#do they have to shove it THAT far down your god damn throat

[pucksandpower]

Hey Natalia, hope you’re doing good ❤️ Please could I request enemies to lovers with Max. You’re constantly at each other’s throats in front of everyone and Christian has had enough of your shit and demands to see you in the office. But when you continue to fight, he’s like nah I don’t wanna be involved, sort your shit out together and leaves. And you end up fucking on his desk and after you’re suddenly super friendly around eachother. Thank you lovely! xxx

Whiplash

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: You and Max discover that there is a thin line between lust and hate

Warnings: 18+ content

You storm into Christian’s office, scowling as Max follows right behind you. He slams the door shut and you both take a seat across from Christian, refusing to even look at each other.

“I’m sure you both know why I called you in here,” Christian says sternly. “The tension between you two has gone too far. It’s affecting the team and we can’t have that.”

You scoff and cross your arms. “Why don’t you talk to him about it then? I’m not the problem here.”

Max scowls. “Oh please, don’t pretend like you’re so innocent. You’ve been nothing but hostile towards me since the start of the season.”

“Only because you did the same!” You retort. “I was nothing but nice when I first joined the team. You’re the one with the attitude problem.”

“Enough!” Christian shouts, silencing you both. “I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it. We’re in the middle of a championship fight and I need my drivers to work together, not against each other.”

You sink lower in your chair, still refusing to look at Max. The animosity radiates off of him in waves.

“Now you’re going to stay in here until you work this out,” Christian says firmly. “I don’t care if it takes all night. Fix this mess or both of your seats are on the line.”

He heads for the door and you spring up from your chair. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly,” Christian replies before shutting the door. You hear the lock click into place from the outside.

You jiggle the handle and pound on the door. “Let us out!”

No response.

He’s really done it, that bastard. Locked you in a room alone with your most hated rival.

You take a deep breath before turning around. Max sits there glaring at you, jaw clenched. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“For once we agree on something,” you snap.

His glare hardens. “Don’t pretend you’re blameless. You’ve been nasty since you got here.”

You storm over to him. “Because you decided to hate me from day one! I tried to be nice but you were so damn hostile. What’s your problem with me anyway?”

Max stands up abruptly, getting in your face. “My problem is you waltzing in here like you own the place when I’m the number one driver.”

You shove him in the chest. “Get over yourself! I earned my spot here.”

He shoves you back. “You don’t deserve to be here.”

Your blood boils as you stare him down. God he’s infuriating. And stubborn as hell. You doubt you’ll ever get him to admit any fault in this situation.

“Well I’m not going anywhere so I guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” you snap.

Max steps even closer, eyes blazing. Your noses nearly touch from how close he stands. “Is that so?” His voice comes out low, almost husky.

A shiver runs down your spine but you keep glaring at him. “Yeah, that’s so.”

You expect him to shoot back some nasty retort. Instead his eyes flick down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your heated gaze again.

Suddenly the energy shifts between you. The anger and tension remains but it transforms into something more primal. More dangerous.

Your breaths come heavier as electricity crackles in the nonexistent space left between you. Max’s pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as your own.

“I ...” Your voice comes out hoarse. “We should ...”

But neither of you make any move to step away. Without thinking your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips. Max tracks the movement with his intense stare.

“Fuck it,” he growls before crashing his mouth onto yours.

You gasp into the kiss and he takes advantage, deepening it. His hands grasp your hips roughly as he walks you backwards until your back hits the wall.

You barely process what’s happening. One second you were at each other’s throats, the next his body is pressing urgently against yours.

A moan escapes you when his lips move to your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin there and you thread your fingers into his hair.

“This is insane,” you pant out even as you tug him closer.

“I know,” Max breathes against your neck. His hands skim up your sides, pushing up your shirt. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.” You crash your lips together again, tasting blood when you nip at him.

Max groans into your mouth as your tongues slide together. He hitches one of your legs around his hip, grinding against you.

You break the kiss to tip your head back, moaning at the feeling. Fuck, you despise this man, but right now you need him more than anything.

His hips keep up that delicious friction as he mouths at your collarbone. “I’m still going to beat you,” he rasps out.

You smirk, nails digging into his shoulders. “In your dreams.”

Max’s eyes darken at your taunt. Without warning, he grips your thighs and lifts you onto Christian’s desk. You gasp as he pushes between your legs, his growing arousal obvious.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before crushing his mouth to yours once more.

You moan into the frenzied kiss, tongues tangling as you tug at his hair. His hands slide up your thighs, fumbling with the button of your jeans to push them down around your ankles. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him against your heated core.

Even through the layers of clothing you can feel how hard he is. You rock your hips, desperate for more friction. Max groans and moves his lips to your neck, nipping down to your collarbone.

Your head tips back as his fingers dance up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “God, I hate you so much,” you moan.

“I know.” His voice comes out rough, filled with lust.

Impatient, you reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, tossing it aside. Your eyes rake over his muscular chest and arms. Unable to resist, you lean in and scrape your teeth over his nipple.

Max hisses in a breath, hands clenching on your hips. “Fuck ...”

You grin, laving your tongue over the sensitive nub as your fingers move to his belt buckle. With shaky hands you get it open and reach into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his thick length.

He shudders against you. “Shit, Y/N ...”

You stroke him firmly, reveling in the moans and curses falling from his lips. His own hands move under your shirt, palming your breasts through your bra.

It’s not enough. You strip off your shirt and reach back to unclasp your bra. Max wastes no time dipping his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips.

“Oh god ...” you gasp, back arching into him. His teeth and tongue work over your sensitive peaks until you’re writhing beneath him.

The sound of voices outside the door makes you both freeze. Fuck. The race weekend is still going on around you. Anyone could walk by and hear what’s happening.

You meet Max’s heated gaze. “We should stop,” you pant out half-heartedly.

His eyes blaze with defiance and lust. “No fucking way.”

Before you can react he drops to his knees, grasping your hips to pull you towards the edge of the desk.

Max tugs strongly on your lacy underwear until it gives way at the seams, baring you to him. He pauses to appreciate the view, eyes roaming hungrily over your glistening folds.

“I’m still going to beat you tomorrow,” he rasps.

You tug on his hair impatiently. “Just get on with it before we get caught.”

With a wicked grin he dives in, mouth latching onto your throbbing clit. You cry out, quickly slapping a hand over your own mouth.

You fumble with his belt, desperate to feel him. Max groans as you wrap your hand around his length.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groans against your skin, increasing the rhythm of his tongue in response. The desk rocks dangerously beneath you but neither of you slow your ministrations.

You whimper his name, pleasure building steadily under his expert touch. The fingers of one hand twist in his hair while you keep your other hand moving up and down in measured strokes as you near the edge.

“Look at me,” Max commands raggedly. You open your eyes to meet his wild gaze. The connection between you crackles.

“Max ...” you gasp as your climax crashes over you. You slap a hand over your lips, muffling your cries.

As you float back down, Max withdraws his mouth. You keen at the loss but then he’s lining himself up at your entrance. Gripping your hip tightly, he pushes inside in one smooth motion.

You cling to his shoulders, nails digging in as you adjust around him. Max trembles with restraint, giving you a moment before he starts to move.

Then he sets a relentless pace, the desk slamming against the wall with each powerful snap of his hips. You wrap your legs around him, spurring him even deeper.

Max pounds into you relentlessly, wrenching desperate moans from your lips. You’re vaguely aware of picture frames and papers tumbling to the floor around you but the chaos only adds to the thrill.

You’re close, the pressure building deep inside. With a few more well-angled thrusts you topple over the edge, coming hard around him. Your breasts bounce as your back arches sharply off the desk.

“There you go, princess,” Max rasps. He continues driving into your spasming center until his rhythm turns choppy and erratic.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Max grits out. You clench around him, greedy for his release. His hips stutter and then he spills inside you with a guttural groan. The sensation pushes you over the edge again, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Breathing raggedly, Max collapses on top of you, pinning you to the desk. You’re both slick with sweat and utterly spent, your heart rates slowly returning to normal. You run your fingers through his damp waves soothingly.

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing. As the haze of lust clears, the ramifications of what just happened settle over you.

You just slept with your sworn rival on your team principal’s desk.

After a long moment Max pulls out of you and steps back, tucking himself away. On shaky legs you slide off the desk, stumbling slightly as you find your feet, and rush to put on your clothes.

Max grabs his shirt off the floor and shrugs back into it. His hair is mussed wildly and his lips are kiss-swollen. You’re sure you look much the same.

You and Max spring apart at the sound of the lock clicking open. Christian strides back into his office, oblivious to the disheveled state that both of his drivers are in.

“Well, have you two worked out your differences?” He looks between you expectantly.

You smooth down your rumpled shirt and attempt to tuck your wild hair back into place. Your cheeks flame as you meet Christian’s gaze.

“I think we’ve come to an ... understanding,” Max says evenly, though you notice a hint of color in his cheeks as well.

Christian surveys his office, taking in the askew trophies and books scattered across the floor. You hold your breath, certain he’s going to put two and two together.

“It seems you had a disagreement about reorganizing my office during your chat,” Christian says wryly.

You nearly choke in surprise. Does he really not realize what just transpired on his desk? You chance a glance at Max and have to suppress a hysterical giggle at the disbelief on his face.

“I apologize for the mess, we got a bit ... heated,” you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the double meaning.

“Yes, clearly things escalated between you two.” Christian frowns at a photo of him and Dietrich Mateschitz now lying cracked on the floor. You resist the urge to shrink under his disappointed dad stare.

“However, the important thing is you’ve worked through this animosity once and for all, correct?” He looks between you expectantly.

You and Max nod in unison. “Water under the bridge,” Max assures him. You’re impressed by how steady he manages to keep his voice even as you can see the barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Excellent. I’ll inform the team that tensions are resolved and they can stop walking on eggshells around the both of you.” Christian claps his hands together, apparently satisfied. “Now get out of here and get ready for free practice.”

You and Max don’t need telling twice. As soon as the door shuts behind you, the laughter you’ve been holding in bubbles out.

“I can’t believe he actually bought that,” Max says between chuckles.

“We literally destroyed his office and he thinks we just had a minor spat,” you giggle, shaking your head incredulously.

Your laughter trails off as the reality of what happened sinks in. You just had crazy hot sex with Max Verstappen. Where do you go from here?

Before you can overthink it, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Meet me at the hotel tonight? We should continue this conversation somewhere more private,” he murmurs suggestively.

You bite your lip but find yourself nodding. As complicated and ill-advised as this may be, you can’t find it in yourself to deny your attraction to Max now that you’ve given in to it.

“It’s a date,” you whisper back.

Max grins and steals another quick kiss before you part ways to get changed.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen #mv1 #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen x y/n #red bull racing #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen drabble

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Eight — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Everything is starting to get on top of reader and tensions rise. Azriel takes a trip to Fenlaros and comes away with a headache. Cassian does what Cassian does best. A friendly face swoops in to save the day.

Word count: 8.3k.

Warnings: A little freaky deaky 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

Azriel’s kiss is a burning brand.

It’s fire and ice and earth and rain. It tastes like freshly set snow, and it feels like the refined touch of a steeled warrior.

He kisses you like he aches for you. He pulls his hands away only to remove his gloves and chuck them aside, and then he’s clasping your face once more, skin on skin. He’s always so warm — a part of him you’ve missed.

And a part of him that drives you to kiss him back with barely any hesitation.

This — his mouth on yours — feels like the answer to a riddle you’ve been puzzling out for days, weeks, months, years. You’re gasping for air, and his tongue is sliding between your lips, and his taste overpowers you so thoroughly that you think it could break something inside of you.

There isn’t much furniture left in here. A few scattered tables, a shelf or two hanging off the wall. Not much to work with, and yet it doesn’t matter, because you and Azriel will have each other however you can. You’ve spent a lifetime making do with whatever you’ve got. This is no different.

Azriel’s hands fall down to your hips, and he’s lifting you so abruptly that a yelp leaves you and lands straight on his lips. Your arms loop around his neck, and he’s fastening your legs at his waist and stumbling with you — stumbling towards one of those old tables. A plume of dust erupts around you as he sets you down and slots himself between your legs.

“I fucking miss you.” He groans, grabbing your face. “I miss…us.”

You feel so many things. There’s no chance to sort through them, verbalise them, before his mouth slants over yours again. He’s hungry, needy. Hot and sinful. This Azriel is a far cry from the one who coyly confessed to his inexperience. This Azriel writes poetry onto your lips and paints masterpieces on your tongue. He kisses like eternal happiness depends on it. He kisses as though he’s been an artful lover for centuries.

He’s been practicing, the thought pops into your head.

Not with me, the realisation follows.

And that feels like being thrown stark-naked into the snow. It’s not a nice feeling — to realise that Azriel may be treating you to skill refined elsewhere. Not when you think about kissing him more than you’d like to admit to yourself. Does it make you a gods-damned hypocrite after what you did with Cassian? Perhaps.

But none of this — not one bit of it — is reasonable, or rational, or logical.

All you know is that your stomach lurches suddenly, violently, at the thought of where else Azriel’s lips might have been. And that’s all it takes for you to shove him away.

He stares at you, wide-eyed. Perplexed.

“I needed you.” You pant, the words tumbling from you in a flurry of charged emotion. You’re not sure you planned to say it. “On Solstice — I needed you.”

Azriel’s face changes in the blink of an eye. The hunger is gone, replaced by…something else. “Y/N—”

“I needed you, and you weren’t there. You promised me.”

“I know I did. And I’m sorry—”

“Did you even think of me?” It’s awkward, but you try to scramble back on the table. You just…need that distance right now. “Did you not wonder how I might be doing, how my day might be playing out in that hellish house, before you jumped into bed with Kaeda?”

“We didn’t—”

“Did you think of me?”

“Y/N, of course I thought of you.” He tries to clamp down on your legs, but you’re moving further away, damn near falling off the table in your efforts. “But you — you said you would come and find me. I waited for you—I—”

You’re really not sure if it’s a strangled sob or a choked laugh that fights its way up your throat. Perhaps it’s both. The sound of it is jarring, and it echoes around the armoury and reminds you of where you find yourself right now. The situation you’re in. How different things might be had Kaeda not come onto the scene.

“You waited for me?” You repeat, righting yourself. “And—what? Did you get bored? How do you think it felt, Azriel, when I came to find you — the only person I wanted to fucking be around in that moment — and you were busy with Kaeda on top of you? As if I needed my heart breaking any more that night.”

You hate it — hate it so viscerally that the words won’t stop coming. That you’re bringing your heart into this and allowing it to be stomped on again. Your eyes are watering, and you turn quickly before Az can see.

For a moment, he says and does absolutely nothing. And then he takes a step closer to you.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me. Believe me, I am.” He says. There’s another step. Another. He’s hovering at your back and you know he’s wondering whether he should reach out and touch you. “But, Y/N…you encouraged me to pursue things with Kaeda. Am I to apologise for that?”

You blink at his words so abruptly that your tears spill down your cheeks.

Now you’re laughing.

