s almost scarily determined in the way he accosts you, his grip tight on your face as his other hand shifts to bruise your hip, covering what feels like the entire bottom-half of your face in his spit. You can’t help but grimace, trying to pull away from him, but he’s pressed too close.

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to be in ye,” he pants, breath warm and wet against your cheeks. “I know yer gonna squeeze me just right, bonnie, can tell already.”

“Please,” you say, voice weak. “Please, don’t, I don’t want you to-”

His groan is guttural. “Ye wanna know a secret, bonnie?” His voice is quiet between the two of you, bright blue eyes boring deep into yours when he pulls back. To your endless frustration, he’s handsome.

He leans close, whispering so low that you almost have to strain to hear hum. “That’s what makes you fun. Wouldnae be draggin’ you up here if ye wanted it, could get you any other night of the year for that. But it’s Purge night, lass… so you go ahead and fight as much as ye want, yeah? Just makes it more fun for me.”

You can’t help but sob at that, fat tears streaming down your face as he maneuvers you. You feel disconnected from your body as he forces you down to the ground, your soft belly left exposed when he pushes up your tank-top to cup one of your breasts, a whimper crawling out of your throat at the way the gravel presses into you.

You feel his breathing grow heavier as his hands move down to your shorts, shoving them off your hips and leaving them loose around your calves, completely disregarding your pitiful attempts at crawling away.

“Poor thing, been stuck in these the whole time? They fuckin’ reek, bonnie, no offense. That his piss or yours?”

You shake your head against the ground, face twisted up in acute humiliation. For some stupid reason you don’t want to even begin exploring, you find it necessary to whisper, “H-his.”

Soap hums, and you curse yourself inwardly when the humiliation is slightly alleviated.

“Get ‘em off her,” the white mask says, and you can’t help but jump at the sound of his voice. He’s sat on a large box only a few feet away, leaning back and relaxing, looking for all the world like he’s settled in for his favorite show. “Don’t want anythin’ of his touching her now.”

The sound Soap makes at that is animalistic, a snarl coming from deep in his chest that makes you flinch as he all but tears the shorts from your body. You wince at the wet splat of them landing several feet away.

You force your forehead into the gravel when your knees are forced wide, a rough hand and another pair of knees spreading you.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” you can’t help but beg, voice trembling. “Please- god, please don’t-”

“Fuck,” he moans over your shoulder. “Yeah, keep goin’, lass.”

You sob at the feeling of warm skin against your bared behind, his thick length slotting itself smoothly between the slightly spread lips of your pussy. Your eyes squeeze shut and it takes all your willpower not to keep begging.

He slides himself back and forth against you for a few long breaths, using online the slight slickness from a mixture of piss and blood to get some friction. But to your immense horror, it only takes a few moments for the sensual movement against your clit to have your body preparing itself.

The slight wetness at your hole might be a betrayal, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the way when he pushes inside of you with no warning.

You nearly scream, a high sound of pure panic and pain when it feels like you’re being split in two. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone laugh. Right above you, Soap groans.

He’s buried himself to the hilt inside you before the pain has had any time at all to fade, and he’s fucking into you hardly a second after that.

Every thrust forces a grunt from your throat, the entire weight of him slammed into your back each time his balls smack against your clit. Your face is twisted up in a grimace, your whole body racked with pain that your assaulter couldn’t care less about.

“Fuck, kitty. Yer squeezin’ me so good, such a good girl, shit-! Knew you’d be ti-tight as a vice, fuck, but didn’t know you’d be squeezin’ me so tight I can hardly move.”

Your whine is plaintive, his moan is filled with pleasure.

“Yer gettin’ so wet for me, bonnie. Ye like this, huh? Bet you like it just as much as I do, gettin’ thrown around and takin’ advantage of. That it, kitty? Ye like being forced?”

You sob and shake your head against the ground, crying all the more when sharp pebbles dig into your cheeks.

