#heels sharp as daggers

[thedoorsofmyheart]

“Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man”-

#I’m on my vigilante shit again #princess Diana #revenge dress #vigilante shit #midnights #taylor swift #quotes #lyrics #the feminine urge #fight like a girl #feminism #little black dress #that dress #lipstick the color of blood #heels sharp as daggers #cat eye #makeup goals #queen #killer queen #mad women #the feminine urge to lose your shit

[perlelune]

Play with Fire | Feyd-Rautha

Your secret tryst with the na-Baron should have ended the moment you returned to your betrothed on Caladan. And it would have, if your lover was willing to let you go.

Warnings: NON-CON, Knife Play, Blood Play, Breeding Kink, Jealousy, Cheating, Blackmail, Murder, Slight Paul Atreides x Reader, Incest

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

A raspy moan erupts from Feyd-Rautha’s throat as your slick walls squeeze around his hard cock. Your head tosses back, pleasure swirling through your core. Your nails rake across his sculpted, ivory chest and he purrs. You bury them in his flesh, scattering crimson lines across his skin. His hands curl around your hips as he thrusts into you more vigorously. You dig your heels into the rumpled sheets, your mind blanking as his pelvis massages your bundle of nerves.

You chew on your lip, willing yourself to be more quiet. The most arduous task considering the mind-blowing sensations coursing through your heated flesh. Your reputation hinges upon it. If anyone brushed past the na-Baron’s chambers and recognized your voice…you would be ruined. 

What a lewd picture the two of you must paint from afar. You, a proper lady from a noble house of Caladan, riding Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s cock with wanton abandon, your dress bunched around you, sweat glistening off your panting frame. The Harkonnen heir-designate is in quite a disheveled state himself, grunting below you, his dark gaze hazy with lust. 

“You are a goddess, my darling,” he lauds.

The echo of his gruff baritone ripples across your skin. Feral need bleeds from his words, his ravenous gaze riveted to your writhing form above him. It’s evident the na-Baron is basking in this sight, his tongue flicking through his lips every once in a while. The trail of his dusky eyes goes from your bouncing chest to your entrance, greedily sucking every inch of his length.

“Then fuck me like a god would,” you dare him with a smug smile. A risky move, particularly considering how deep inside you he already is, pulling broken moans from you each time his taut hips meet yours. But you want to push his buttons even more, see how far you can take it. 

Grazing the flickering candlelight isn’t enough. You want a blazing inferno to engulf you whole. 

You cock your eyebrow and sneer, “I expected more from such a great warrior.” You grab the long silver dagger lying beside him. Feyd-Rautha hardly goes anywhere without a deadly weapon nearby. His bed is no different. You push the tip against his throat. “Fuck me as if your life depended on it, na-Baron…because it does.” 

Most men would cower at such words. But Feyd-Rautha isn’t most men. A wild glint of excitement blooms in his orbs. His throat bobs, a look of satisfaction so intense crossing his features, you wonder if he’ll spill himself inside you right at that moment. 

He welcomes the threat upon his life like the most wondrous gift, making no move to shirk away from the sharp edge kissing his throat. Bliss decorates his features as you nick him in various spots with the blade, lingering so he feels every ounce of the sting when his flesh is sliced. Your blade curves meticulous patterns in his ivory flesh, drawing raspy moans and elated growls from him. You spread your hand across his chest, pressing your palm into the fresh wounds. Dark blood is smeared across his pale chest. The na-Baron moans at your touch, the pain delighting him. He embraces it as much as the pleasure. Perhaps even more.

He accepts the challenge you give him. A squeal shoots through your lips as he flips your bodies, forcing you on your stomach. He pushes the flowing fabric of your dress up until your dripping folds are bare to him. A shiver of anticipation courses through you when his thick tip presses against your weeping entrance. The blade slips through your fingers, a soundless scream parting from your throat when he slams his cock into you from behind. 