It’s a humourless laugh — a hysterical one. It breaks from you in a series of fractured, incredulous noises. At least the emotion boils your blood so thoroughly that it warms you from the inside.

“Apologise?” You round on Azriel, balling your fists at your sides. “No. You don’t need to fucking apologise. But you also don’t need me to practice on anymore, do you?”

He clamps down on his jaw, a telltale muscle moving. “I didn’t kiss you for that—”

“You kissed me because you miss me. Because I am…I’m just a security blanket, aren’t I? I’m what’s familiar, and you’re used to being around me, and having distance between us has fooled you into thinking that you want to kiss me.”

“No—”

“But you’ll kiss me…and make me feel good..and then the novelty will fucking wear off, and you’ll be running straight back to Kaeda because she is who you’ve wanted all along. Not me. Never me.”

“Cauldron, Y/N, will you just let me speak?!”

No.

You will not.

You can’t.

You can’t do this. You can’t break in front of him. You refuse to.

You want to sound strong, and sure, and unbothered, but you open your mouth, and the words are watery and broken. Weak.

“No.” You swallow a lump down. “No, I won’t. Just…just go, Az. I need some time.”

“We’ve spent the last week apart. That’s plenty of fucking time—”

“Go! Go back to Kaeda. Stop…stop pretending like this could play out any other way. It can’t. It won’t.”

“I’m not leaving on an unresolved fight. You and I don’t do that.”

You are far too beaten down to discuss this any longer. You shrug, and the gesture is an effort in itself. “I’m not sure I know what either of us do or don’t do anymore. Things have changed. Go.”

“Y/N—”

“Go!”

Finally, it seems to dawn on him — the realisation that you’re serious. You won’t be discussing this tonight. You’re not strong enough for that yet.

He falters a moment longer, so clearly not wanting to walk away. The two of you have never been like this. You can fight like the best of friends do, but you’ve always made the effort to resolve things, to not part on a bad word.

But things are different, now. You know it. Az knows it.

“…Fine.” He rasps after a long stint of silence. “I’ll go.”

You nod. If he’s expecting you to suddenly change your mind, he’ll be gravely disappointed.

His eyes sweep you once more, and then he’s turning. Dragging his feet to the door like a kicked animal.

“Az?” You call quietly, and he stops.

The hope in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder almost breaks your resolve. Almost, but not quite. “Yes?”

“Send Cassian next time.”

He doesn’t deign to reply.

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

Azriel is not well-versed in the world of dinner parties and propriety.

He has a few decent shirts he reserves for special occasions — like when Rhys’s mother cooks a nice meal, and he and the others dress up out of respect.

Y/N would laugh herself hoarse if she could see him right now.

A thought that stings almost as much as the intense, burning gaze of Tathaln Baralas, Lord of Fenlaros.

He’s a mammoth, domineering presence at the head of the dinner table, seeming to command every bite that each person takes of their food, every sip of their wine. It’s silent unless he speaks. It’s tense because he makes it tense.

He watches Azriel as though he’s going to finish his food and then take a bite out of the shadowsinger himself. Az’s shadows are taut around him, not wanting to make a spectacle of their brilliance. The dinner so far has felt like one big, held breath.

But finally, Tathaln clears his throat, and Kaeda and her brothers sit up straight. Az does the same.

“I trust your friends have fared well since your little adventure in my camp.” The Lord addresses Azriel. “I hope the punishment wasn’t too severe. I did many similar things in my youth — though I can’t say I was ever quite so bold as to venture into a rival territory.”

Azriel inclines his head slightly. “I wanted to apologise again — for what happened. Things got out of hand.”

“I’m partly to blame, father, as you know.” Kaeda adds. Azriel damn near jumps out of his seat as her hand lands on his thigh beneath the table. “It was my idea to invite my friends from Windhaven. An oversight, perhaps, on my part. I was eager to show Azriel what Fenlaros has to offer.”

Tathaln seems to think on that as he chews his food. He washes it down with a gulp of wine and reaches for the carafe to refill his glass. The whole thing feels like somewhat of a performance, and nobody speaks a word as it plays out.

This family dynamic is…odd. Not that Azriel has much experience where normal family dynamics are concerned. But there’s a formality with which Kaeda and her brothers — not that the two males have breathed a word this entire meal — address their flesh and blood. Like he is their Lord first, and father second.

And that isn’t unusual for Illyrians — not at all. Offspring are, more often than not, treated like a prospective trophy to be paraded in front of competing families. The fiercer, more ruthless the child is, the prouder the parent will be. It’s a brutal, ugly way of living that never changes, no matter how many generations stack up.

But perhaps Azriel is at fault for having too high an expectation. Perhaps he shouldn’t ever have been fooled by Kaeda’s wings and spirit being left intact, unlike most females around her.

Tathaln is a puppeteer, and Kaeda and her brothers are his dutiful puppets.

“There was no particular harm done.” The Lord eventually says — rather reasonable, for an Illyrian. “I imagine you received a stern talking to. Revoked privileges, perhaps?”

“Lord Devlon saw fit to lecture us, yes.” Azriel concurs with a nod. “But besides that, we weren’t really handed any punishment. It was my friend, Y/N, who bore the brunt of his wrath. She’s been forced into homelessness as a result.”

A sudden, sharp kick lands on Az’s leg from beside him. He glances at Kaeda in his periphery, eyes the fierce expression with which she looks at him. It seems to be communicating, don’t bring this up now.

But Az wants to bring it up. He’s pissed off; more so than he initially thought. At himself, mostly, and at Devlon, at Rhys’s father, maybe even a little at Kaeda — at everyone really.

Tathaln pauses, his fork mid-air. And then he sits back. “Right — the girl that was here. Why has she been made homeless?”

Girl. It’s a sneer of a word in Illyrian mouths. Azriel has to clamp down on his jaw and remind himself that confronting the sexism that runs through their veins is a fruitless task in that moment.

And Kaeda sighs at his side. As if she’d rather be talking in great detail about the roasting of a boar, than about Y/N.

But it answers a question that’s been rattling around in Azriel’s mind all evening — that no, Kaeda had clearly not mentioned Y/N to her father, as she said she would.

“Her father kicked her out on Solstice.” Az explains. “He’s not a good male, to say the least. Y/N was living with myself and my friends, but after the events that unfolded here in Fenlaros, she was sworn off having any contact with us, because Lord Devlon seems to think that she’s the driving force behind any and every bad choice we make. She has nowhere else to go. It’s…worrying.”

“Perhaps she’ll think twice before wandering into rival camps.” Finally, one of Kaeda’s brothers speaks. Arlen, Azriel thinks his name is. Clearly the idiot doesn’t see the irony of his statement.

Or perhaps Kaeda doesn’t have to adhere to the rules that every other female is strictly held under.

“Arlen.” The Lord shoots him a warning glance. He turns back to Azriel. “I would argue that Lord Devlon is full of shit.”

Azriel stops. Blinks. That…that’s not what he was expecting.

“How so, father?” Kaeda’s brow furrows.

“It’s his job to keep the soldiers under his command in line, no?” Tathaln’s dark, feline eyes are assessing Azriel as he speaks — seeming to read his response. “If he finds that a single female is the cause of such disruption, perhaps it is himself he should look at. He can’t be a great leader if he has to resort to such extremes just to keep his soldiers under control, now, can he?”

Az stares back at him. The question is meant for him, but it all seems too…too easy. Reason and logic are simply not a common thing among these people. The words sound almost…false. Forced.

“No.” Azriel agrees. “I suppose not.”

“Do you find him to be an adequate leader?”

“I’ve never known any different.”

Tathaln’s mouth tips up. “That isn’t what I asked.”

No, it isn’t. But this is a fine line Azriel is treading. He positively despises Lord Devlon — thinks him an arrogant brute who uses his title to flout camp laws and customs and turn everything in his favour. Not to mention the fact that he and his cronies are so clearly threatened by Az, Rhys and Cass — an undoubtedly formidable trio. Azriel is sure that if Devlon had his way, the three of them would be slung out by their necks. Or hung by them.

But his personal feelings towards the Lord of Windhaven doesn’t change the fact that openly disrespecting him — and to the lord of another camp — is a huge dishonour. One that could blow up in Azriel’s face if this conversation were to somehow make its way back to Devlon. He has to choose his words carefully.

“He has a method of leadership that I can’t say I’m in agreement with.” Gods, he is the epitome and personification of diplomacy, if he does say so himself. Ten points to the shadowsinger. “I’m not sure that using his power to target vulnerable females was ever part of his job description. I’m sure, as a father to a female of the same age, you can see where I’m coming from.”

Tathaln takes another pensive sip of his wine. He inclines his head. “Indeed, I do. I think it’s terrible leadership. And I think you’re wasted in Windhaven.”

“I appreciate that, my lord.”

“There is no need for modesty, Azriel, the shadowsinger.” As he speaks, the Lord’s eyes inch towards those very shadows. He studies them with a strange expression that looks almost like…hunger. “Do you know why I sent my Kaeda to your camp? I may as well admit, I have an agenda.”

Azriel glances at Kaeda. She’s staring at her plate, shoulders squared. “Oh?”

“I sent her there to scope out the quality of the units that are being trained in the Windhaven Camp. My sons were sent on similar missions to other camps — Camp Theriel, Camp Steelshore, Camp Aruin. The consensus of what was reported back to me regarding each camp was that potential is not being filled. Quite frankly, a mockery is being made of Illyrians by the poor training of these legions. If war was waged tomorrow, half of our race could be wiped out.”

Bold, bold words.

Azriel finds himself stunned silent.

“We are Illyrians, no?” A thick, callused finger traces the rim of Tathaln’s chalice. “We are a warrior race. We have birthed some of the fiercest warriors in Prythian’s history and decimated tens of thousands across battlefields. And yet, it would seem, these days, that our camps are producing fewer warriors, and far more lazy, unambitious brutes who care only about drinking and fighting and fucking. Our reputation could be destroyed yet.”

This is…bizarre, Az thinks.

He also thinks that it’s a little unfair. He’s the last person to ever defend the creatures around him that are supposedly his brethren, but he also thinks that Tathaln’s assessment is wildly exaggerated.

Illyrians drink, yes, and fight, yes, and fuck, yes. But they do so in between harsh, gruelling training. They drink to forget the brutal nature of their life’s work. They fight each other because they’re just as angry as one another, and that needs an outlet. They seek pleasure, because it’s one of the few good things to be found in these parts.

Their training is not for the faint of heart. You train well, or you die. It’s that simple.

And if Tathaln, Lord of Fenlaros, truly has such concerns, Azriel doesn’t understand why the fuck they’re being presented to him, of all people.

“Is this something you’ve raised with the High Lord?” He asks — he isn’t sure he even means to say it.

Kaeda tenses beside him, and Az wonders if, perhaps, he’s overstepped the mark. But Tathaln seems somewhat pleased by the question — seems pleased that Azriel is engaged in the discussion.

“It is.” The male answers. “And I think he finds himself agreeable to what I’ve had to say. However, I haven’t yet presented my solution — what I believe to be the right course of action.”

Az takes the bait. “Which is what?”

“Eventually,” Tathaln says, “I would do away with the individual camps entirely. I would have one, sole camp to train Illyrian warriors, overseen by the most powerful members of our race. Members with rare, unique powers who can draw on the Illyrian potential and make our people what we were always supposed to be. What we once were, before we became too complacent. Better, even.”

And just like that, it makes sense that Tathaln is sharing such things with Az.

Rare, unique powers. Powers like that of a shadowsinger. So incredibly unique that Azriel has never met another of his kind.

Tathaln has ambition — he covets power. He has a vision that needs backing.

It’s like everything suddenly clicks into place in Azriel’s mind.

He finds himself looking at Kaeda, not her father. Finds himself wondering if she ever had genuine interest in him, or if that interest came entirely from Tathaln. Finally, she lifts her gaze to his, and she wears a strange, pleading look.

“Don’t get me wrong, shadowsinger.” Tathaln says. “This is not a goal that could be achieved overnight. Power takes time to build. I couldn’t take this idea to the High Lord without something to back it up — something to get him on side.”

Azriel shrugs. “But what would you have me do? I’m just a soldier in training—”

“You are a shadowsinger. Do you even realise what an asset that makes you? Perhaps your poor start in life, your mistreatment, has caused you to downplay your potential. But I see it. Your power could be a lethal weapon on a battlefield. And off a battlefield. There is so much you could be doing, and yet Lord Devlon has you landing punches on a sparring dummy and calls it training? You are made for better things than that.”

Praise is…it’s a rare thing, in Azriel’s world. And he doesn’t care about that, because the little praise he does get comes from the people who matter, and that’s all he needs.

But hearing somebody other than his close friends — his family — speak so highly of him, is…new. And he’d be lying if he claimed not to like it.

Still, Tathaln is clearly beating around the proverbial. Azriel almost doesn’t want the discussion to go any further, because his head is already full to the brim with swimming thoughts and close to exploding. But they’ve come this far already; he may as well learn what his role in this bigger agenda would be.

“What is it you want from me, my Lord?” He asks.

A small smile plays on Tathaln’s mouth. His eyes, yet again, are on Azriel’s shadows, rather than Az himself. “As I said, change cannot be made overnight. It would take years — generations, perhaps. I would need enough males — strong males — backing my cause, before the High Lord would even hear of it. But I am a patient male. I know what I want, what is right for Illyria, and I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Starting with strengthening my camp. Being known as the strongest of all camps. And strengthening my influence, too.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Having your power on my side could be a good thing for me. And I could hone you. I believe this mission starts with you. Abandon Windhaven and take up residence in Fenlaros. Train under my command. Come and see exactly how wasted you are in that place. Come and see what we could build together.”

“You want me to be your pet?” Azriel raises an eyebrow. “Your project?”

“I want to hone your potential and show you what an asset you are. I want Illyrians to be a feared people once more. I want to build the strongest, most powerful army in all of Prythian and make Illyria what it was always supposed to be.”

In the wake of the impassioned speech, silence sweeps in. Azriel is staring at his plate, and he thinks he might be feeling cold all over. There’s a strange tingling at the back of his neck — like a warning sign.

He still doesn’t understand why he’d be integral to such an agenda. He’s a shadowsinger, yes, and that is not to be downplayed, but he’s just Azriel. He’s just an Illyrian who trains to fight, and fights to kill, and to one day be killed. That is simply how it is.

And Windhaven — ugly and cold and harrowing as it is — is his home. His family is there. A cottage that is far too small and cramped to house a group of adults but is always a beacon of light and hope and warmth. A place in which he’s made wonderful memories and felt genuine happiness. He’s happy to tolerate the hellish ways of life around him, because he has beautiful things in front of him.

Beautiful things that wouldn’t follow him to Fenlaros. Yes, he may have broken a rule and breached a camp to attend a party — but doing so under casual circumstances is wildly different to doing so under official ones. As a soldier of Fenlaros — as one of Tathaln’s puppets — he would be expected to adhere to the strict rules and standards that he metes out. Fenlaros would be his territory, and there would be no blurring of those lines.

But could Tathaln really be seeing more potential in Azriel than had ever been noticed before? Could it truly be that Fenlaros has more to offer him? More to be done for him?