“Naw, I think ye do. Why else’d you be- fuck, squeezin’ me like that?”

“Cause- because-” you try, but you can’t get the breath in to get more than a single word out.

“Huh? Cause- cause-?” Soap mocks, his voice pitching up to mimic you as he plants himself deep inside you, grinding his hips against the meat of your ass. “C’mon, kitty, tell me why. Go on.”

“Cause I want you to stop!” You cry, balled up fist slamming into the gravel. You can’t help but whine ow when the sharp rocks poke into your skin, and Soap’s laugh shakes your entire body.

“Good,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Squirm all ye want, lass. I love it when you fight.”

You can do nothing but go limp beneath him as he begins fucking you again, his pace somehow faster and even more relentless. It’s a small mercy that there’s no fight left in you, that you can’t give him any more pleasure.

It certainly doesn’t stop him, though. Despite the fact that you’re doing your best impression of a dead fish, Soap pants and moans against your shoulder like you’re the single best thing he’s ever slept with. His cock is painfully hard inside of you, and his pace never once slows.

He’s loud when he finally comes, the sound of his orgasm clear enough that you know he’s thrown his head back to the sky. You can only whimper as he rolls his hips against you, working the last spurts of cum out of his cock and into your unwilling body.

“Fuck,” he sighs in your ear, sounding far more satisfied than he has any right to. “Good girl, kitty. You were perfect.”

You sniffle beneath him when he slowly pulls out, both of you groaning at the sensation. He gives you an almost perfunctory pat on the ass, and stands to walk away. You manage to open your eyes and focus just in time to see him slide to the ground in front of his partner, leaning against the wall.

“Yer turn,” he sighs. “Warmed her up good for you, Lt.”

Despite the hatred boiling in your gut, you can do nothing but lay limp on the ground and watch as his partner stands, cracking his neck and moving towards your prone form.

You want to run, you want to fight, but you can only watch the executioner come closer and wait for the metaphorical axe to fall.

He crouches by your head first, grasping your chin and pulling up until your torso tries to follow to alleviate the tension. He stares deep into your eyes for a long moment, and you find that it’s impossible to even tell where his pupils are with no real lighting. You feel like you’re truly looking into the empty eye sockets of a skull, no man and no mercy to be found.

“You’ll call me Ghost when I fuck you,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over the scrapes on your cheek. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply hauls you up by the shoulder and turns you onto your back.

He’s rough with your limbs as he shoves your legs together and up, his forearm banding across the backs of both of your knees and holding them to your chest. You whimper and wiggles as best you can, but the bruising blow against your thigh is enough to have you gasping and stilling.

“Don’t fight,” he warns, and you feel his gloved fingers running up the crack of you. “You’re hurtin’ enough as it is, and I’m not gonna help. You wanna make it worse too?”

You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you through your legs. He doesn’t respond, and hums when he swipes two fingers through the liquid gathered between your lips.

You whine when those fingers move further down, a fresh panic creeping in when he presses around your back hole.

“You should be glad Soap fucked you so good,” Ghost drawls. “He gave you all the lube you’re gonna get.”

You feel like an animal when you whine again, unsure of how to even begin trying to speak. You yelp when a thick finger slides into your hole, completely disregarding any resistance and forcing its way in until it’s buried to the knuckle. Your cries go ignored.

“Quit squirmin’,” Ghost scolds, pulling his finger out to smack your ass before shoving two back in. “You’re fine.”

You’re not, you’re terrified and hurting and upset, but none of those things matter when Ghost only coaxes more of your slick and Soap’s spend to your unused whole so there’s less resistance.

The only blessing you have is the fact that you can’t see more than the outline of Ghost’s figure with the way he’s got you positioned. You try your best to close your eyes and float into disassociation, and while you can’t fully manage it, the fact that you can’t see his face - his mask - helps you distance yourself from what’s happening.