The metallic taste of your own blood rains on your tongue when you bite your lip, confining every sound fighting to be unleashed. He wraps his hand around your nape, shoving your head into the mattress, allowing you no time to gather your breath. Each of his thrusts is brutal and unforgiving. He ruins your walls without a care. You find yourself almost wishing you didn’t agitate the beast inside him. Almost. If the sinful dance of torment and bliss weren’t so entrancing, perhaps you would regret it. 

His muscular frame covers yours. His scorching breath glosses over the back of your neck as he inquires, “Does my cock meet your high standards, my Lady?”

Your chest heaves as you whimper underneath him. You are so delirious with both pain and pleasure that it’s hard to even think coherent words, let alone utter them. Feyd tears you from your haze with a pointed pinch on your swollen bundle of nerves, making you cry out.

“It’s…a-adequate, my Lord,” you stutter between panting breaths. 

“Just adequate?” he scoffs. “Well, this will not do.”

Determined to have you choke on every taunt you threw at him, the na-Baron isn’t satisfied until you’re passed out underneath him. He finds his release as your walls spasm around him. Even as you’re on the cusp of collapse, you urge him to pull out, coaxing him to spill himself over your belly. A sliver of annoyance passes over his features before he surrenders to your wishes. Relief fills you when his warm, sticky seed coats your stomach.

You doubt your fiancé would respond well to you returning with a Harkonnen bastard growing in your womb.

As you wipe yourself with a damp cloth on the edge of the bed, you inform, “My mother and I are returning to Caladan tomorrow.” He doesn’t acknowledge you at first, sitting with his leg bent, completely unabashed in his nakedness. You let your gaze roam over his smooth, hairless muscled flesh. It’s a pleasant sight, one you commit to memory. You’ve enjoyed your time with the na-Baron. And not only did you enjoy yourself, you’ve shed the fear you harbored regarding your wedding night. You loathed the idea of being some shivering, terrified maiden before your husband. You long for more. Giving pleasure but also receiving it. Reciprocity. 

Feyd’s head turns. His alabaster face betrays no emotion. He observes, “This was a brief trip.” He tilts his head. “Must I expect your next visit to end as swiftly?”

Mirth tugs the corners of your lips skyward. You crawl towards him.

“There will be no more visits.”

His  jaw ticks.

“Is that so?”

You cup his cheek and state, “I am to be married soon.”

A hint of possessiveness flashes across his stony features. Subtle, but there nonetheless. You’ve learnt to decipher the minute shifts in his expression in the two weeks you have spent on Giedi Prime.

He snickers.

“To some lesser man, I reckon.”

You bend over his shoulder. A teasing lilt sneaks into your voice.

“Are you seized by jealousy, my lord, consumed with burning rage at the thought of another man touching me in the ways you have…” Your lips graze his earshell. “Perhaps even being inside me?”

His hand shoots out to clasp around your throat. 

“Jealousy is for the weak,” he grates, his cheek pulsing. You smirk. Stoking the flames of his ire often yields…interesting results.

“Then does that make you your weakness, na-Baron?” you jest boldly.

The hand around your throat tightens, impeding your airways. A whine escapes through your lips. He hauls you off the bed and shoves you onto the floor.

“Darling…” he warns, his grip around your neck unwavering. “You speak too much when your mouth should be full of me. On your knees.”

You scowl at his imperious inflection but comply regardless. This is your last encounter with Feyd-Rautha. The last time you bend to his whims. While you’re not fond of his tone, you can discard your disgruntlement for a brief time. 

You wrap your fingers around his length. Your dauntless gaze rises to meet his as you start planting kisses along the dark, swollen tip of his pale cock.

“Your wish is my command, my Lord na-Baron,” you whisper teasingly.

You never expected to entertain a secret affair with Feyd-Rautha of all men. For the entirety of your girlhood, you heard horror stories about the Harkonnen, how ruthless and cruel they are, how their wasteland of a planet is a cold, inhospitable rock. 

So when your mother announced the two of you would be going on a diplomatic trip to Giedi Prime, you weren’t thrilled. In fact, fear surged through you that day. You kept picturing some awful thing happening as soon as you landed. You thought it to be a punishment, and wondered if perhaps you had offended Leto Atreides and his family in some form without realizing it.