“I would be turning my back on everything I know.” Az says, the mere words tasting sour in his mouth. “My loved ones. The family I’ve built. They would be left behind. I’m not under any illusion that you’d allow our two camps to interact if I came here.”

Tathaln dips his chin. “I am not going to sugarcoat that. It would be an adjustment, and a painful one at first. But there is far more for you here, shadowsinger. I simply ask that you consider it. Just as I believe your two brothers would consider it, if I were to present the offer to them.”

“And why haven’t you? Presented it to them? Why me?”

Those dark, calculating eyes swallow him up. “I need a shadowsinger. It starts with you.”

Azriel isn’t even sure what that means, and he doesn’t want to think about it any longer. There’s a lump in his throat. His appetite is well and truly gone. He might even be sick.

He couldn’t possibly leave his family. The thought makes him violently ill.

“As I said, all I ask is for your consideration.” Tathaln watches him. And then his eyes slide to his daughter. “As this meal is clearly over, perhaps Kaeda should show you around Fenlaros. Show you what this place might have to offer. Give the shadowsinger a tour, my sweet.”

Kaeda smiles broadly. “Yes, father.”

Az wants to refuse, but he can’t find the words. Too much is going on in his head. He wants to get out of there and go straight back to Windhaven, where it’s familiar and where love waits for him. He doesn’t want to be a component in a greater agenda.

When he met Kaeda, it was simply about…exploring attraction. About experiencing. Not about this.

But he can’t fucking speak. He stands without telling his body to stand.

And for some reason, when Kaeda slides her hand into his, murmurs a soft “come, Azriel”, he doesn’t protest.

Numb and stunned and sick to his stomach he may be. But he follows.

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Azriel isn’t sure if he’s heard a single word that has left Kaeda’s mouth.

She speaks, and yet it’s simply background noise. He can’t hear around the screeching in his head.

He should really just take to the skies and fly home, but perhaps he’s already a puppet — his feet stay on Fenlaros turf. Kaeda guides him around the camp as though the conversation at dinner never happened. She shows him her favourite haunts and introduces him to people whose names he forgets instantly.

It's up on a viewpoint overlooking the camp, just he and Kaeda alone, that he finally releases a slow, weary breath. He folds his arms against the railing and welcomes the cold air biting into his skin. Kaeda stands just a short distance away.

“We call this area the Widow’s Watch.” She says, daring a step closer. “It’s said that centuries ago, at the end of battle, the camp wives would gather up here with firelit torches and await their husbands’ return. If their husband returned, they’d extinguish the torch. Those that were left burning signified who did not return from war.”

Azriel says nothing; isn’t sure he’s capable. He digs his fingers into his arm.

Eventually, Kaeda stops at his side, also bracing her arms on the railing. She looks out over the camp wistfully, as though she can see hordes of wounded soldiers returning home. “I can’t imagine how eerie that sight must have been — the beacons of the dead painting the sky with fire.”

“No,” the agreement leaves the shadowsinger unexpectedly — surprises even him. “Neither can I.”

It’s then that Kaeda angles herself towards him just slightly. He meets her gaze. She’s so very beautiful — the kind of female that artists beg to paint. Her cheekbones are high and defined, her lips full. Her eyes look like shards of glimmering green rock. Never is there a hair out of place. Never a stray lash or smudged rouge. She is, quite simply, a vision.

But Az finds himself wondering if he’s ever known any part of her, or if she’s just following orders.

“I know you must have questions.” She eyes him cautiously.

“So many that my brain can’t keep up.” He takes a small step away. “Have you ever been genuinely interested in me?”

“I have.”

“Your father literally sent you to cozy up to me.”

Her eyes shutter, thick lashes fanning against her skin. “It wasn’t like that, Azriel. I mean — it was, to some degree. You’re right that my father sent me, and that he already had his sights set on you. I work for him. I’m training as his spymaster.” She opens those eyes again — wide. “Yes, he told me to get to know you. But he didn’t say romantically. That was all me. I just…like you.”

Gods, it should feel good, feel like a positive thing, to hear that. To know that the beautiful female he’s been getting to know these past months has genuine interest in him.

But he feels…nothing. No sense of relief. Only the anger that’s still simmering at this entire thing being orchestrated by her father.

“Does it not bother you?” His tone is brusque, sharp, as he stares Kaeda down. “That your father has you do his bidding? You’re a pawn in a game.”

“My father has a vision. It is an honour to serve him, and to be a contributor to that vision eventually coming to fruition. I will not apologise for that.”

“A vision. To create…to create one fucking super camp that he is to oversee? It sounds to me like your father has a hunger for power. Things have worked this way in Illyria for millennia. Why should they be changed now?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “You’re wrong. Things aren’t working. That’s just the problem.”

“You—”

“Are you proud to be an Illyrian, Azriel?” She steps closer to him; perhaps too close. “I’m not. Not with how things are right now. But I want to be. We are a warrior race. We are supposed to train, and fight, and protect. We’re supposed to be formidable. We’re supposed to be feared. But with the way things are going, fewer and fewer of those things are remaining true. If we don’t change how things are run across these camps and light a fire under our soldiers’ asses, half of our people could be wiped out when the next war comes. The Illyrian race could cease to exist entirely, and our legacy will be left at the mercy of rhyme and tale. We can’t allow that to be the case.”

Azriel studies her.

Her passion is…intense, yes, but also strangely beautiful. There’s a ferocity in her eyes that is so rare among a people who live and breathe misery; whose lot in life is to die.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that he appreciates Tathaln’s scheming, nor Kaeda’s. But they’re not exactly wrong in that ambition is a rare commodity these days. Those who can train for the Illyrian army do so because it’s what is expected of them. Those who aren’t cut out for it make do with everyday jobs around camp. Nobody has pride or passion. Nobody is prepared for war.

So Azriel’s shoulders relax just a little, even though his scepticism remains very much present. “I still don’t understand why I am being scouted for this cause, though. Why not take it to the High Lord? Or why not get Rhysand on side?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “As my father explained, we simply don’t have enough backing to go to the High Lord about this idea — not yet. He knows of my father’s opinion and even agrees that things need to change, but such a complex idea requires careful handling. And conspiring with his son about it would surely not put us in his favour.”

“So…what? I’m the next best thing?”

“After Rhysand, you’re the most powerful, yes. Your influence could aid us greatly. I don’t think you realise how highly coveted you are. Every other camp is aware of the fact that Windhaven has a shadowsinger. And they’re equally aware that your abilities aren’t being put to their full potential under Lord Devlon’s command. Changes will be made whether you accept my father’s offer or not, Azriel. But the changes we’re proposing are the best ones. The right ones.”

“I don’t see what’s right about having to leave my friends — my brothers—”

“Gods, Azriel, just…just take the emotion out of this for five seconds and listen to me.”

Az’s jaw clenches. “I am listening.”

“Then hear me clearly. Change is coming. It’s inevitable. And one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that even if you weren’t to come to Fenlaros, you would still be separated from your friends, or your brothers, or whatever you call them.” She hovers close enough to touch, now, mere inches from him. “One thing I’ve picked up on in Windhaven is that Lord Devlon is very intimidated by the strength of you, Cassian and Rhysand being together. The older you get, the more powerful you’re becoming, and people are growing aware of that. Devlon intends to separate the three of you, and by any means necessary. He can’t risk the threat you pose to him. He’ll tear you apart.”

The information doesn’t surprise Az one bit. He’s sensed a growing panic amongst Devlon and his cronies. They don’t stand a chance against the future High Lord and his two closest friends. And Azriel doesn’t doubt that if physical separation didn’t work, the callous bastards would resort to something far, far worse. Or try, at least.

But still, none of this is making any fucking sense to him. He needs a stiff drink. Or twenty. “How would coming to Fenlaros solve that in any way?”

“Beating Devlon at his own game — separating yourself from your brothers — will lure him into a false sense of security. With you gone, it’ll be one less problem to worry about. He’ll let his guard down. Meanwhile, we’ll be building our influence here and forming a case that can be taken to the High Lord. With his support of our changes, we’ll have the power to do more. And then eventually…eventually, your brothers can join you here. When we have more ground to work on. My father would never begrudge the bond the three of you have. He’d see it as a positive…having three such powerful Illyrians under his command.”

Too much to think about. Way, way too much. Azriel just wants to get out of there. He wants to lie down in a dark room and pretend nothing and no one exists.

But he stares at Kaeda. And he asks, “And what of Y/N? Could she come here, too?”

There’s a very slight hesitance — small, but certainly there. But then she purses her lips, and she shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He’s not sure she means it. And that…that’s a whole other rabbit hole he’s not sure he can face going down right now. Another situation entirely.

Before he can say anything else, Kaeda closes the gap between them. She cups his face and leans up, close enough that their mouths are almost touching.

“Just think about it. That’s all I ask.” She says. “I really do like you, Azriel. And I really do think we could have something. Think of what we could do here, together. Of what we could be. We could make history. Just…promise me you’ll think about it.”

His lips part with a response he hasn’t even thought of. But there’s no chance to speak it as Kaeda slants her mouth over his and kisses him slowly, softly. Deeply.

Her fingers sink into the strands of his hair, and she breathes a muted hum into his mouth. She tastes like peppermint and sugar, and she kisses as though she hasn’t just laid the weight of the world on Azriel’s shoulders.

And that weight might be why he’s stiff as a board, barely reacting. Or it might be the horrible feeling of dread that this is all wrong. He kissed another female, earlier today — and that kiss had felt like burning, eternal sunshine.

This one feels like…like a ploy.

“Just promise me.” She pulls away just enough to whisper. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

There’s no way he can’t think about it. The seeds have been sown. And perhaps he feels a little slither of guilt for how rigid and cold he currently is, because he doesn’t shoot her plea down like he should.

He sucks in a slow breath and inclines his head.

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll think about it.”

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The fucking wall is Azriel’s fucking face.

At least, that’s what the fuck you tell yourself as you send a dagger hurtling at it and watch it bury its point into the surface. Another scuff mark to add to the growing smattering, all courtesy of you.

Fuck. Him.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so angry in your life, and Cauldron knows, you’ve had ample reason to. But this anger is…it’s consuming. It’s violent and jagged and nauseating. It’s claws sinking into your heart and your brain and dissecting everything that plagues you in both sleep and consciousness.

And it’s this severe because you care. You care so very much.

You’re sick of caring.

Why would he kiss you, after all that has happened since the last time? To taunt you? To grab your feelings in his fist and twist them? To practice on you?

And to think you almost gave in to that strange, carnal need to have his hands on you again. You cannot — will not — allow yourself to think about which deeper emotion or desire that need is rooted in. Thinking will lead only to realisations that may destroy you yet.

And he’s probably with Kaeda right now, too. Perhaps losing himself in her, forgetting all about you with the aid of her touch—

You scowl and march to the wall, yanking your dagger out. Your anger and your need to just…move, is keeping you warm, at least. Nighttime in the old armoury is about as pitiful as can be imagined, but the relentless cold is actually a strange…relief. It hurts in a satisfying way.

How fucking dare he, your mind chants, not for the first time, as you stalk back to your spot. How dare he treat you as though you’re nothing? You brace yourself and send the dagger hurtling towards the wall once again—

The door is suddenly bursting open, and the weapon only just misses Cassian’s face on its journey as he strides in, arms full of items you don’t care to look at.

He stops abruptly. Blinks. “Did you just throw a dagger at me?”

“No.” You immediately scowl, stalking over to retrieve it yet again. “Fuck you.”

“Ouch. Fuck you right back. I brought blankets and food.”

“Shove them up your ass.”

“I’d really rather not.” He kicks the door shut behind him and strides over to the pile of your scant belongings, dropping his items and freeing his arms. He turns back to you with raised eyebrows. “Is there a particular reason you’re acting like a little storm cloud, or is it just a way to pass the time?”

Finally, you sheath your blade — partly because you’re not sure you trust yourself with it right now. You face your friend, fully aware that you’re out of line and fully resentful of the fact.

“I had an argument with Az.” You admit, not even certain you mean to.

Cassian’s eyebrows raise. “Well, that explains why he nearly bit my head off earlier, too. What did you fight about?”

Do you tell him? Do you confess all your complicated, messed up feelings — the bizarre circumstances that brought them about — when you haven’t even sorted through them yourself? No. You can’t. It’s a bit too soon for that.

“It was…nothing.” You stalk over to your things. “Just nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing—”

“Thank you for bringing me these.” You toe a thick blanket with your boot.

Yet again, Cassian’s eyebrows go up. “Are you hinting at me to leave?”

“Just because I have to face the night in this hovel, doesn’t mean you should be subjected to the same fate. I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“Well, fucking expect it, because I’m staying—”

“Cass—”

“Come here.” He opens his arms. “Right now.”

You stare at him. And in that instant, with him seeing you — seeing everything you are, everything you’re feeling, what you need — your anger simmers, and it threatens to turn into tears.

“You clearly need a hug.” He points out softly. “And I’ve missed you this past week. So come here.”

In an instant, you crumble. You’re stepping forward and damn near falling into Cassian’s arms. He catches you, just like he always catches you.

His arms band around you, warmer and more secure than any blanket. He pulls you tightly against him, and you allow your arms to snake around his waist. It’s only then that you realise how much you need the firmness of his body to hold you up. He’s like a huge, supporting wall that stops you sinking to your knees.

“I’m so sad.” You whisper, nestling your face into his chest. His scent and his warmth permeate his clothes, and they combine and wash over you in a soothing combination.

“I know.” His broad hand cups the back of your head. “Everything is a huge mess right now. But we’re going to get through it — together.”

You hate that you can’t believe him; not right now. Everything is too up in the air, too uncertain. A dark mass has followed you around this camp for the entirety of your life, and it’s closer than ever to closing in and snuffing out who you are.

“How can you be so sure?” You ask. “I don’t think I have the strength to fight anymore, Cass.”

He pulls back to study you. To cup your face and look into your eyes. “Yes.” He says firmly. “You do. You always have and you always will. There is nothing — nothing — you can’t face. I truly believe that, Y/N.”

Staring back at him feels just like…like the night in the cottage, when you lost yourself in him. Him being there for you, speaking the words that are so hard to believe and yet so what you need to hear. The same urge arises in you to give over to those feelings. Do something for yourself for once.

You think Cassian might read that thought on your face. Perhaps you wear it shamelessly.

He studies you closely — studies you hard. And his throat bobs as his eyes flit down to your lips.

“Y/N.” He says. “Let me make you feel good.”

You swallow, also. And you don’t need to think about it. “Yes.” You nod. “Yes.”

In a flash, he’s closing the gap between you, his mouth finding yours. The hot and heavy weight of his lips is a relief. One that makes you release a soft sigh.

You don’t let yourself think about the fact that you were kissing Azriel in this very building only earlier. Nor about the fact that it could have gone much further than that. Cassian gives you himself, and you take, your hands bunching in his jacket as you haul him against you.

His hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to him. And as his mouth stains yours with his urgent need, he’s backing you up, walking you back and back until you collide with that very table that Az kissed you on earlier.  Cassian picks you up in an easy sweep and places you on the tabletop. He parts your legs and slots himself in between, his mouth never once leaving yours, never once faltering.

Until he parts from you and says, “Lie back.”

With his hand guiding you down, you do just that. You sprawl out on that table, anticipation coiling in your stomach. It warms you from the inside, makes your skin too hot and your clothes too heavy.

Cassian doesn’t mess around with teasing or taunting. He drags his hands over your breasts, your stomach, and down to the laces at your breeches. You don’t care about the cold air. You lift your hips and wish only for him to undo those laces faster. You want your skin bare, and his touch marking it.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time.” Your friend pants, pressing a kiss to your abdomen. “Will you let me now?”

Goosebumps erupt over you skin. You grip onto the edges of the table and breathe, desperately. “Yes. Please.”

So boldly, he yanks your breeches and undergarments down in one go. His fingers find the very centre of you, already soaked, already ready for him. What he finds there makes him groan.

“Here? You’ll let me taste you here?”

“Please.” You pant again. “Just…please, Cass. I need this.”

“I know.” A kiss lands on your skin. “I know.”

His hands drag down your legs at the same time he sinks to his knees. You bow your head forward — just to watch the predatory grace with which he aligns his face with your sex. He licks his lips like you’ve presented him with his most carnal desire.

He inhales slowly — breathes in your scent. A growl rips from his throat.

And then he dives right in.

His tongue licks a stripe up your centre, from your entrance, up to your clit. Your hips buck at the contact, one hand moving to bunch within his hair. As his tongue swirls over your clit, pleasure barrels through you that ends in a cry.

“Your taste is fucking divine.” Cass groans, and his hands pry your legs further apart. He wastes no time in lapping at your juices, damn near fucking drinking you down. He drinks and drinks like a male parched. “Gods, Y/N.”

“More.” You gasp, thrusting your hips towards him. You grind your cunt against his face, and you can’t stop your body jerking, your head lolling back. “Gods, Cass, more.”

“More?” His teeth graze against the sensitive nub. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your mouth. Fingers. You.”

A delicious, sinful chuckle, so incredibly deep and lilting, breaks from Cass and vibrates against you. He lands a harsh suck on your clit. “I love how filthy you are.”

And he shows you how much he loves it, as one finger suddenly gathers up your wetness and teases your entrance. You moan, plead, beg him to slip it into you. He does so at the same time that he fastens his lips to your clit and strokes at it with his tongue.

You feel him smile against you. Your responses seem to provide him with almost as much pleasure as your touch would.

“Just like that.” He growls the words onto you, sliding his finger out and back in — adds a second one. “Take what you need. Fuck my fingers.”

You need this pleasure. This release. He has no idea how much you need it. Nobody does. You need to feel like somebody else, feel like you’re somewhere else. You need to feel something other than…blinding pain.

And so you take what you fucking need, undulating your hips and moving yourself on his fingers, against his tongue. Cassian follows your lead, keeps up with your pace. As your moans pick up, so do the thrusts of his hand.

“Going to come for me?” His hand moves faster. “Come around my fingers?”

“Yes.” You throw your head back. “Fuck—Cass.”

“Come.” He growls. “Want to feel you.”

It’s as if your body is fully under his command, because the words have your climax bursting through your body and chasing you from every negative feeling that’s been plaguing you. It feels beautifully catastrophic, fucking mind-altering. It feels like an out of body experience.

You know, somewhere in your mind, that you’re being loud, but you don’t give a single damn. You welcome your orgasm and allow it to consume you. You allow your loud, gasping noises to echo around the building.

But perhaps it’s the loud volume of those noises that prevents both you and Cass from hearing the door open behind you. Perhaps it’s the heat of your passion that makes you immune to the sudden gust of cold air.

Whatever it is, neither of you notice a third presence until a voice bellows behind you.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, my eyes!”

Both you and Cass rise with a start, you scrambling to cover yourself. A horrified expression stares back at you both.

“Roza.” You both say at the same time. Both blink in shock, too.

Rhysand’s mother covers her eyes with her hand and turns her back to you.

“Please correct yourselves before you traumatise me any more.” She says. “Can’t turn my back on you idiots for five gods-damn minutes.”

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

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Right Here, Right Now

Kinktober Day 2: Public

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl omg please), public sex, fingering, its just desperate sex with Mig in an alleyway lol (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: I have actually had this as a WIP for a long, long time but I modified it to fit this prompt! Glad to finally get some use out of it. Miguel can and will always have me in a chokehold I love him so so much. (I am following prompts from this list by flightlessangelwings!)

You’ve both been apart for too long, far too fucking long. Always away on missions without each other, falling asleep without each other and leaving again with only a quick kiss goodbye, nothing more.

It’s got Miguel a little stir crazy, desperate, and you’re just the same way. So, on the odd mission where you’re actually together, you don’t protest when he crowds you against a brick wall in some dark, dank alleyway, and kisses the god damn life out of you. It’s intoxicating, mind-melting, and fuck, it’s not enough for either of you. 

Miguel growls against your mouth, reaching a clawed hand to the seam of your suit, and rips it, exposing the wetness of your aching pussy to the cool night air. He cups you without any finesse, just pure need, and you gasp wetly into his kiss.

“Miguel,” you whine, but you can’t stop your hips from humping forward into his hand, “we can’t— we can’t, baby, they’re going to start looking for us, oh fuck, they’re gonna see—“

“Shh,” he coos, “just real quick, real quick, sweetheart.” His chest heaves, so broad and thick and clouding your vision as he rubs quick circles into your achy clit with a calloused finger.

“Just- just let me feel you, just for a second, please, baby, mi amor, por favor, tan perfecta, te necesito,” he mumbles, lost in it, and you find yourself nodding along with his words.

He whines at your permission, and you barely manage to utter a “just for a second, just a second, Miguel,” before his suit dissipates around the bulge of this thick cock, and he’s sinking into you, pressing so fucking deep he forces the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering forward as he stretches your pussy around him. “There’s my perfect girl, my beautiful girl, fuck, fuck, missed this pussy so bad, baby.”

It’s hard to breathe like this, Miguel pressing you into the brick wall, curling around you until all you know is him. All you know is the way his scent invades your lungs, the way his fangs graze your throat just barely. The way he pulls his hips back, just a little bit, before shoving forward again, bullying his thick cock so fucking deep inside your little cunt. You can’t get out the words, the sensations all too much for you to bear. There hasn’t been any prep, anything to lead up to you taking Miguel like you usually do. 

No, there's only the adrenaline coursing through your bodies, the desperation stemming from being apart for far too long, and the ache of him settling deep, deep inside you. It’s where you both belong.

So you stutter out aborted little whines of “Mig- Miguel,” and “so-so big,” between overwhelmed sobs into his strong body as he holds you, impaling you on him again and again. He’s mumbling, incessant and slurred as he fucks you into the brick, something about how hot you are, how wet and tight and about how he can’t wait to get you home, how he’s going to fuck you for days. It’s all so hard to understand, you’re not even sure that Miguel knows what he’s saying, if he even wants you to hear all of the deep, dark thoughts spilling from his overwhelmed mouth.

Your body burns, the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing at your clit so perfect, so right. It’s all slick and wet and you’re sure that you’re dripping down his fat cock as it slides in and out of you, dripping down his balls. You can at least thank God that his suit isn’t made out of actual fabric; that he won’t have to return to HQ with your wetness staining his front. Not that he’d really mind.

It’s intoxicating, the way he fills you, surrounds you. So much so that you don’t realize how much time has passed until you hear Jessica’s voice from both of your watches, cutting through your whines and Miguel’s growls and the lewd sounds of your bodies meeting. “O’Hara, what’s your position?”

“Fuck,” he snarls, driving into you just a little faster, a little harder, “fuck, not yet, not yet.” He doesn’t respond to Jess, leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss that mostly contains teeth and spit.

“Mig-Miguel, they’re going to be looking, c’mon, baby, we’ve got to g-” you hiccup into his mouth, but your hips move of their own accord, meeting him thrust for thrust as he drives desperately into you.

“Not. Yet.” He growls, punctuating his words with his hips. “Just a little longer, little- little longer, jus’ let me-” he fucks himself into you, so furious and devastating that tears finally manage to spill from your eyes.

“Spiderman 2099, what is your position?” Jessica asks again, and you can hear Pavitr ask you the same thing from your watch, both oblivious to the fact that their leader, your leader, is fucking you into the wall in some dirty back alley in a universe that neither of you know, that neither of you care to know. All you know is Miguel’s body against yours, exchanging desperate breaths as he thrusts deep into your sticky pussy, curling your hands into his hair as he digs his fingers into your waist, his claws nearly tearing the fabric of your suit.

“Miguel,” you moan, “we have to go, please we have to go, they’re looking for us, they’re gonna see-”

“No,” Miguel whines, and you want to fall to your knees with how absolutely devastated he sounds, “can’t- you can’t go, ‘s too soon, baby, let me have you, let me have you,” he’s slurring around his fangs, his eyes burning red at the edges as his eyes meet yours. He grabs at the watch on your wrist, cutting it off with a deft claw, and you choke on your spit as he crushes it easily in his palm. 

“Miguel-” you start, but he cups a thick hand over your mouth, and you can only watch as he raises his watch to his face and says, far more collected than he’s been this entire night, “Anomaly neutralized, returning to HQ. Meet tomorrow for a debrief.”

“Not tonight?” Pav chirps, and Miguel ruts into you hard, his gaze burning into yours.

“Tomorrow.” He growls, before he shuts his watch off completely, tucking his face into the crook of your neck again, sucking dark marks into your skin. His hands find your hips once again, pulling you onto his cock over and over and over as tears slide down your cheeks, choked little moans ripping out of your throat.

“That’s right, beautiful, squeeze this cock, make a mess for me. Can’t wait to get you home, going to fuck you all fucking night, needed this sweet pussy so fucking bad, bebita, por favor, ah-” he groans into your skin, and his cock sinks into you so perfect, stretching you exactly how you’ve needed it for so long, and fuck, your orgasm nearly makes you black out. You thrash against the wall, crying out so loud that Miguel has no choice but to seal his mouth over yours in a sticky kiss, swallowing your noises. 

“Fuck, that’s right, make a mess for me, eres tan perfecta, mi amor, mi vida, fuck,” he fucks into you, once, two more times, before he’s following you over that peak, his hips twitching as he fills you up.

You both can only rock against each other for a minute, riding the aftershocks of bliss. How had you gone without this for so long? How could you have deprived yourself of heaven?

“Let’s go home, Miguel,” you whisper, resting your forehead against his. He nods, switching his watch back on and opening a portal behind himself. He slips out of you, his suit reforming over himself. You, unfortunately don’t have the same luxury, the night air still cool against your used and achy core. 

“You’re making me a new suit, by the way,” you say, tilting your head up to smile at him. “And a new watch.”

He only chuckles, lifting you into his arms, turning to walk you both into your shared apartment in Nueva York, where you haven't been together in too damn long. “Anything you want.”

#hes just so big i need him to bang me against a wall #i love him sm i get so depraved talking about him #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #atsv smut

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

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Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

#vikings #vikings series #vikings tv series #vikings fanfiction #vikings imagine #vikings x reader #vikings ivar #ivar x reader #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless imagnie

[stereotypicalsanriofemme]

Staggered moans draw from your butch’s chest as you watch her heave, drunk on the air that was your scent. It was that god forsaken time of year— mating season. The time of year where you got wet from the slightest motion from your alpha, and the time of year where it was impossible to not have her hands all over you. It always culminates at one point or another; a pot boiling over, a tea kettle finally screaming. A rut or a heat: whichever was drawn out first of the other.

“Hey, darling,” you said, taking a gentle step forward. Her teeth bare a little more at the small advance and she takes one step back, as if it was a practiced dance. “Are…you okay?”

“Baby,” she whined between slightly-elongated canines. “I…fuck, I didn’t expect it to hit so soon…”

“It’s okay,” you encouraged, giving her a soft smile, hand reaching out. “Is it your rut?”

What a diminutive question. Of course it was— the fucking smell of her arousal, strong like musk with cedarwood and citrus, permeated the whole damn room. No shit that she was in rut.

She gave a pained nod. “You…should probably go,” she said, pausing irregularly as if it hurt to just be in your presence. “I don’t…want to hurt you.”

She was always like this. Too kind, too caring, too perfect. She was the dream alpha for any yearning omega and you somehow lucked out with her, having her in your hands for six months now and going. You knew heats were inevitable, no different than the seasons changing. You just wanted to give her back the love and care she’s given you.

“Baby,” you said, voice quiet. “I want to help you out, please—“

“Absolutely not.” She snarled, and okay, that made some slick leak out of your sensitive cunt. Filing that away in a box for a later moment, you listen to her: “I could hurt you— fuck, I could bite you and force you to me for years, baby. I could make you bleed, I could force you through pain and I’d be too far gone to realize what I’ve done. You’re so perfect, I just don’t want to hurt you—“

“Why do you think as if I’m made of glass?!” You interject. “Please, I just want to help you this cycle. I don’t want to see you suffer, baby, please…”

Her expression is pained. “I… are you sure?” She asked, wavering. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you, Angel…”

“Alpha,” you cried, and holy shit; the wood doorframe your butch used to hold herself up fucking splintered and cracked under her grasp.

“Bedroom,” she growled, and in a trance from those words alone, you scurry to the bedroom with her close behind you.

The door slammed in time with her crashing her mouth against yours, grasping and squeezing your jaw open. The pressure on your face forced a high-pitched whine out of your throat as her tongue forced into your mouth, licking over every ounce of your being. She’s pressed so fucking close to you, and oh, fuck, is that her cock pressed against your leg because that feels way bigger than usual—

“God, I love you so much,” she moaned while kissing you, biting down your neck while you fumbled with the buttons on your shirt. Your hands were quickly shoved out of the way the second she tore open your blouse, buttons popping to the ground.

“Hey!” You exclaimed, looking tragically at the buttons on the floor. “I really liked that shirt—“

“I’ll buy you a new one for every time you make me come with that pretty little cunt of yours,” she gritted out, and a whimper escaped your throat as she grabbed you from the thighs and hoisted you up against the wall. Another kiss is ripped from you with her hand against your throat, making you go just a bit limp from how damn good it feels, and all of a sudden you’re being tossed onto the bed like a doll. You look up after the impact of the fall with eager eyes, and see the normal rut glow in her eyes dissipate for just a second.

“Fuck, are you okay?!” She exclaimed, rushing over to you.

“Yes, more than okay,” you encouraged, rubbing her arm. “It’s all okay, baby, don’t force yourself out of a rut for me. I can take it.”

She’s shaking from anxiety, you realize. “Are you sure?” She murmured. “I‘ll…probably be really rough…”

“And that’s a problem how?” You teased. Spreading your legs to show off the panties between your legs wet with slick, you grinned. “C’mon, pretty boy. Show me what a big bad alpha can do, yeah?”

She puffed out air as she moved towards the dresser instead of you, yanking out a clanking, metal contraption.