The moment you realize this is of course the moment it stops being true.

He seems to decide you’re ready after scissoring three fingers inside of you, hefting himself up so that he looms more fully over you. You can only whine as you feel the movements of him unbuckling his belt, feel the weight of him slap against your slightly spread cheeks.

Fresh tears fall past your lashes as you stare up into the fathomless darkness that are Ghost’s eyes. There’s nothing there, just a cold empty skull prepared to ruin you.

You don’t even have the energy to beg.

The stretch of him inside your ass is five times worse than Soap was. There’s no natural lubrication, and nowhere near enough synthetic lube either. Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the stretch white hot as he gives you no mercy.

You’re not even fully sure what you’re babbling as he slowly sinks to the root, only aware of the pain and fear and panic sitting heavy in your heart. You fear you’ll choke on your tears, head jerking back and forth.

He sighs when he bottoms out, heavy barrel chest forcing your knees past your shoulders. Your hips strain, just another pain from the endless abuse.

“There,” he grunts, patting your thigh when you go limp from it all. “Stay nice and still now, just need a place to dump my cum.”

Upsettingly enough, that hurts. The idea that you could mean nothing to this man is somehow worse than the thought of him having some other twisted feelings for you, your hormone-addled mind deeply insulted.

His thrusts are long and slow, each one pulling nearly completely out before slamming back in. The sound of your skin slapping together is embarrassingly sexual, and a distant part of you is aware enough to pray that no one nearby had heard your screams and cries.

Ghost is near silent as he fucks you, the opposite of Soap. You can only hear the occasional grunt when you squeeze him because he’s inches away from your face - you can even feel the occasional gusts of breath when his hips start working a little faster.

There’s nothing you can do but lay limply beneath him and take it, just a vehicle for his pleasure. You almost manage to float away, to pretend none of this is happening or has ever happened, when his free hand moves from your thigh to the top of your cunt.

You nearly squeal when he rubs your clit, the smooth leath gliding over your slick bud. Your eyes fly wide open, back arching as much as you can with three hundred pounds of man holding you down. The loud laugh from several feet away only makes you writhe more.

“Make her squirt, Lt!” Soap shouts, his voice carefree.

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost grunts, voice roughened with pleasure. You don’t even have time to focus on the fact that he’s just told you Johnny’s name, far too preoccupied with the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you.

You have no idea why it happens. You’re never quick to come - almost every single partner of yours has complained about you taking so long to get off, it’s been an Issue in several relationships.

So it makes absolutely no sense that after hardly a minute of rough circles against your clit, you’re clenching down on the cock in your ass and moaning loudly as your orgasm overtakes you.

The natural clench of your body only makes the pain worse, a sharp spike of it running up your cunt and making your moan shift into more pained sounds. Ghost only moans in tandem above you, his thrusts becoming slightly less even as he lets your orgasm coax out his own.

You sob when you feel his cum paint your insides.

Unlike Johnny, Ghost doesn’t pull out after he comes. He lets your legs fall limp on either side of him, just barely managing to catch them for you before you slam your ankles to the ground. He leans his torso over yours, elbows resting on either side of your shoulders while you do nothing but wait beneath him.

He’s sweat off some of the makeup. This close, you can see hints of pale skin in the sockets of the mask. There’s nothing to read in his eyes, but that flash of skin tells you he’s still a man.

You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your dry mouth, and whisper, “Will… will you let me go now?”

You know it’s more likely he’ll kill you. It’s what you can only imagine happened to all those bodies in the streets, what you know happens to tens of thousands of women every year.

So it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t answer you verbally, instead covering your mouth with his palm and pinching your nose shut with his fingers.

Your eyes flutter shut after a moment, lungs tightening already, and all you can hope is that suffocation is a quick death.

———————————————————————

You wake, gasping, in a dark room.

You’re lurching forward before you’re even fully aware that you’re awake, coughing loudly and gasping when it feels like your throat is bleeding.