However your parents explained the idea stemmed from a clumsy attempt at quelling the long-standing rivalry between House Atreides and House Harkonnen. Keep those tensions from building into an all-out interstellar war.

While Duke Leto Atreides will not risk his son’s life for a last ditch attempt at peace, the lives of members of a House Minor who swore him allegiance many years ago are more…expendable you suppose. 

It is how you, daughter of an Earl with close ties to house Atreides, found yourself on Giedi Prime. Your father voiced his hopes that your sweet disposition would rub off on Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as he bid you goodbye. 

Perhaps that plan worked a bit too well. 

You barely understood how it happened. How your path and Feyd-Rautha’s collided in such an...unexpected way. 

It all started the day you watched him - admired him truly - through your binoculars as he performed in the gladiator arena. That day, a hundred doors opened up inside you, each clamoring to be crossed. Like a castle brimming with rooms you never explored. 

The spectacle of death should have repulsed you. Instead, you found his bellicose dance over the sand as the crowd cheered him on fascinating. You were unable to tear your gaze away that day. Inexplicably drawn to something twisted and sick you shouldn’t crave, yet did anyway. You found yourself wondering if those deft, pale fingers are as apt with…other things as they are with blades. It kept you awake at night and obliterated every other thought. How he’d be like. What he tasted like. What it would take to coax out that ferocity you saw in the arena in wildly different circumstances. That strange, irresistible force kept pulling you into his orbit.

So one day, you surrendered to it and snuck into his chambers, offering him your maidenhood. And he took it without hesitation.

In a life in which every decision is made for you, either by your mother, or your father or the Bene Gesserit…It is freeing to finally make a choice for yourself, one that only serves you and not the ends of a mysterious sisterhood whose obscure prophecies mean nothing to you.

However, while you have plucked a modicum of gratification from this affair, it must end. For not only are you spoken for but, during your time on Giedi Prime, you have borne witness to the depth of the na-Baron’s heartlessness. 

While you admire his prowess in the arena, you resent his disregard for human life. You’ve trembled as you watched him slaughter servants to test the sharpness of his weapons, slice a cook’s throat for bringing him a meal he found under-seasoned or not warm enough, gut innocent bystanders simply because he had the impulse to do it. 

Feyd-Rautha is a mercurial beast. A prime example of the Harkonnens’ capacity for unprovoked, gratuitous violence. 

Therefore a flurry of comfort flows you through at the prospect that you’ll be going home soon, back to Caladan’s familiar, flourishing landscapes. Whatever thrill the affair elicited before is beginning to wear off. You long to be home and return to your fiancé.

However that sense of peace crumbles when you return to your chambers that night and find your mother waiting for you on the bed. You smooth out the wrinkles in your dress. It’s useless. The evidence must be all over you because she stomps in your direction, a wild look of rage distorting her usually demure features.

“Have you lost your sanity?” she roars.

You shake your head, feigning ignorance.

“Mother, I have no idea-”

It’s not until the sharp ringing of your mother’s palm flying across your face fills your ears that you realize that she just hit you, the searing sting of pain spreading belatedly. Almost like time stood still in the crux of that instant, leashed by your shock and disbelief. Your mother has never laid hands on you before. Not even once.

Your wide eyes find hers.

She shakes a berating finger at you.

“Do not lie to me, child. How many kinds of an idiot do you believe me to be?” Your mouth shudders as you clutch your throbbing cheek. The strength with which your mother struck you still pulses right below your fingertips. “You even reek of his foul stench. My own flesh and blood…smelling like a filthy Harkonnen whore.”

Your face burns, from both pain and shame.

“You foolish girl.” Her gaze narrows as she leans back, gulping a wide lungful before speaking again. “After your father and I moved the heavens to secure a worthy match for you?” She shakes her head. “You are lucky we are leaving tomorrow and that your father will not hear a word of this.” She pauses, sadness and disgust tinging her tone. “You were such a sweet, kind little girl, so curious and clever, always clinging to my skirts…” Your mother sighs. “So dutiful. What mistake did I make in raising you for you to become such an utter disappointment?”