“Handcuffs? Ooh, kinky,” you teased.

“They’re for me,” she said, and your eyebrows rose a little. “I just…can’t risk hurting you, so please. Handcuff me to the bed. Please,” she begged.

Wordlessly, you nodded, and she moved slowly to the bed and laid down, hands above her head. You affixed the handcuffs above her head, watching her clench them into fists over and over.

“You…want me to ride you?” You murmured, and she nodded desperately.

“Please,” she groaned, grinding into the air, eyes getting that typical alpha glow in them again. “I need some fucking relief from it all, so please baby…”

Thank god for the fact you self lubricated, because the moment you took her pants off you noticed her cock was at least an inch longer than usual and much thicker. You slid the head of her cock between your folds and you moaned together, her at the slick warmth of your cunt and you at the thickness prodding at your entrance. With a deep breaths you pressed the thickness into the entrance and whined upon feeling yourself get stretched open, the utter girth of her cock pressing against every sensitive spot in your pussy. The friction of her cock inside and rubbing your walls was quickly interrupted once you bottomed out, entrance pressing against the extra bulge at the bottom of her cock. Oh fuck, that was her knot.

It was your turn to be breathing heavy, eyes watering from the length inside of you and the way you could feel her pulse and throb inside your tight cunt. “Alpha,” you whined, twitching from the feeling inside. “You’re so big…”

“Jesus fucking Christ, baby, your pussy feels so damn good,” she heaved, hips bucking up ever so slightly into the warm hole. You made a pathetic little chirp at every upward thrust into your cunt, biting onto your lip like a lifeline. The cock was still so overwhelming but you hesitantly lifted up yourself on your legs, trembling with all of your strength before dropping down again with a wet smack.

The noise ripped out of your alpha’s chest was feral, a moan combined with a half-roar, grinding into the perfect, needy hole wrapping around it. You could smell it in the air with how her scent got more intense by the second— she was losing her mind to her rut. Her hands were struggling more against the handcuffs as her hips rut up and up again in your hole. You knew damn well that just rutting wouldn’t be enough for the relief she needed…

And you know what, maybe the idea that popped into your mind wasn’t your best one yet, but my god, did it sound so good. You had only heard the filthy line in your brain spewed in pornos, moaned by needy omegas getting their cunts pumped till they cried. Yet…

“Alpha,” you sobbed out, “breed me, please!”

Her eyes shot open wide with a loud crack in the background. The sound of metal breaking into two clean pieces. You were instantly flipped on your back, legs shoved next to your ears, and shit, talk about something from porn because you were in a fucking mating press. In a mating press, like the good little omega bitch you were, with an alpha’s cock pressed into your cunt, the head kissing your cervix.

The pace she started immediately was relentless, depraved. She fucked you with the hunger of a man starved, your lower back no longer on the bed as she drilled into your pussy over and over.

“Slutty fucking omega,” she growled, letting her knot slap against your rim and balls smack against you over and over again. “You probably wanted this the whole time, didn’t you?”

“Yes!! Fuck, yes, yes, yes, alpha! Please—!” You exclaimed in ecstasy, nails dragging down her back, leaving reddened trails as a trophy for the next morning. “Wan’ your cock, alpha, pleaaaase!”

“‘Course you did, you fucking slut,” she groaned into your ears, thrusting into you with your sweet slick coating her cock, leaning everywhere. “You want my cum? Yeah?”

“Yes!” You shrieked, clinging closer. “Please, alpha, give me your cum!”

“Yeah? Wanna be a good little breeding bitch for me?” She moaned, thrusting into your pussy with a newfound aggression. “Carry my fucking litter? Huh? Wanna take my litter and give alpha some pups?”

You can only moan brokenly in response as her cock continued to batter your cervix, your legs still pressed next to your ears. Maybe this was your place. Maybe you were meant to be a good, warm hole for a big, strong alpha; a dripping bitch in heat to be taken care of and always pumped full of cum.

“C’mon, omega, take my fucking knot,” she growled, and only then do you feel the bulging in her cock grow larger and larger, smacking against your entrance and bullying its way into your pussy. An unfamiliar sensation creeped up into your body— a tightness in your cunt, a burning sensation.

“Alpha, wait, wait, wait, alpha,” you cry brokenly, clutching against her back and holding right as the knot grew bigger and bigger, entering your cunt with every thrust, “Somethin’s coming out, alpha—!”

She was so out of it, teeth bared and staring at you like you were prey. And all of a sudden, that burning feeling snapped, and you squirted. The fluid splattered as your ears rang the moment hee knot popped inside, your cunt finally stretched open and plugged with her fat knot locking her cum inside of your pussy. Everything was hazy; your orgasm milking more and more cum out of her cock that shot inside of you. It was a pleasant warmth inside of you. You felt satisfied, as if you had a purpose. You felt full.

Your panting breaths slow down over time with hers, clutching each other post-orgasm. She nuzzled your neck with the comedown, knot shoved inside of you, keeping the cum where it’s supposed to be. Just the thought made you a little more horny— the knot was there to make sure you got knocked up with your alpha’s litter. It didn’t sound like a bad idea at this point, spending some much time with your alpha, forever…the idea makes another wet gush of slick come out around her cock. However, this time it felt like a lot more, like your body was preparing itself for—

Your alpha suddenly goes still from scenting you.

“Omega…did you just start your heat?”

…it was going to be a long week.

[made 4 lesbians, lesbians interact :3 straight people this fantasy was not made for you please DNI]

#I cannot believe I fucjing wrote omegaverse bye #lesbian nsft #sapphic nsft #wlw nsft #nsft #lesbian #butch bait #sapphic #butch lesbian #femme bait #femme princess #high femme #femme4butch #butch4femme #stone butch #if this flops I will never emotionally recover

[prettyboykatsuki]

afab!reader, 18+

sae who has never thought twice about the size of his dick because only idiots have dick-measuring contests. who knows its bigger than usual (so he hears anyway) and doesn’t give it any thought. at least not until you.

not until it’s you in his bed with your chest heaving, sweat dripping down your neck. panting and bruised, fingers holding hard to his biceps with your hips bucked. it doesn’t matter till he’s holding it against your slit, till he can feel how wet you are and how much you want it. the person he respects so much gasping for him - stuttering about the size and it’s like a fuse lights. he can feel the desire reach so far into him it curls his spine. he’s never been so entranced by a single sight like the one you’re presenting now.

you huff and cry. “oh, oh god—sae you’re so big, oh,” and instead of taking mercy on you he pushes it in farther. pushes his dick in deep and he can feel himself swell when you whimpers. soft and slippery and so fucking hot like you’ll melt him. he pushes in hard. your legs in the air, calves on his shoulders and back slightly lifted from the bed and he’s fucking you so damn deep it makes him feel like an animal. you whine about it because of course you do but when you do it - it doesn’t feel theatrical. doesn’t feel cheap. feels so good and right.

he hears you whine about how deep he is buried into your cunt and he just wants to shove it in further. wants you to feel it in your throat. wants your pussy to be melded and stretched to his size forever so he can take you wherever he wants. when you whine about how big his cock is -all sae wants to do is mock you. he wants to make your face as wet as your cunt is. he wants to make you cum from the friction alone.

sae never felt like this in his life. your pussy stretches for him like a sacrifice and all sae can think is that maybe he wants be worshipped like your god after all.

#aristotle.txt #THIS IS DISGUSTING!! GOODBYE FOREVER #a.sae #prettyboy.thirsts #I XANR STOP THINKINF OF IT

[vannyaftonlova]

Jealousy Isn't a Good Look | Pt. 1

warnings: angst, verbal fighting, jealousy

You started working at Freddy's not too long ago. Vanessa knew what the job entailed, so as your "friend" she tried to get you as far away from it as possible, but you needed money, so she reluctantly gave up. She knew you and Mike would become acquainted, but she didn't expect to walk in and see the two of you cracking up over some inside joke she didn't know.

Nothing was every actually established between the two of you. Multiple kisses have almost happened, you're both always very touchy with each other, but it seemed to not be going anywhere.

You hand landed on Mike's arm as you laughed. He had his eyes glued onto you and was laughing along. Unknowingly to you, his hand started to gravitate towards your thigh, and Vanessa had seen enough.

She cleared her throat and put on a fake smile. You quickly turned around and stood up. You rushed over to Vanessa with a smile on your face.

"Hey, Vanny." You wrapped your arms around her and pressed your body against hers.

She put her arms around you and pushed down her jealousy over mike. "Hey, you." Her voice sounded a tad irritated, but you just assumed it was from a bad shift.

You leaned back and looked at her. "You okay?" Your face was filled with concern.

She shook her head. "Yeah! Yeah, totally." You gave her a questioning look.

"I really don't believe you, Ness." You took a step back and crossed your arms. She rolled her eyes and shrugged. You sighed and turned around to look at Mike. "Hold down the fort, we'll be right back." You quickly turned back around, grabbed Vanessa's arm, and started dragging her to the nearest supply closet.

"Hey-" She said, but was cut off by you shoving her in the closet, shutting and locking the door behind you.

"What's wrong with you tonight, Vanny?" You crossed your arms and stared at her.

She scoffed. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She looked everywhere but at you.

"You definitely do. You won't even look at me." You took a step towards her, but she shuffled backwards.

"Why do you care? You clearly don't care about me." She spat. Her voice was filled with malice.

Confusion washes over your face. "What the hell are you even talking about?" You start getting snippy with her.

"Don't play dumb. I'm talking about you and Mike!"

You took a second before laughing with sarcasm. "Oh my god." You shook your head. "You're fucking jealous."

That word, jealous. You could see the look behind her eyes change. You would think she would have shrunk, but she became ten times more pissed off at you. "Sure. Yeah. I'm jealous. Rub it in. Tell me how much this humors you, how pathetic you think I am."

"Why the hell would I ever think that? You know damn well-"

She cuts you off. "You're always so busy with Mike. Your stupid inside jokes. The way you touched his arm. Hell- the way you were going to let him touch you!"

"Don't act so high and mighty, Vanessa." You spat. You stepped forward and poked her in the chest with your finger. "We aren't even together! You haven't made a single move to give me a reason to not let someone else be all over me."

She stepped closer to you. She loomed over you with a look of pain and anger in her eyes. Your heart hammered in your chest, from both anger, and now excitement at your close proximity. "Do you think I haven't wanted to do something?"

"You haven't made it seem like it. I've been waiting for-" Vanessa cut you off by slamming her lips onto yours. It took a second for you to realize what was happening, and by the time you did, you felt her undoing her tie.

#vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader smut #fnaf #fnaf movie #wlw

[pynkgothicka]

Ｎｕｍｂ ｔｏ Ｔｈｅ Ｆｅｅｌｉｎｇ ＪＪＫ

Synopsis - Your in love with the universities star quarterback, yet hes notrious for being a fuck boy. So it would never work. If only you knew the legnths he would go for you.

Pairing - Dark! Shitty! Yandere! Jeon Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Warnings - THREATENING, NONCON, drug induced sex, acts of violence, DRUGGING

Authors Note - I LOVE SHITTY JUNGKOOK!!!

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

The library was quiet, well all except for you and the boy you currently tutored, Jungkook. Yes, THE Jeon Jungkook, known for being the star quarterback for your universities football team, and a well known fuck boy and all around douchebag.

He couldn't keep it in his pants if anyone even asked.

Yet around you, he wasn't as flirty or all around rude. Yes he still made comments about how pretty you were. He also teased you for your nerdy aspects in his eyes. But he didn't make any moves, nor take things to far. The air was always light when you two talked.

“This shit is so boring, we could be doing better shit right now.” Jungkooks hand sat on your thigh close to your already sopping core. “Like treating you right doll.”

Yes you liked him.

You assumed it it was pretty obvious to him that you did, but yet you tried to keep it to yourself. You tried forcing yourself to believe that maybe he didn't know. Just maybe he was oblivious to how flustered you'd get anytime he came around, or when he comes for his weekly tutoring sessions.

But he wasn't. But Jungkook was well aware of the risk it came when pursuing you. He has a rep to uphold. Plus committed never looked good on him.

Yet both of you were stuck in this trace, neither refusing to move. That was until you snapped out of it clearing your throat.

“Jungkook, we have to focus if you want to pass the finals.”

He groaned out before removing his hand away. “Fine. Just because you say so. God your such a fucking prude.”

You rolled your eyes and continued to study, enjoying the peace as he listened to you explaining all sorts of theories and ideologies to the jock.

If only you paid attention to his face as it morphed into anger and aggravation. He didn't like how you kept turning him down and honestly he didn't know how long hed be able to take it.

🏈

“You look lonely.” You looked up from your phone in your dorms elevator. You held your bag close to you, all in a fit of closing in on yourself. It was about 2 days after your previous session with the boy. And normally your entertain him but you didn't have the time. You needed to get to your dorm and get started on the boatload of work assigned to you.

“What's wrong? You don't want to fuck with me anymore?” He moved closer to you, damn near suffocating you in the elevator. You started moving closer into the corner. You just weren’t in the mood.

“Listen not tonight, I have to get started on this stuff.” You explained not wanting to deal with his antics. Not tonight at least. It didn't help that he lived on the top floor, yours right below it.

“Why? What's the matter?” He placed his arm around your waist pulling you in close. “You usually love my attention.” You shoved against him, looking back and seeing the floor to your dorm was coming up. As soon as the door opened you bolted off.

You didn't even look back, if you'd had you'd seen a pissed off Jungkook, his fists clenching, breaths heavy.

You fucked up big time.

Yet when you opened the door you couldn't have been more relieved. Your roommate, Morgan was on her bed and looked over at the sound of the door slamming. “My god what happened?!” She shot up rushing to your side.

“Jungkook… I turned him down! I just wanted to avoid him so I could focus on school work. God what did I do….”

“Hey calm down. It's alright. You have better things to worry about okay? Your home and you don't have to reflect on what happened tonight.” Morgan reassured you. Everything around you became clear as your heart rate dropped. You nodded as she nodded with you. “You good?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem you know I'm going to always be here for you! Now. I think two bowls of cereal is calling our names.”

🏈

Morgan was on her way back to your shared dorm after picking up some food for the both of you. It's been a week or two since you had a freak out over Jungkook.

Morgan never really understood what you'd seen in him. He was a notrious jerk who fucked anything that moved. Then ghost the girl whenever she got sick of it.

She however wasn't really paying attention to her surroundings. A figure approched her from a distance and when she least expected it she was pushed to the side. Her back hit one of the dumpsters as her assaulter loomed over her.

“Oh shit it's you.” Morgan said rolling her eyes. Jungkook looked angrier than usual. “What you don't have a girl tonight, or is your plan to try n threaten me to having sex with you? If so new low.”

His hand shot to her neck, taking Morgan for a shock. She dropped the food beginning to claw at his hand.

“Listen here, if you think that I'm here for you, your either fucking dumb or just another slut. Where is she?” Jungkook threatened your black haired friend.

“I- I can't breathe!” Morgan gasped nails digging into Jungkooks arm.

“Better start speaking then, I ain't afraid to snap your neck.”