“Oh, poor thing,” you hear a familiar accented voice coo, and a moment later there’s a warm hand patting your back. “Yer alright, deep breaths.”

You jerk back from Soap - Johnny - as soon as your coughing is under control, scrambling back on your palms and staring at him with wide eyes. He only grins at you, looking for all the world like any other normal man in his sweater and sweatpants.

He got changed at some point - these pants are clean. He’s not wearing his mask either, and you’re struck dumb by how non threatening he manages to look.

He also changed your clothes - or Ghost did, maybe. You try to cover your chest with one hand, but there’s no hiding the fact that you’re completely naked.

Johnny only laughs at your attempted modesty. “Been starin’ at them for hours, lass. Ye’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

That’s… horrifying, and does absolutely nothing to calm you down.

It’s then that Ghost rises from a chair, stepping forward and making you aware of his presence. “Calm down, Johnny. We don’t want her panickin’ this early.”

Soap fully pouts, tilting his head at you before glancing up at his partner. “I haven’t even done anythin’, Ghost. Was just sayin’ hi, tha’s all.”

Ghost snorts, gripping Johnny’s mohawk and tugging back until the other man sprawls back on his ass. “You know how you are, pup. Give your kitty some space.”

Johnny listens, crossing one leg beneath him and bending the other close to his chest, looking casual as can be. Meanwhile your heartbeat only gets faster, and you wince when you happen to lean too far one direction and feel a throbbing reminder of what these men did to you.

Ghost steps forward again, crouching just out of arm's reach. You realize he’s not wearing the same skull mask as before, but a balaclava with a printed skull pattern instead. His eye sockets are unpainted, and you’re shocked by how such little things make him look so much more human.

“You can calm down. Long as you behave, nothin’ much worse’ll happen to you.”

You find yourself almost comically not-comforted by that, and can do nothing more than stare at him with wide eyes.

“Where…” Your voice cracks, so you swallow and start again. “Where am I?”

It’s Johnny who speaks up. “Our place. We finally brought ye home with us, kitty.”

The world feels like it’s slowed around you, and your eyes drag from one kidnapper to the other. You have to swallow again to work any moisture into your bone-dry mouth.

“Is the Purge over?”

The creases at the corner of Ghost’s eyes are painfully obvious with how pale his skin is, and you shudder at the thought of him smiling.

“Been over for… what, five hours now? Somethin’ like that.”

You can’t fight the tremble in your voice now. “Then… then you have to let me go.”

Ghost’s head tilts, the creases get deeper. “Do I?”

You nod with as much conviction as you can - which is almost none. “You can’t keep me here. You’re breaking the law.”

Ghost leans closer on the balls of feet and you lean further back, your spine pressing into the wall behind you. “Are we now? And who do you think will stop us, pet?”

“The- the police. Someone will report me missing, they’ll come looking.”

“Oh? And you think they’ll come here?”

You nod as best you can, and jump when Ghost laughs. It’s low and quiet, only a few beats, but it’s like gasoline thrown on the small fire of panic in your mind.

“You have no idea where you even are, and you think they’ll find you? I hate to break it to you doll, but you’ll be lucky if they look for you for a week. You have any idea how many people go missin’ after the Purge?”

Your breath is quickening. “So that’s it? You’re just going to… going to keep me here, forever? What are you even going to do?”

His laugh is sharper, meaner this time. “We’re gonna do a whole lot more of what we did last night, pet. Keep you as a little cocksleeve, a pretty thing tucked in the basement just for our entertainment. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”

You manage to tear your eyes away to look at Soap and see that he’s nearly salivating, having inched closer and closer and shifted so he’s knelt behind Ghost. There’s a feral spark in his eyes that has every hair on your body standing straight up.

“Yeah, tha’s right. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make sure yer never lonely. Might even stay the night with you, cuddle up in the winter. Bet ye could keep our cocks nice and toasty in the cold, huh? Gonna let us use ye as a little heater?”