Your heart shrinks under her accusing glare. A sheet of guilt pervades you as you fall silent, finding no word to stand up to your mother. She is right. Reality crashes over you. You were in a haze, a lust-driven fog. Now you’re wide awake, as if a bucket of freezing water was poured over you. You have besmirched yourself and your house, tossing away your virtue for…what? Ephemeral moments of delight. The more you mull over your actions, the more you realize how impulse-driven and dangerous they were…that all of it was a mistake. 

Your mother’s words drop a hot stone of shame in the pit of your stomach, one that remains lodged inside you even as you land on Caladan. Not a single word is exchanged between the two of you in the brief time you sit together in the starship transporting you back home. Instead, a heavy silence rife with animosity fills the air. 

You’re grateful Feyd-Rautha is notably absent the day of your departure. You don’t have the fortitude to peer at him, face your mistakes. And it’s what he is. The walking, breathing embodiment of your mistakes.

So in the ephemeral span of time required for time and space to fold and bring you back home, you sink back into your role of virtuous and demure lady of your house.

As you and your parents disembark, you let your eyes soak in Caladan’s beautiful landscapes. Lush, green plains fill your sight, their familiarity sending a wave of calm through you. Finally, you’re home. Light-years away from bloodthirsty warriors and caliginous planets with blotted skies rife with smoke and pollution. You are ready to bury the entire ordeal behind you and return to normalcy.

Expectedly, the Atreides clan is there to welcome you and your parents back home.

A small smile appears on Paul’s face when your gaze lands on him. Your stomach knots as you return it. He can never learn what occurred on Giedi Prime. That secret will follow you to your grave. You approach him, pointedly ignoring your mother’s sizzling stare.

Her apprehension permeates through you even from where you are. There can be no other mistakes. 

Your match with Paul Atreides must be a success. For both your house’s sake and the safe continuation of the Bene Gesserit’s breeding program. The pinnacle of centuries of scheming and puppeteering from the shadows. Your mother impressed it upon you many times over the years. How the purity of the bloodlines must be preserved. How all of it serves to bring humanity closer to its age of enlightenment. And while you are not so conceited to believe you will bring forth the long-awaited Kwisatz Aderach…you understand your role in producing an offspring that perhaps may nudge the sisterhood closer to that goal. 

You suppress the tremor in your hand as your cousin plucks your hand to kiss the back of it. 

“May we walk together for some time?” he inquires. 

Relief swells inside you. Chatting away from prying ears is a welcome prospect, the combined scrutinies of both your families flaring your nerves. You can even feel Lady Jessica’s attention on you now. What if your mother’s half-sister saw right through you? Your aunt’s sharp Bene Gesserit’s senses have always stirred a vague unease within you. Today even more so, as you choke on so many secrets you can barely breathe.

“With pleasure,” you respond, accepting his hand as he guides you away from the welcoming committee. 

The two of you engage in a tranquil stroll across the grassy field. 

“I trust your journey went well, cousin,” Paul says.

Flashes of torrid nights spent in a bed you shouldn’t be in force their way inside your mind. You quell the pesky memories, your brows knitting. 

You coax a demure smile onto your features.

“It was a…learning opportunity. One I wholly embraced.” 

Naturally, you spare your soon-to-be husband the details of what it is you learned and with who.

Your fiancé nods. 

“It sounds delightful.” His green eyes soften as he mumbles, “You were missed.”

“By you, my Lord?” you beam, happiness fluttering through you.

Over the last few months, since the official announcement of your betrothal, your fondness for Paul grew the more time you two shared. The crush you harbored for him as a child blossomed into more, his kindness and nobility of heart winning you over. But you never expected him to reciprocate those feelings. 

A hint of pink dusts Paul’s cheeks. Straightening his spine, he clears his throat.

“Many…including myself,” he answers evasively.

Your smile widens. “I would hope my betrothed noticed my absence.”

Warmth rushes through you as replies, his tone dropping, “It was definitely noticed, my Lady.”

He suddenly falls quiet. Thoughts seem to lurk in his mind, causing a deep frown to carve his brow.