“Shes… busy! Studying!” Morgan was dropped to the concrete ground knees scratching at the impact. “Fucks wrong with you!?”

“She wasn't lying… Jesus all I have to do is wait.”

Morgan's face paled as she looked up towards Jungkook. His features were darkened, the low light making him more frightening than usual. “You stay the fuck away from her…”

Jungkooks eyes snapped down at Morgans form. “Your funny, you really think your a threat to me. You must not know me yet.” Jungkooks boot hovered over Morgan's hand and he slowly stomped down, smiling as he heard the bones crack underneath his foot. “I’m fucking Jeon Jungkook. Son of a millionaire, star quarterback for the school you go to. And I always get what I want.” Morgan yelled out grabbing at her hand.

“If you tell her what happened tonight, she'll find you scattered everywhere. You don't want to traumatize my girl huh?” Morgan shook her head in defeat.

“Glad we're on the same page.”

🏈

The music was loud and melodic.

You were hanging out with your friends at a local club. Exams were done and all you wanted to do was cut lose from the stress you had gathered. You and your friends ground on each other, all just the slightest bit tipsy. “I’m going get a drink!! Anyone want to come with?!” You yelled over the loud club music.

“Nah, you good girl! Go get that drank!!” one of your friends yelled as well.

“Hey. Be safe alright?!” Morgan yelled. She came home a few nights ago battered and bruised. When you tended to her, she seemed paranoid. Yet all she said was that she fell.

You gave a small nod and walked to the bar. You dug in your purse for your wallet so you can get out the cash that was placed just for this night. You were so focused on digging in your purse, you didn’t see Jungkook come right behind you. He touched your shoulder, and you whipped around seeing your personal tormentor with a snarky smirk on his face.

“Hey Baby, I missed you.” Jungkook basically glowed in front of you. Everything about him gave off this angelic look. “What is something like you doing in a place like this huh.”

“I’m letting loose, how about yo-”

“You tryna get a drink?” He cut you off moving past you. “Hey we both want a Dirty Shirley Temple.” He basically ordered passing the bartender a set of bills. Most likely his father's money, everyone in the school knew he was from money. “I know you like them fruity.”

“Hey what the hell, I mean at least I don't have to pay for it!” You laughed Jungkook wrapping his arm around your waist. You froze up as he held one of the cups to your lips. You leaned back as he poured the drink down your throat. It burned, and was grainy. Yet you kept chugging it Jungkooks face the entire time showed pure amusement. “What was in that?” You said blinking your eyes trying to get the bittersweet taste to settle a bit more.

But Jungkook chuckled and kept moving dragging you by the hip towards the dance floor. His drink in hand. “Come on, lets dance! Plus I remember you mentioning loosening up!”

“Jungkook something… something isn't right.” You murmured. holding on to your head. Yet you let him bring him to the floor. He got behind you Wrapping his arms around your waist. He rocked you side to side as the music rung in your ears. your surroundings meshed together as time seemed to slow down around you.

“That's it, rest your nerves…” he whispered into your ears. “Your with me now.” You fell back into his tattooed arms, his warmth engulfing you. You giggled and laughed with him in a daze. He passed out his drink and you took it taking another drink straight to the head.

“Jungkook, This is so much fun…” You murmured out. “I'm sorry for being such a jerk…. That couldn't have been fun.”

“Oh baby don't stress, we're good. You know what would be even more fun? If you came back to my place, like right now.” He said sternly resting his head on your shoulder. “You know I got that house all alone, 5 minutes away… You've been there. So big and nice. So what do you say hmm?”

You nodded your head not even considering any other option. Jungkook smiled and held you by your waist dragging you to the front of the club. You saw your friends and you and Morgan made eye contact. Her face paled as she quickly rushed past the people to get to you. “Morgannn! I'm going with- Shit… Jungkook!” You stumbled around your words yelling over the music. It seemed like Jungkook forced you to keep going. You finally made it out the door. A slick black car was parked dead center in the front. Your new found company opened the door and you jumped in. Instantly you fell back feeling more dreary then usually. Your eyes fluttered shut as you passed out.

Jungkook got in next to you in the driver's seat. He looked past you seeing that friend of yours, Morgan, he didn't really care to remember her name running towards the car. Then he peeled off, not even bothering to look back.

Morgan cried out.

She just watched you get carried away to your inevitable doom.

🏈

You woke slowly adjusting to your surroundings. You felt around realizing you were on a nice warm bed. You looked over jumping once you realized you were definitely not in your room. The room overall smelled different. Pure musk and cologne. Something that was never a key factor of your dorm room.

“Shit. Your up.”

There he was in all his glory. Naked with just a towel around his waist, his tattooed sleeve on full display. Everything about the situation you were in combined with a sudden headache you had threw you for a loop.

What happened at that club?

Jungkook moved slowly towards you, fingertips trailing up your leg. You felt your breathing pick up, paralysed in fear. It was all to sudden. You knew he did something to make you forget what happened at the club.

“You always wore the tightest of dresses. You don't even know how hard that gets me, always playing innocent.” The fingers that were just on you reached past your head and you heard the sound of a bag opening. You looked at him, his eyes piercing holes into your own.

His fingers entered your mouth pressing down on your tongue. You choked on the taste him, his fingers powdered and tasting like medicine. Jungkook pulled back leaning down to kiss the top of your head. He brushed any stray hairs that blocked your face. Your breathing picked up, and sweat beaded down on your face, in fact your entire body burned.

The bed dipped next to you, your head weakly turning to the side to face the man of your dreams. He looked as goregous as ever, as his muscled hand pulled at your shoulder reaching for the zipper at your back. He pulled it down, shifting on the bed. Jungkook then pulled you on his lap. You tried holding yourself up on his shoulders, your dazed eyes looking directly into his own.

“You want to kiss me baby…” He mumbled. He watched as your eyes blinked rapidly as if trying to adjust to your view. He laughed and pulled you in close kissing you passionately, and you kissed back. He pulled at your bottom lip between his teeth. Your hips ground on his thigh, hands rushing to get off your dress. Jungkooks hand grabbed at your breast now exposed and not hidden by a bra.

Like a little slut.

“You wanted to get fucked tonight baby? Like a little cocktease you are.”

“No….” You groaned out head falling limp. He grabbed your chin leaning to where you gazed directly into his eyes.

“Don't lie to me. You wanted to be fucked by me huh?”

“Yes!” You moaned out as your dress finally fell completely off. Your right hand tugged it off your feet, the other tugging off your panties.

“Fuck you know exactly what to say.” He allowed your head to fall as he undid the knot on his towel, cock popping up in anticipation. “Spit on it…”

In which you do, the spit dribbling down your chin. Your drugged out mind now fully taking over your movements, everything becoming incoherent and sluggish. Jungkook rubbed the spit off your chin and moved to his length jerking himself off feverishly. “Oh baby, I've been waiting for this for so long, yet everything got in the way of it. Your friends, finals, you.” He said with a sense of finality. “But that's all behind us now. All I need is you, and all your only going to need is me.” He kissed your cheek, the sluggishness of your body making you lean into Jungkook more. He let go of himself and wrapped one of his arms around you, hovering your body over his cock. He aligned himself up with your drenched hole, and he slowly lowered your body downwards. You both hissed in unison.

It was pure bliss.

He lowered you down inch by inch until you fully became seated on his length. He kept you there for seemingly ages. Sure he had his share of pussy but yours was something he'd been waiting for far to long for. And hed be damned if he was going to rush the experience.

“Please… I need you Jung… kook…” You stumbled out incoherently. Everything was a daze, yet your mind could barely form a connection between this experience nor the club. You were too drunk on everything you'd been chasing for, for what seemed like eons.

And Jungkook complied. He took you up by the waist and slowly pushed you back down his length. Your cunt tightened up around him, keeping him in what seemed like vice grip. “Fuck, your amazing!” He moaned out into your ear. Your face in a daze as he forced you up and down on his cock. “Kiss me again!” One of his hands grabbing at the back of your head forcing your lips to collide.

The entire time, he knew that what he fed you, Ketamine, would wear off eventually and then he'd actually had to confront you and your rage most likely. But why would he worry about that when he's achieved all he's wanted. He could break down your mind all over again, just by fucking you.

Your whines and moans became more loud and frantic. Jungkooks thrusting became more frantic as he dreamed on and barely realized it. “You wanna cum together!?” He yelled mouth falling open, your hips moving on their own. You whined out and nodded frantically. “Then do it, my god I'm so fucking close…”

And you let go, finally releasing onto his steadily moving cock. He kept at it, still thrusting inside you. Jungkook chased his own release keeping you close to him at any means necessary. Finally he slammed you down keeping you nailed down to his hips as he came deep inside you.

He sighed as he fell back. Jungkook pulled you on top of him, both of you sweaty sticking together. He refused to pull out as he caught his breath. Your eyes slowly fluttered asleep as you passed out from exhaustion.

Jungkook let out a chuckle and kissed the top of your head. He finally won the game he made up for the both of you. Yet of course he would win, there couldn't be any other way for it to end up.

#dark writing #tw dark content #tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere blog #tw coercion #yandere bts #yandere jjk #jeon jeongkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #yandere jungkook #dark bts #Spotify

[dtrghost]

omg this is my first time requesting but TF141 with a reader whose love language is insulting them ( they probably insult her back 😭) thank you!!!

That is so me. Literally.

Synopsis: TF141 With a reader who just can't help but insult them, yes. This contains Johnny, Simon, Price, and dearest Kyle

Warnings: 18+ Content and references to smut, cursing, etc

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Now with this guy, it definitely goes both ways. At first he was confused and rather offended with the insults you threw at him, followed by your head falling back to laugh at what he thought was him. You noticed how he got upset and quickly reassured him that you meant no harm by it and that it was just how you showed you loved him. He found it weird at first, but he accepted it, knowing that he meant the world to you and simply followed along.

"Hey Ghost, maybe if you weren't so ass at shooting we wouldn't have to do this stupid training exercise." He huffed, rolling his eyes at your wheezy laugh as you put your sniper down for a minute, cackling loudly and hitting your chest to get some air into your lungs.

"Right, I hit your cervix pretty when I was fucking you like a slag last night." You gasped, both of your cracking up even more as you gently shoved him. Now, there's a downside to your language, because god forbid you crack a joke about him that he didn't like, especially when he was already mad to begin with, like after a failed mission, he'd be sure to let you know just where your bad mouth would get you.

"Just like that, my perfect little slut." He'd moan, fucking your mouth and forcing his cock deep into your throat as you gagged and choked around him.

"Put that dirty little mouth of yours to better use."

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish:

He didn't get mad, he first gave you a puppy look, thinking you meant the insults you threw at him. But when you took your time to explain yourself, he'd laugh it off and gave you the go ahead. Johnny had nothing to be insecure about, he was hot, he had money, and he was the youngest candidate to pass the SAS selection, so he took what you said with a grain of salt.

"Weird they call you soap, smells like you haven't used any in days." He just chuckled, wrapping his arms around you with a wolfish grin.

"Alright lass. I'll let you have that one." You had been right at the time, he just got back from a mission where he sat in the mud for god knows how long and then had to lug his ass to the landing zone in the rain. Don't get me wrong, he'll bite back lightheartedly, but he loves soaking up your love for him, even if it isn't the most conventional.

But when he's not having it, you get to see the less light, funny side of him. He'd been fucking you stupid, pounding into you madly with his hand wrapped around your throat. You begged for him to let up, your legs shaking as tears rushed down your cheeks.

"Sorry lass? Couldn't quite hear ya. Mind tryin' again for me?" And he'd squeeze tighter to ensure not a word was heard from you.

"This'll teach you to behave darling. Remind you to address your sergeant properly."

Captain John Price:

This man is a DILF. Hot damn. To be frank, he's a laidback captain. He's not going to overreact and threaten to dishonorable discharge you for insubordination and disrespecting a superior officer because you told him he had a small dick. At first he was a bit surprised how comfortable you were insulting him with his rank, but if anything he liked it. He liked a challenge, though it was an easy one for him.

"You never react ya know. Why is that? The rest of the team bites back and you just, take it." He chuckled at your observation, shrugging and shooting a quick glare at the man who almost took a sit next to you at the bar you both occupied.

"I know you like the back of my hand princess. The insults you throw at those soldiers are far different than the ones handed to me. It's love princess, all it is." He then relentlessly teased you about the deep redness in your cheeks which you countered with eye rolls and mocking faces, because he was right, and he knew that. He analyzed everything you've ever said and done to him, how your body reacts, how your eyes portray every intention and emotion you're sending him.

But, just like the rest. Sometimes Price had to fuck the brat out of you. You'd made a comment, and he was having a rough day.

"How's the sex life then? Old man like him able to keep it up?" Soap joked.

"Some viagra wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'd actually get me to the yellow brick road." DAAAAMMMNNNN. Was the essential reaction. Of course you drew back and told him you were kidding, but the tight grip he had on your waist was a tell tale sign that he didn't like what he heard.

"You sure about that love? Don't wanna take it back before it's too late?" He whispered huskily into your ear. He knew you wouldn't, he knew you liked being his dirty little slut.

"That's it. Taking your daddy's cock like you were meant to. You reach that yellow brick road yet love? fuck sure looks like it, you've made a mess all over m'cock already."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

You and Kyle fit perfectly, like a match made in heaven. It was like a challenge between the two of you on who had the better insults. He's incredibly intelligent, 500 IQ lookin ass. But sometimes you were just that much better, and he accepted that wholeheartedly, because at the end of the day, this was how you showed your love, and he wanted nothing more to embrace that.

Sometimes he'd even reward you. He'd get touchy (more than usual) and the day would end with him on his knees in front of you, worshipping your pussy and body like it's what he was made to do.

"I'm so lucky to have such a smart, clever girl like you. Fuck you're perfect in every way." And you were. Even if you could be the meanest fucker on the planet.

And that's it!! I'm sorry if it didn't meet your expectations or you had something different in mind but based off what I've read this is what I think they'd be like!! Thank you for the request @angieisbroke and I hope you enjoyed <333.

#fanfic #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap mctavish #soap x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley smut #johnny soap mactavish #price smut #gaz smut #soap smut

[freestyle-crocodile-trashpile]

Rage

[A/n:Mortal kombat brutality style 😈😈😈. I got this idea after seeing the Orin thingy when she takes Gale.]

Summary:Orin was nothing compared to your fists

Type:Scenario:?: Gale X M!Tiefling!Reader

Version:Bg3

~

The anger filled you so quickly as you watched Orin twitch and snap back into her original form. Gale no longer infront if you.

"What did you do to Gale..." A shiver ran down your companions' spines at the tone of your voice.

Orin snickered, a dark look forming on her face. It only made you want to punch her face in.

"Nothing to bad...yet, once I get back I-" She didn't get to finish her sentence as your fist came in contact with her face.