“A heater, a mattress, a fleshlight… your future’s lookin’ bright, sweetheart,” Ghost drawls, mockery dripping heavily from the cruel words.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the two men and their predatory stares, your heart racing against your ribcage.

It’s not a conscious choice for you to launch yourself towards them, reaching out and clawing your sharp nails down Soap’s face with a feral scream that tears your throat to shreds.

Even as Ghost throws you off and forces you to the ground, you vow to fight these men to the end. You’ll kill them both if you have to, leave them dead and wander however many miles it is back to your apartment.

Ghost only laughs when you shout this in his face, and you scream as you lunge forward, just managing to catch his masked chin between your teeth and bite.

With your fight instinct back in full force, you’re ready to make their lives hell.

#lumi im SORRY hand on the bible i could not tell you why this took me so long #it's pwp. it's pure smut. there is no justifiable reason for this taking a week #i literally have FOUR fucking docs of purge au's rn lmao like when i tell you i tried to write this SO MANY TIMES it was just not happening #ghoap x reader #bo writes #purge au #how do i tag this to get people to see it but not to get people complaining about dark fic to me #...i don't #oh well. special treat for you guys lol

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intynidad · 11 months

Text

Yes sir ma’am sir

Yandere otome au: the DLC

Tw: yandere stuff, suggestive in some parts tell me if I miss anything please

Tag: @pollypocketblog03u thanks for ur request love! <3

As time went on, you noticed something peculiar: despite the approaching "final day" of the game, the heroine had not yet locked a route. It struck you as quite unusual, but you dismissed the notion that it had anything to do with you. Perhaps the game mechanics were different in this "real life" version. Through some trial and error, you managed to discover a sort of "pause menu." However, it didn't prove particularly helpful. It wasn't like you could literally pause time, but it provided you with information about the characters, which you were determined to use to your advantage. Strangely enough, when you examined the character sheets, you found that some of them were either blank or marked with a ??? symbol.

Then, it dawned on you that the final day wouldn't be triggered until the heroine had met all the love interests. Recalling the main cast, you were certain there were only three: the childhood friend, the family friend, and the loner (excluding yourself as the rival and the heroine).

Nevertheless, you were positive that the heroine had interacted with all of them, as you had observed her engaging in (not so friendly) conversations with each.

That’s until you remembered…you had installed the “more love” dlc!

Okay... This is actually pretty perfect, to be honest.

If you manage to meet all the new love interests and make them your friends, or even prevent the heroine from meeting them at all, the "final day" won't trigger, and the heroine won't take revenge on you! This is perfect. What could go wrong?

You honestly had no idea who the new love interest would be and the whole “praying for your life” thing made you exhausted, you needed a way out.

So there were you moving through the game map to a new location exclusive of the dlc, “the obsidian stardust”

The bass reverberates through every fiber of your being, as bodies move in sync with the hypnotic melodies. The dance floor is a mosaic of swaying figures, their movements fluid and uninhibited. The atmosphere is alive with an aura of liberation, a temporary escape from the mundane.

It was just what you needed

With your newfound knowledge of the current route and the realization that the "final day" was yet to come, a sense of relief washed over you, and you felt a wave of relaxation. Tonight, you were determined to forget about everything and simply enjoy yourself on the dance floor, immersing yourself in the music and letting loose.

Lost in your own little world, you accidentally bumped into someone. "Ah, sorry, my ba..." you began to apologize, but before you could finish, the stranger took hold of your hand and pulled you into a dance.

Well, this wasn't exactly what you had envisioned, but it was a club after all, and people often bumped into each other. Perhaps this person simply assumed you wanted to dance, and you decided to go with the flow, embracing the unexpected twist of the evening.

Both of you danced and danced until it was time to go home.

You were outside the club either debating to call one of your friends or just pick up a taxi when you felt a tab on your shoulder.