Concern tickles your insides.

“Is something troubling you, my Lord?”

He hesitates, his thin lips squeezing before he reveals, “Mother believes I should take you as concubine, not as a wife, in case another marriage prospect presents itself to me.”

You ponder his words. It does not surprise you coming from your cunning aunt, that she would encourage her son to keep his options open the way his father did. A sliver of bitter disappointment percolates through your chest. Being Paul Atreides’ concubine would have its range of perks. You could stand beside him, share his bed and perhaps even a genuine love one day. One as deep and true as the one his parents have nurtured for years.

But it would also mean that while you’d undeniably be his, Paul would never truly be yours…that he could become someone else’s overnight to secure some treaty or alliance with another house.

Still, you conceal the panic rushing through you with a meek nod.

“It would be a clever move,” you say. You hold his eyes. “What did the Duke say?”

“That he regrets not making my mother his Duchess everyday.” 

He seizes your hands, his fingers curling tightly around yours. Determination steels his olive gaze. “I do not wish to repeat my father’s mistakes,” he states. 

The worry building inside you is stifled by his soft reassurance. 

“That is a relief to hear, my Lord.”

As Paul’s fond gaze rests on you however, guilt creeps inside you once more, your mind wandering to the debauchery you surrendered to on Geidi Prime. Self-loathing fills you.

You tear your hands from his, your focus tumbling to the ground.

“Are you unwell, my Lady?” he asks, his tone dripping with concern.

You shake your head, giving a false smile.

“It’s nothing. I was simply lost in my thoughts,” you lie.

Interest blooms in his green orbs. “Would you care to share them with me?”

The blood in your veins freezes. You pale to think how Paul, your beloved, his beautiful eyes overflowing with love and trust, would look at you if he knew. The mere thought makes you queasy. He can never know.

“I was simply overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of our union, my Lord.”

He accepts your explanation without a shadow of doubt in his eyes. He takes your hands in his again, fervently promising, “I am aware that greater forces may have rushed our union, but I want you to know. I will love and cherish you with my whole heart.”

For several days, you get to bask in your renewed peace, finding solace in returning to your habits and focusing on the wedding preparations. While your mother’s coldness remains, you don’t let her behavior cast a pale on your happiness. Besides, she will be compelled to acknowledge your efforts over time, how much you strive to do nothing but bring pride to your house. You may have faltered on Giedi Prime, yielded to your baser instincts. But it is all in the past. 

The dusky planet will fade. Feyd-Rautha will fade. And soon, memories of your life with Paul will replace those fleeting moments of weakness. 

So, for a while, all is well, your mind at rest and your spirits lifted. All is well... until nothing is.

Until a handmaiden brutally tears you from your slumber one morning.

“My lady, you must awake now,” she whispers, urgency laced in her tone.

“Arisha…The Devil himself must sleep at this hour,” you groan, burying your head in your soft, comfortable pillow.

A Harkonnen ship just pierced through the Caladan exosphere. Its landing is imminent.”

Dread shoots through you.

The news has you leaping out of bed, abruptly hurling you into a state of complete wakefulness.

You whirl towards her.

“A Harkonnen ship?” you screech, your voice wavering. 

“Yes, my Lady,” Arisha confirms.

Your mind throbs as alarm pulses through you. A Harkonnen ship…here on Caladan? This isn’t just strange. It is unprecedented.

“Help me get dressed, at once,” you command, already shedding your nightgown.

You rush to get ready, joining your family as they hop on an aircraft to reach the landing site. Your chest is tight the entire time.

When you arrive, a striking scene welcomes you. On one side of the large landing strip, the Atreides army stands proudly, flanking the Duke and his family, while on the other there is a Harkonnen battalion, accompanied by a large swarm of Sardaukar soldiers.

A thick layer of tension coats the air, so palpable you feel its weight on your skin as you join the Atreides’ side. Both sides are poised for battle, ready to draw their weapons and unleash hell if need be. The fresh morning Caladan breeze is heavy with the threat of imminent bloodshed. Your gaze drifts to the mighty Duncan Idaho. The swordmaster’s face is uncharacteristically stern, the usual cockiness he dons gone from his features.