A sickening crunch filled the room as your fist came in contact with her nose, completely shattering it. She didn't have time to react as you punch her again, and again, and again. You didn't stop or slow down, your tail stiff and twitching behind you as your clawed fingers stabbed into both of her eyes, crushing the soft organ instantly. She screamed, yanking your hand away from her face. Blood streamed down her face, covering her skin and the ground below. You didn't waste anytime, headbutting her while she had a grip on your wrist, your horns scrapped against her skin, tearing at her flesh. Another punch to her face and she stumbled against the wall. Another scream left her mouth. Holding her face as she stumbled away from you, tripping over chairs and bumping into the desk. Pure rage was radiating off you, causing your companions to step back.

"God damn, Soldier!" Karlach laughed, finding this disturbing yet amusing.

You didn't even process her words, storming over to Orin. Your hand grabbed her hair, yanking her head back so far her veins started showing on her neck. If you tugged any harder her neck would've snapped, or tore her hair out.

"Where's Gale?!" Orin punched you weakly, attempting to get out of your grip blindly.

"To hells with you! I'll send you there myself!" Orin Wouldn't be better just telling you. She could feel your rage, even blind she felt superior in this moment.

Another scream left her mouth as you tore her hair from her scalp, a patch of her skin tearing with the blood. A deep growl left your throat as she tried to leave again. Rising your hand, claws out, you grabbed at her face, your claws digging into her skin as you tear the skin from her face. Another scream, louder, more pained.

"Tell me!" All you got was a cry and a tremble as she started chanting something.

You grabbed her jaw, crushing it in your hand. Her chanting was silenced quickly, another cry of pain as you punched her again. She fell to the ground, hastily looking for something to use against you, yet with her eyes crushed and oozing from her sockets, it was way more difficult than ever before. She grabbed a letter opener just as you yanked her back up. Swiftly, she stabbed you in the eye, well, tried to, she just barely missed, stabbing your cheekbone instead. A hiss left your throat, letting go of her temporarily. She shoved you to the ground and dashed away from you, raming into a chair then into a wall. She stumbled, turning around and moving her head as if it'd let her see again. You growled, running at her. Fortunately for her, she dodged.

"I'll kill you!" She ran at you, clawing at your face, which only made you grab her wrists and crush her wrist bones under your grip, twisting her hands the wrong way before twisting her around and slamming her against a desk.

"I won't ask again. Where. Is. Gale." Another cry and a hiss.

"Fuck you" Orin hissed out, her broken jaw making her words slurred and disoriented.

She managed to shove you off her, turning to you and summoning a summon to fight you. You charged at her, lowing your hand and aiming your claws straight at her stomach. Before she could react, your hand went through her stomach, tearing the Armour away with your other hand. A sound if gagging was heard from shadowheart and a wheeze from Orin. Your hand twisted in her, gripped her spine before tearing it from her stomach, snapping the bone as you pulled it out from her stomach. You stepped back, spine clenched in your hand, breathing heavily as Orin took a few steps before collapsed on the ground. Everyone was silent, horror on their faces. You reached down and grabbed Orin, tossing her over your shoulder, spine still in hand as you started walking.

When you found where Gale was being kept, all it took was dropping Orins body on the ground and a glare for them to release Gale. You took the body home with you, just in case. Yet your body was stained with her blood, you reeked of blood. It was so strong your companions couldn't be around you, even Astarion.

~

[A/n:Hehe...I might have gone to far with it, but you know what. Orin needs a good ass beating. I hope you enjoyed]

#bg3 orin #bg3 x male reader #bg3 x tav #bg3 #bg3 gale x tav #bg3 gale x reader #bg3 gale #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #baldurs gate gale #baldurs gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate 3 gale #orin needs to be beat #orin got her ass beat #orin the red

[throneofsapphics]

get up off the roof

Fenrys x f!Reader 

Summary: “There’s one person who could probably get through to her.” Rowan spoke carefully as if he was treading on dangerous water with his mate.

“They haven’t spoken in weeks.” She snapped. You felt bile rise in your throat, and decided eavesdropping was a very bad idea, so you fled silently back down the hall. 

Word Count: ~2k 

Warnings: grief, death of a parent, angst-ish, comfort if you squint

A/N: I should be working on my kinktober list, but this is what came out instead. 

Your breaths were heavy as you stood on the roof, your bare toes curling over the edge. The shingles were rough under your feet, and it took much of your focus to keep yourself balanced on the slope. Your heels dug in, and you let yourself lean back just enough to keep you from falling off the edge. It was a scorching summer day, and the rough material burned the soles of your feet, the sun heating through your clothes and leaving an uncomfortable warmth on your skin. 

It was only two stories up, if it didn’t work you’d still survive - maybe a bit bruised and with a few broken bones, but you were frustrated enough to get desperate. Ever since … that … your magic had been stifled, and you could barely reach it. Losing both of your parents a week of each other, the ones who taught you to love your magic and heritage in secret. Who provided you with unconditional support and love. Your magic felt intertwined with their memory, and every time you tried to reach for it, it shrunk further back as if the grief was too strong. It had been nearly a month, and it was slowly driving you insane. 

If anything, a situation that appears to be life threatening might bring it out of you. 

You thought you heard someone calling your name, far off in the distance, but shoved it away. Chances are nobody was there, you were always careful with the times you let yourself suffer, let your emotions reign free. 

Then, you were falling through the air as your heels pushed off the roof. Your body curled on instinct, and you hit the gods-damned bush. It hadn’t worked. 

“Are you insane?” You heard Aelin’s yell from the doorway, as she sprinted out towards the courtyard. Someone had been there. You cursed audibly, not at the pain but at the explanation you’d have to give now, and the pity that would follow. Pity made you feel as if you were shriveling inside, your entire body recoiling.

She gripped under your elbow, tugging you up to stand. Her eyes quickly traced your body, noting the small scratch on your elbow with a frown. Besides that, you were completely fine. Physically. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Despite the expletive, her voice was a bit softer. 

“I was ..” pressure built around your throat, choking you and stopping any more words from coming out. You couldn’t figure out how to explain it, even if you wanted to. Aelin tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“Let’s get you inside.”

She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, holding tightly like you might disappear at any moment. Could you keep her from telling anyone else? Especially a specific someone who would lose their damn mind, despite them having no claim to you, and no desire to. Aelin would probably feel obligated as both your friend and theirs. You leaned your head against her shoulder with a sigh. If she wanted to, there was nothing you could do about it. 

A crow cawed in the distance and you felt a shudder run down your spine.  

She bundled you inside, and right off to her rooms where she started making tea. At least she kept it in her rooms and didn’t force you down to the kitchens. You probably looked an absolute mess, you could feel the leaves tangled in your hair and knew the bags under your eyes were likely a deep purple by now. 

You scented him moments before he entered, and let out a low curse. Aelin turned to you in alarm, and quickly walked towards the door but he’d flung it open before you could react. 

He stood in the doorway for a few moments, and you slowly turned to face him, despite your best efforts. 

“Take a tumble?” He raised his brows. 

“Get out.” Aelin snapped, shoving his chest back. He slowly backed out of the door, and you saw his eyes widen as the Queen slammed the door in his face. 

“Y/n,” Aelin’s voice was quiet, and drew your attention away from the heavy oak door. She was in front of you, shoving a warm cup into her hands. She crouched in front of you, silently healing the scrape on your elbow. Aelin sighed as she looked at you, and you had the sudden urge to throw the hot liquid in her face. But, that would be a very ungrateful thing to do. And assaulting the Queen of your country, even if she was a friend, was a bad idea. The doorknob rattled, and you heard a pounding on the door. Pine and snow, you registered that. Aelin rolled her eyes and shot you an apologetic look. 

She cracked it open just enough to speak to Rowan in hushed tones, low enough even your Fae hearing couldn’t pick up on it. 

Instead, you studied the mug in your hands, remembering a grounding technique. Warm from the liquid inside, the base was white, a lord of the north painted on one side. A small chip on the handle. You ran your thumb over it, it was a small dip in the porcelain, insignificant enough you never would’ve noticed it if you hadn’t been looking. But, you’d learned over the years that if you studied anything too long you would notice every little thing that was wrong. People and objects alike.  

“What were you trying to do?” Aelin drew you out of your reverie. 

The words, you could get just enough words out to tell her. Out of anyone, she might understand. “Get my magic back.” 

“There’s better ways to -”

You cut her off, “other ways haven’t worked.” You said harshly. 

Aelin let out a slow breath and studied you. As always, you felt like she tore through every damn layer of you - seeing right to the core. You were too alike in some ways, and could always call each other out on bullshit. “Try and let it come back on it’s own.” 

You’d tried. You’d fucking tried but it was miserable to not be able to access that part of yourself, the part that had disappeared for ten damned years and you didn’t want to spend a day longer without it. 

“Do you think talking about them would help?” She settled down next to you on the couch, legs crossed under her and turned to face you. 

You chewed on your bottom lip. You’d avoided thinking or talking about them as much as possible, figuring that would shove the pain and grief away and eventually it would disappear on its own. “Not yet.” 

You felt her disappointment, and ignored that too. 

-

“I don’t know how to help her.” Your best friend's soft voice floated through the open door. 

This was a conversation you weren’t meant to overhear, you knew that for certain. Besides, you didn’t need help, you just needed time. 

“There’s one person who could probably get through to her.” Rowan spoke carefully as if he was treading on dangerous water with his mate.

“They haven’t spoken in weeks.” She snapped. You felt bile rise in your throat, and decided eavesdropping was a very bad idea, so you fled silently back down the hall. 

-

Maybe it was punishment, or her form of protecting you but Aelin dragging you to state meetings made your head want to explode. If she could, she’d probably try to stay in your room with you. Either her or Rowan had been trailing after you constantly. Like two overbearing and fussy shadows. 

“I’m not a risk to myself.” You finally snapped one night. 

“Really?” Aelin matched your pitch and tone. “Because I watched my best friend jump off the gods-damned roof.” 

“You killed the gods.” 

“And if you died I’d bring you back to kill you myself.” She was almost yelling at this point. 

“Awe, you do love me.” You teased her, de-escalating and dodging the earlier topic. 

Aelin shot a long suffering look towards Rowan, who only looked on amusedly. 

“You could talk to him.” The bastard said. Aelin shot him a nasty look this time as you froze in place. 

“Rowan,” she growled at him, before looking back to you apologetically. 

“Or he could talk to me.” You said stiffly. 

“Because that’s worked so well, hasn’t it?” 

You forgot how much of an asshole he can be, and told him so. He only said to come up with more creative names for him before you stormed out of the room. It was a small mercy that they let you have your tantrum in peace, staying back in their rooms. If they had followed you this time you probably would have thrown something at them. 

You were stewing in your anger and barely paying attention to where you were going as your subconscious guided you on muscle-memory. Right to your roof. You didn’t stand at the edge this time, in fact you sat several feet behind, on a flatter area and far back enough any busy bodies would assume you’re just relaxing. You carefully lowered yourself down on your back to stare up at the stars. A crow landed next to you, peering at you with uncanny eyes. 

“Hello,” you muttered. They seemed to follow you everywhere and you couldn’t decide if it was an omen or not. To your surprise, the animal cawed in response. “I’m going to assume that's a friendly greeting.” 

The bird ruffled its feathers, still staring at you. “If I didn’t know better,” you continued, “I’d assume you’re a Fae or Shifter. 

You heard a snort coming from a few feet away and the animal took off with a screech. There’s only one person who can sneak up on you like that. 

“If I said to fuck off would you actually leave?” You didn’t bother looking at him. 

“Probably not.” The air shifted around you, and when you turned your head he was laying next to you, only a foot or so away. If you reached your arm out you could touch him. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Do I need a reason to come see you?” He let out an edged chuckle, and you turned your head back to the night sky, searching for the lord of the north. 

“If I say yes will you be offended?” 

“So many questions.” He tutted. That is a yes, then. “They’re worried.” Your chest tightened and blood heated. Anger rolled from you in waves. They had no right to go spreading your business, telling whoever the hell they wanted …

“I can see it on their faces, the way they’re acting.” He continued, probably sensing the emotions rising in you like a dangerous wave, battering at the dams of your already fragile self control. “I haven’t asked any questions.” 

In your grief, he pulled further away from you. At a time when you needed him the most, he disappeared. You couldn’t figure out why the hell he decided to show up now, now that you were inches away from rock bottom. 

“Where have you been?” You tried not to sound accusatory but failed miserably. 

For once, he didn’t have a snarky response or reply to it. Instead, he reached for you. You didn’t move, but didn’t fight him as he tugged your hand into his. Your friend, the friend that had started to turn into more, just weeks before everything happened. 

“I’m sorry.” His thumb ran across your knuckles, and his hand tightened around yours, interlacing your fingers. 

“Y/n,” you heard a shout from your balcony. “Get off the roof!” Aelin was screaming, nearly at the top of her lungs. You should’ve known eventually. 

“You can join us or you can leave.” Fenrys yelled back at her, saving you from having to do it. 

A quiet, “oh,” came from below you, and you heard your balcony door shut. 

“My savior,” you teased, the words coming out naturally. 

“Glad to be of service.” His grin shone through his words, and when you turned the moon cast the perfect light over his face, highlighting all of his features. Onyx eyes captured your own, and his hair seemed to glow in the light. Like a bright light calling you in. You squeezed his hand once. 

“My knight in shining armor.” 

#fenrys x y/n #fenrys x reader #fenrys moonbeam x y/n #fenrys moonbeam x reader #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader #fenrys moonbeam #I don't know what proofreading is #my work computer broke down on me so this is what happened #I also put on my angst playlist #I think that's enough tags

[ctheathy]

*whisper* I missed you fawning over Banzai’s fingerssss~

U can delete this if u want lol

choke him he likes it

Oh, you BET >=} <3<3

⚠️ Suggestive themes warning ⚠️

You could feel the fur of his tails tickling against your skin as you had a tight grip on his wrists. His tails swayed excitedly in your face, caressing your cheeks as he had a smug grin on his face. “You look so cute when you're on top of me, my dear~”

“You are so beautiful. I swear you're the reason why the sun shines in the sky, the reason why the flowers bloom every spring, and why the oceans are calm.... You are far better than the heavens themselves. You're so gorgeous.”

damn flirt. Without mercy, you just shoved him right back into the bedsheets as soon as he tried to get up from his position to get a better look at you, making him let out a grunt with a big blush on his face, still having that shit-eating smirk.

He bit at his lower lip as soon as his head got pushed back into the softness of the sheets, his breathing seeming to get a whole lot more heavier by that simple act alone. “Please... Please... Completely destroy my body, ruin me... I'm yours” he spoke in between pants, he was already getting one heck of an arousal by your dominating nature. You raised an eyebrow as you saw him biting away at his lips to try and keep himself from losing himself, but you weren't having any of his petty attempts. He's gotta learn the consequences of teasing you with those stupid fingers of his.