“You really know how to move, ain’t ya’” this stranger looked at you with half lidded eyes

“Let me tell you something” he got a step closer “my place is a couple of streets away, so what do you say”

“No thanks”

“Perfect, let me just grab my car and we ca-wait what?”

“I said no thanks” you repeated yourself a little bit louder

The stranger was frozen in place while you walked your merry way into a taxi and left

Did?- did he just got rejected??

THE PLAYBOY

This dude is a player, he loves to sleep around and break hearts. He knows he is handsome and is willing to use it in his favor to get what he wants.

Used to sleeping around and breaking Hearts but totally not used to being rejected, so when you do it is like if somebody dropped a bucket full of ice water on top of him.

But when he recovers from the initial shock he sees this as a test, a challenge to test his charm and ability to woo people.

So he tracks you down and starts to shamelessly flirt with you and being very vocal on wanting to sleep with you.

And you just??? Say No? To him??? Who does that!!?

So he tries and tries again, his friends telling him to give it up and to just move to another pray, that any other boy or girl would be in line to get on their knees for him.

But no, he doesn’t want anybody. He.wants.you.

This becomes something personal,he needs to make you his.

This starts to slowly spiral into an obsession but he is delusional, you are just crazy about him! You are just playing hard to get!

He ends up convincing himself that you are completely in love with him and that you are just or too shy or too bratty to accept his- i mean your feelings

Is not until he is fucking another person that he realizes that it doesn’t make him feel good anymore,at least not the way it was before.

His worst fear had materialized before his very eyes: he had succumbed to the allure of love.

The echoes of his past deeds reverberated through his being, fueling a resolute determination to never subject himself to the heartbreak he had once inflicted on his victims.

You will be his,and that’s final

The delinquent

With your newfound understanding of the city's layout, you found yourself strolling through its vibrant streets more frequently (purely coincidental, of course, and certainly not a clever tactic to evade the relentless presence of the heroine and the rest of the love interests). On one eventful day, as you ventured downtown, a disturbing scene unfolded before your eyes. A group of individuals, driven by an inexplicable rage, were beating the absolute crap of some random unfortunate soul.

you and what you assume was the leader made eye contact and you did what was the most logic course of action.

Averting your eyes, your pace quickened, silently signaling your intent to distance yourself from the impending chaos.

What?.you weren’t gonna risk yourself like that!

It was best to mind your own affairs and leave the role of the valiant hero to others.

You thought that that would be the end of the interaction, that until you were in a local bookstore,mostly to pass the time, that’s until you were passing through the cooking section that your eyes meet with the same guy was beating the random person the other day!

He looked well, cleaner?(with less blood you mean) and you could swear that they took out some of their piercings.

The eyes of the ringleader flashed with recognized and panic, and started to speed walk and corner you into an mostly empty part of the bookstore

Long story short, you were threatened with staying quiet with the leader’s apparently-secret-hobby of baking

After that you started to bump into him more often.

He even one day gave you some muffins on the (totally not excuse) of needing a taste tester.

After that you two started to hang out around, his menacing aura was enough to make people move off the way.

He even started to give you more of your favorite pastries (even though you don’t remember telling them about your preferences)

What you didn't know is that the delinquent grew really attached to you because you didn't judge him about his “secret hobby”.

He might or might not started to mix the pastries with…some special ingredients

A thirst was just a little bit of his saliva, just to pretend you guys shared an indirect kiss, then it moved to…other stuff.

Watching you stuff your mouth with something he made, made his mind wander on what that mouth of yours could do.

When some underling of his made the comment of him going soft for somebody, he crushed his skull with a metal bar until probably not even their family would be able to recognize them.

#male yandere #yandere oc #yandere story #yandere oc x reader #yandere scenarios #yanderecore #soft yandere #yandere x reader #yandere boy #yandere darling #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere otome au #yandere otome

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