You swallow past the dryness in your throat.

You pivot to Thufir Hawat, the Atreides’ mentat. A hushed question rushes through your lips. “Thufir, how much will it cost them, traveling this far from Giedi Prime to Caladan?”

The mentat’s orbs gloss over with a white veil as his genetically altered mind runs calculations faster than any regular human could. Within a few seconds, he supplies a precise answer. “Two guild navigators, a total of one million two hundred ninety thousand fifty three and a quarter solaris round trip, my Lady.”

You release a quivering breath. The cost of the trip alone has a pang of foreboding twist your insides. Who squanders such a vast amount of solaris over a courtesy visit in enemy territory? 

Only a fool or a madman would do such a thing.

Your eyes travel across the field. A familiar dark gaze corrals yours. Your heart skips a beat. For brief seconds, familiar pale lips rise in a taunting smile.

 A shudder rocks through your frame. You lower your eyes, keeping them on the grass.

Him? Here? On your beloved Caladan? Adrenaline pumps through your blood, your pulse spiking. A frown forms on your brow. Sense is amiss here. You thought him a beast, driven by nothing but violence and lust. But as you take in the scene unfolding before you, the two enemy armies trapped in a standstill, you understand more clearly. 

This is not some impulsive, foolish attempt. This is a calculated move. No side can hurt each other this openly without annihilating each other and causing a global, intergalactic incident. The other houses of the Landsraad would be forced to declare allegiance for one side or the other. The Imperium would be compelled to respond. Chaos would erupt. 

And it’s blatant the na-Baron knows it, a smugness etched on his face despite standing in enemy fields.

You are so consumed by your raging train of thoughts that you nearly miss the tail end of the conversation between the Duke, your father and him.

Shock bolts through you when you catch the suggestion that he should stay in your family’s estate.

Indignation pulses through your words.

“In our home, father?”

Your father shoots you a withering glance. Your head dips as you bite your tongue. No protest should have risen from it. As an Earl’s daughter, your opinion in such matters is irrelevant. So despite the frustration and horror swelling inside you, you bind every objection to the cage of your sealed lips.

His gristly, arrogant baritone booms across the field.

“In light of the…belligerent history House Harkonnen and House Atreides share, I believe it may be ill-advised for me to stay at Castle Caladan.” Despite your bowed head, you can paint a vivid picture of the haughty smile stretched on his lips as he says, “And since our two houses have grown undeniably close, thanks to your daughter’s most skilled, clever tongue...” Your heart races as you quietly pray no one present deciphers the lewd implication behind his words. “It is where I shall take residence for the duration of my stay.”

 Later that same day, Feyd-Rautha wastes no time in finding you, making the purpose of his visit clear when he sneaks into your chambers. His reflection in your vanity mirror as you remove your headdress startles you. 

You jump to your feet.

“Guards?” you call sharply.

He cocks his head, a smirk ghosting over his plump lips.

“Guards?” he repeats, openly mocking you. “I have Harkonnen soldiers at your door, my darling.”

A shudder ripples through your spine. You lift your chin, your tone firm and commanding as you say, “You can’t be here, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. It is inappropriate.”

He snorts.

“Inappropriate?” A predatory look crosses his features as his dark gaze roams over you, seeming to peel the layers of your dress. “I do not recall that being an issue when I had you spread over my cock back on Giedi Prime.”

Heat rushes to your face at his lewd reminder. 

“Y-You must leave,” you insist, fighting to quell the tremor in your voice.

“Or what?” he challenges, taking slow, lithe steps in your direction. Your pulse soars. “Will you scream?” A crooked slant appears on his mouth, the prospect clearly filling him with great delight. He hums low in his throat. “Then how will you explain my presence in your chambers?”

You recoil, every hair on your body bristling as he inches closer. The realization that you are alone with him, with no help coming, that power you held before now robbed from you, has dread steadily mounting inside you. On Giedi Prime, he was a leashed monster, one you felt you could sway as you like. Here in your room, he is a ravenous creature, hungry for blood and retribution. One you no longer have control over. 