You leaned in, your warm breath teasing him as you whispered something in his ears, making them twitch. “I’ll show you the definition of destroyed...~” you seductively spoke before you nicked his ear with your teeth, holding it for a bit before allowing it to slip once more. The act making some of your saliva to get in contact with his fur, making him shudder in a pleasant way. His breath was only getting more severe as you went on and he was turning a little in your grasp, but you had no intent on letting go. And honestly? Neither did he want you to, as he kept himself down like an obedient, submissive little partner

Your fingers ran over his fragile frame and every nerve in his body just seemed to be so very sensitive. He shivered with every little move you made on him, his breath hitching in his throat as his body was on high alert due to everything you were doing. The next time he looked up, you were almost on top of him once again as your noses were practically touching. Not like he minded, he had found the position and being able to examine your features like this quite pleasant. He spoke out your name, a bit breathless right about now.

“you are truly the God that walked down from mount Olympus. No other being can compare to you. You own my heart and my life, you own me. You are going to have me wrapped around your finger for eternity. You are a Deity worthy of worship. You are my master. My everything... Say ‘I love you’ or I'll die from the pain.”

He was quite literally ranting as he was panting like a dog, his eyes growing more and more into one of pure love the longer he looked at you. His body trembles with the intense longing for your touch, but you still resist and instead continue to stare at his frame. His body is literally quivering right now, as if begging for more. But Tails just can't find the words to ask. He wants to tell you how much he desires you, but he's just way too nervous. He's just left with his panting breaths. “Please... don't stop...p-please”

You leaned in once more, nibbling at the crook of his neck as you pressed your index finger into his throat. Slowly adding more pressure onto it and making him squirm lightly under you. But he still had that huge grin plastered on his face, making it pretty obvious that he was getting a thrill out of this. Tails lets out a long, satisfied moan as he wraps his hands around your neck. He is letting you fully take control of the situation and he looks so ready to let you decide where to go from here.

Your free fingers caressed him all over, all while your mouth was still teasing his neck with all your might. You made sure to give him breaks by allowing your index finger to cease pressure at times. But every time, he clung back onto your hand and pressed it right back down. Every time you stopped it felt like he was dying, like that was his one chance to feel happiness again... it felt so unfair! It was so cruel of you to tease him like this... and yet ...he loved it. He felt every inch of you marking his neck, giving him all of your love and attention. That spot on his neck was forever imprinted in his memory. Tails is still panting, trying to maintain his thoughts. He feels incredibly overwhelmed with emotions right now due to just your presence alone, but now it seems like he is going to get even more. His head starts to get light as he doesn't even try fighting back anymore. He seems to be on the verge of completely submitting himself to you.

“No... no... please, not more. Just a little more, I beg for the love of god. I can't take more of this. Oh god, oh god. Yes, yes, yes.”

His sharp teeth bite away at his lower lip as he stares at you with wide eyes. He was now completely in the moment as he felt an explosion of pleasure course through his body. He wanted this moment to never end. He was going to make this moment last as long as possible. Every single part of his body seemed to be at attention and all thoughts were thrown out the window as he felt every cell in his body become excited. Tails’ mouth opens again as he lets out yet another moan of the sensation while feeling your touch. It's almost as if the man would do whatever you told him to do... just for a little more of your touch. He could see your eyes piercing through his soul, his eyes darting back and forth in an attempt to maintain eye contact with you in the midst of all the pleasure. You gave him an intimate kiss on the lips as you pressed down your finger once more, your fingertips teasing him by stroking him right under the neck. All while still being pinned down by you, it was too much...

But he wanted this.

Tails’ eyes roll in the back of his head as a pleasant and warm sensation of pleasure radiates throughout his entire body. He wraps his arms around you and returns the sensation. His lips find yours and he gives you a loving and meaningful smooch. Despite having an audience, he wanted to stay like this for eternity. He was content and for the first time in years, he felt at peace.

He loved you ...

#sonic x reader #sonic the hedgehog x reader #secret history tails #tails x reader #yandere tails #mashed tails #sh tails #sonic the hedgehog #secret history tails x reader #tails smut #scenario answered #dumb drabbles #the guide’s gabbling

[angelbitezzz]

Now where in the hell did she go?

Prev - Next - First

(more pictures and writing under the cut)

God damn it. Sans had one job—keep an eye on the human, make sure she rested, keep her out of trouble. Now, as he stared dumbfoundedly down at the obviously empty couch on the first floor, he only had one real thought come floating through his fatigued skull.

"i'm gonna kill that girl."

He threw his soiled jacket somewhere in the corner of his room and snatched his hoodie from where it was hung next to his door, slipping it on as he shoved socked feet into slippers, descending the stairs so quickly he may as well have teleported. Far be it from him to ever move that fast on purpose—apparently, that was another thing she was able to do to him without him knowing, damn it all. Frustration simmered at the back of his throat, but even he knew that the feeling was covering a darker, more icy fear that clutched at the inside of his ribcage and froze into a heavy thing somewhere next to his SOUL. She needed to rest. She needed to stay out of sight for now until they figured things out with her magic. She needed to stay safe, fuck, and even just thinking that sent an uncomfortable rattle up along his spine. He didn't bother opening the front door, he jolted through space and found himself outside a few feet away.

"think, sans, think. where would she—"

His pupils settled on the ground. Blue grass and sand mixed together to create an uneven path leading through the village proper. The isles were on the night cycle now—which, didn't look different, but having something of a curfew helped with the constant feeling of nighttime—so nobody was around save for some real night owl types. Sans had excellent night vision, picking out the disturbed sand leading through the village and far to the left, back towards the entrance. He took a step and jittered to the far end, focused on the footprints leading up, until the grass and sand gave away to stone, ascending on a gentle incline that only grew steeper until it led to a cliff overlooking a majority of the Starlight Isles and surrounding territories.

His steps slowed as a silhouette came into view near the edge, an ambient warm breeze tugging the cape pulled around their shoulders. Briefly, he thought he'd stumbled across Count Koffin K doing something...but when they raised their head to gaze upward, he realized he'd found his target.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and resisted the urge to stomp his way up the cliff to her side.

"and what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Angel startled a little, jerking around halfway and flinching. Burning purple eyes met his own, wide and alarmed.

For a second, he felt like they fit right in with the "stars" in their sky.

"Oh! Oh. Sans. Hey."

"answer the question, human."

"Right. Um." Her gaze trailed away, back over the edge of the cliff. "Well don't worry, I didn't fuck off to, uh...y'know. Yeah. Ye—yeah. I'm just, just..."

He didn't speak, recognizing by the tone of her voice that she was struggling to get her thoughts out. She got scrambled like that sometimes—it reminded him of Alphys...when she wasn't putting on a whole fake persona, anyways.

"...Processing. Mhm."

"your near death experience or your magic?"

"Can it be both?"

He inclined his head and slowly stepped forward, moving to stand beside her. There was a very long pause before he spoke.

"well, uh, anyways. asgore said you gotta rest. my brother'll have a conniption if he finds out you're out here."

"Right. Sorry. I just...really needed to get some air. Please."

Frustration boiled behind his teeth, but he sucked back the smoke and smiled anyways. When she glanced at him, whatever she saw in his expression made her grimace and look away again.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not dying."

"you nearly did." The lights in his eyesockets extinguished, smile thinning until it was nearly a frown. "like, 6 hours ago. unless you forgot. i mean...wouldn't really be surprised, ya did hit your head pretty hard during your little stunt."

"God, Sans, can you just—not? For once?"

"i dunno what you mean."

She whirled on him, a desperate sort of anger flashing onto her features.

"You know exactly what I mean! Don't kick me while I'm down. I—"

"i'm trying to get you back in bed before anyone sees you, but hey, if you wanna keep acting like a babybones, be my guest."

"I'm NOT—" Angel cut herself off and shut her eyes, drawing Sans's cape around her shoulders tighter and covering her face with a hand. "Not...fuck. Fuck. Sans. I–I don't need you to act like my parent. Be all weird and protective over your brother, but don't...let's not pretend. Don't do the same with me cuz you think you have to. It hurts."

He didn't know what to say, for once. There was a quiet swallowing sound while he searched for something, anything to respond to that. Seconds dragged into minutes before she spoke again.

"...I'm gonna die down here."

"hey, you just said you're not—"

"No, Sans." She interrupted, insistent, voice pitching high and broken. "I'm gonna die down here. This place, it's driving me fucking mental. I don't. I don't know what to do."

Her hand slipped away again, a frightened, tight little grin stretching across her face as she looked at him. It looked like it hurt.

"The sun. I miss the sun. I feel like I've been stuck in a damn time loop where it's always night time and I do the same damn shit every day! Yesterday was the first time in weeks that I felt like something new happened and I completely fucked it. I've been having so much fun here that I forgot that—I forgot. I forgot!" She began to laugh, gesturing to her body frantically, trying to get a point across. "I forgot!"

Sans listened to her speak with an increasing feeling of worry, frustration melting into concern the longer she went on.

"kid—" He started, but she cut him off again, her laughter ceasing as quickly as it had come, turning her body away.

"Don't. Please don't. I don't think I could stand if it you started with the pity train."

"wasn't the pity train, was more like the empathy express."

His weak attempt at humor did bring a smaller, more genuine twitch of her mouth than whatever fake grin she'd been trying to keep up. How had she ever managed to fool him before? In hindsight, it was obvious now, all the times she'd been pretending at joy.

Ah, but then, she was the perseverant kind of person. Maybe she was just...used to that.

He didn't want to know why.

"i was just gonna say...you're not alone."

He reached out and set a hand on her shoulder, struggling to find the words. Sun sickness had been a lot more prevalent back during the aftermath of the war—he had no experience dealing with it directly.

"it ain't so bad. you're still here. people down here like you."

"...Do you even like me?"

"huh?"

Angel turned her head just a little, enough to catch his gaze with her own. She looked exhausted, the warm breeze threatening to spill the tears welling up in her eyes.

"I pay attention, you know. You—god, Sans, you only tolerate me cuz I'm friends with Papyrus, right? Sometimes I feel like we get along great, and then something happens and you just...act off. Am I that much of a burden to you? Should I just leave?"

His thoughts flashed back to the day before. The panic that had thrummed through his body at the mere thought of losing her, that same panic that had brought him out here looking for her in the first place.

"i..." He hesitated. "...think it's been a long day, angel. you're tired and homesick and still coming down from the adrenaline high from earlier. you'll feel better in the morning."

Angel just gazed at him for a long, long moment. Those purple eyes searching for something in his expression before they went lax, her face flattening.

"...You're right. You're right. I'm just..." A lump in her throat. The tears began streaking down her face, dripping off her chin. "...so tired."

"hey." His voice was soft now, softer than she'd heard it before. "...i get the feeling, bud."

Her shoulders shaking, she raised a hand and slipped it over the one he had on her shoulder just for some measure of comfort, head ducking and turning away as she quietly hiccuped. He let her hold him there, warm fingers on chilled bones as she anchored herself again in the present.

It was a good long while before she let him take her home.

...

"Hey, Sans...?"

"mhm?"

"I forgot my glasses. You're gonna have to lead me back."

#art #my art #digital art #doodle #ts underswap #Crossbones and Starstruck #ts underswap self insert #self ship #ts underswap sans #underswap sans #tonight we get ANGSTY #look i love sans and he's a great guy but hes also kind of an asshole sometimes and thats okay #he's trying #fanfic #if the pictures seem really out of order i promise im trhing to fix it tumblr mobile just hates me

[lonleydweller]

If you could, could you write a little drabble or fic of a yandere nubbins chasing his darling who's trying to escape?

🥀Run, run, run piggy!🥀

!warnings!: yandere trope, violence, murder, spoilers for tcm 1974, cannibalism mentioned, violence and injuries towards reader, sadism, failed escape attempt

Yanderes are OK to enjoy in fiction. They should stay fiction. They are not example of healthy relationships. These behaviors are NOT okay in real life. This is for entertainment purposes

-----------------------------------------------------

The hot dry air of the texas summer was suffocating as you ran. The sun's golden morning rays breaking over the vast fields of sunflowers. It would have been such a pretty sight. Oh how it could have been such a pretty sight to enjoy with your friends. Shame you'd never get that opportunity now. Your lungs burned, your head pounded, your cuts stung as you hobbled along. You weren't even that far away from the house yet, in fact, you were still close enough to where you could hear the sound of clamoring footsteps on the porch behind you.

You don't know why, but you turned your head a brief moment to see. Even when you knew who it was. You don't even haft to look for more than two seconds to recognize the lanky, greasy, feral thing of a man chasing you. Your body answers your plea of flight to the best of its ability. Pushing past the pain and hobbling just a bit faster. You can hear his voice crystal clear stammering behind you.

"H- hey! W- where do you think yer gettin t-to?"

He wasn't far behind. You can hear his footsteps quickly catching up to yours. You had learned early on, during your first few attemps of escape, that he was quick. Nimble too. Any crawl space you could squeeze yourself through, he could damn well weasel his way into too. A never ending game of hunter and prey.

You can hear his stiffled giggles and squeals of excitement even over the thunderous sound of footfall. You had pushed your luck hadn't you? So desperate for escape. So desperate to be free of the stench of rotting meat, decaying bodies, dirt, grime, blood, all of it. Foul. A home built on people's bones and skin. Never able to return to their own. Nothing more than pigs lead to slaughter.

It didn't help that they even tasted like pork too. The taste had flooded your mouth when he forced you to eat the disgusting meals his brother had prepared. Shoving the vile concoctions down your throat. One night head cheese. The next chili. The next steak. Not a single bit of animal meat present. God. Why couldn't they have just killed you too. Why couldn't you have just been turned into a stew like the rest.

Instead you have to suffer a monsters sick delusion of what he thought love was. It wasn't of course, it never would be. It was torture. Of wich you were quickly reminded of as his blade made contact with your back. Tearing through your shirt and at your skin with ease. You cry out in pain, the only sound you could muster anymore. He had gained on you so quickly, and you were only growing slower.

One, two, three, more painful cuts land on your back as he makes animalistic noises of excitement. His hands feverishly grabbing at your shirt, desperate to snacth you up once more. You're barely able to put up a fight as you desperately try to pull and writhe away with what little strength you have left.

"I gotchu! I gotchu, I gotchu, I...gocthu!"

Pure glee taints his voice. He knows he's won. You do too. Even then you still flail and struggle as he wrangles you to the ground, up until you can taste the dirt road beneath you as your face is smushed against the ground. You can can feel him shift above you, quickly followed by a sweeping pain in your legs. A familiar burning feeling as he relentlessly slashes at them. It feels like forever before he finally stops with a shakey laugh.

"T- there! You can't g- get nowhere if your legs don't work c-can ya?"

You can hear him taunt. 'Pffbt! Pffbt!', the sound of him blowing raspberries like an obnoxious child only adds insult to your many, many, injuries. It was a game to him. It all was. One he won everytime. No matter how hard you tried. You can feel his arms slink around you as he hauls you to your feet. Well partially anyways, you're more at a slouch as he starts to drag you back towards the farmhouse.

You don't bother to struggle anymore. You simply can't. You can't even walk now with the condition you're in. Still he held the cold steel of his hunting knife against your neck, just to make sure. In just a couple minutes you'd be trapped inside the house again. In worse condition than before. You hadn't even gotten that far away from the house. Even if you did, where would you go? There was nothing for miles. No help for miles. No hope for miles.

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