You dash towards the exit. He smoothly impedes your attempt at escaping, his fingers fastening around your wrist while he grabs your body from behind. He yanks you backwards, pulling you against his chest.

“Not so fast,” he sneers. His tongue slips out to drag across your temple. You wince, jerking in his embrace to free yourself. You bend over him and sink your teeth in the flesh of his arm. He purrs in pleasure, his hold on you tightening. His gravelly whisper summons goosebumps on your skin. “Oh darling, such a slippery one you are, always trying to run from me whenever things start to become most…interesting.”

He hauls you to your bed. Your heels dig into the ground to resist. His patience fizzles out and he throws you onto the carpeted floor instead. The clamor of your drumming heart rises to a crescendo in your ears. He looms over you, his body caging yours. Terrorized, you gape at him, an helplessness you never felt before pulsing through your veins. Your chest heaves rapidly, alarm widening your gaze as he reaches down to pull down his black pants. His erect, alabaster cock slips free, the swollen tip already shimmering with the evidence of his need. A scream dies in your throat when his fingers wrap around your neck, bruises already forming in his painful grip.

You thrash beneath him, clawing and biting every part of him you can reach. Your feistiness only serves to galvanize him further. A demented look of amusement decorates his handsome face as you struggle underneath his frame. His throbbing length pokes your stomach. You kick your legs, desperation radiating through your chest. He places himself between your thighs, pushing your dress out of the way until it’s bunched around your waist. A raspy sigh leaves him as he nudges his thick, leaking tip against your dry entrance.

Terror sings through your veins.

He revels in every bit of fight you give him, plucking satisfaction in watching you exert yourself to delay the inevitable. A hungry wolf toying with a lamb before sinking his teeth. Even as you grab the dagger hidden under your skirts and try to stab him, he’s undeterred, the flicker of surprise shifting to a smile when you nick his shoulder blade. He wrenches it from your hand with little effort, once more demonstrating that whatever frail control you thought you ever had…was just an illusion. You squeal in pain as he twists your wrists above your head, his steely grip nearly snapping your bones.

“No…don’t you dare,” you hiss, the confidence in your voice faltering as you feel him push inside you. 

His warm breath brushes over your face. “I traveled across the stars to find you again. I will take what is rightfully mine.”

Your back folds as he spears you with his cock. The room blurs around you, the sudden searing pain as he begins to move inside you almost knocking you unconscious. He never took you like that. Like an animal in heat, desperate to reach his high. You choke on your breath with every one of his quick, feral thrusts.

His lips sweep over yours, ravenous and possessive. You bite him and he growls, somehow growing harder inside you. His sick enjoyment of this makes you shudder. He fondles your soft flesh, groaning into the bloody kiss. Black teeth trail possessive bites along the quivering column of your neck. His hands feel everywhere on your reluctant flesh, the weight of him suffocating as his greedy mouth tastes yours.

“You thought you could toy with me and toss me aside when it pleased you,” he rumbles, squeezing your jaw. His fingers dig painfully into your cheeks. “I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. I am not some spoiled little princess’ toy.”

The last remnants of bravado inside you are swiftly pushed by the hasty, merciless snap of his hips into yours. You try to ignore the horrid heat gathering in your lower belly, the spasms rocking through your core every time he hits those tender spots he’s come to know too well.

“I’m delighted to see your body hasn’t forgotten me, darling,” he taunts, yanking a drawn-out whimper from you as his cock punches through your walls.

Your chest grazes his, his form draping over yours as you sag against the floor of your bedroom, completely defeated.

“Please…” The desperate, feeble cry falls from your tongue in a last ditch effort to get him to stop. It only makes him smile down at you, a glint of victory illuminating his dark orbs. Tears well up in your eyes as you grow overwhelmed with fear, confused and terrified by the way your body yields to him. Your walls constrict around him, hugging his cock as if welcoming the assault. A wave of sickness spreads through you.

His tongue traces a slow path across your cheek, collecting the salty trails streaming down your face. He moans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Your tears taste sweeter than I could have imagined. Almost as sweet as that tight cunt of yours.” He licks his lips. “Perhaps I shall aim to make you cry for me more often.”

When his warm spent glazes your ruined walls, his sweat-covered muscular frame covers yours. He remains buried inside you, crudely pushing back the sticky excess with his fingers. You shiver beneath him, weeping quietly, forever destroyed, forever changed. 

Head nestled in the crook of your neck, he whispers, “We shall see how well my seed blossoms in your garden, my darling.”

“I do not understand,” Paul says, turning a dismayed frown upon you. “You are to be his willing bride?”

Swallowing a deep breath, you recollect the events that have led you here. Led you to stand here before the members of House Atreides, before your fiancé, to announce that you will not marry Paul. Led to you disgracing yourself and your house.

The wayward memories slip through your grieving mind.

Focusing on their conversation is hard, the discomfort in your body making it hard to walk properly. Feyd-Rautha relishes your torment, occasionally tossing taunting glances at you above his shoulder, a secretive smirk hovering on his lips. Your fingers clench in your lap. He insisted your father give him a tour of the castle this morning, and as his supposed ‘friend’, you are naturally expected to be present. Nevermind the sickness and resentment taking hold of you whenever you look at him.

As the tour nears its end, your father asks, “Do you have everything you need, na-Baron, or do you require any further accommodations?”

Feyd-Rautha hums, as if he were truly mulling over this offer.

“Any further accommodations?” He smirks, pausing before resting his eyes on you. “I suppose your daughter’s hand in marriage will do.”

Your head snaps up, a stunned exhale bursting from your mouth.

Your father turns a puzzled frown towards the ivory-skinned young man.

“My daughter’s hand? Is this a joke?”

There isn’t a hint of mischief on the na-Baron’s face, his expression deadly serious, making your father realize…his request must be as serious. He halts in his tracks, the smile vanishing from his face.

Feyd-Rautha approaches your father, ordering rather than asking, “Cancel the match with Atreides, old man, and give your daughter to me instead.” He snickers. “Her virtue is already mine anyway.”

This sends your father into a blind rage. He draws out his sword and lunges himself at the na-Baron.

“You rascal. I will teach you-”

Your father was a great warrior once, a fearsome force on the battlefield. Duncan Idaho himself would attest to that, having fought at his side several times. 

…But that was decades ago. Nowadays with his body slowed down by age, he is no match for the quick, ruthless Feyd-Rautha. He barely gets the opportunity to swing his sword at the young man once before Feyd-Rautha guides his blade below his chin and through his skull. Blood gurgles from your father’s mouth, raining over his neck and clothes before he falls into a heap on the floor. 

Your stomach drops. You watch in horror at his split skull, matter spilling from it across the tiles, his rolled back eyes, his still open mouth. 

You sink to the floor, crawling to his corpse. Fresh blood stains your palms as you cradle his head.

“Father!” Tears blur your sight. You lift your eyes, yelling out orders with a broken voice. “Guards! Detain him!”

Shock ripples through you as the guards ignore you, staring ahead blankly as if the gruesome scene before them didn’t exist. 

Feyd-Rautha kneels at your side. He frames your chin, bending over your shoulder to whisper, 

“Oh darling, do you not understand?” You hear the wicked smile in his raspy baritone. “Your house isn’t your house anymore. It is mine.” Ice bursts through your veins. His gravelly voice lowers, as if he were sharing a secret with you. “Do you wish for your sisters and mother to meet the same fate?”

Your chin wobbles in his grasp. “N-No.”

He strokes the side of your face.

“Then do everything I say.”

 “Y-Yes, my Lord,” you reply with a tremulous nod.

Ire trembles through Paul’s voice, his fingers clenching into fists at his side. Disbelief and hurt contort his boyish features.

“I do not believe it. I do not believe you,” he says, pinning you with an unflinching stare. You lower your gaze. You can hardly believe it yourself. How your entire life fell apart, your future in ruins…your father’s blood now on your hands. You blink back budding tears and take a deep breath to thwart any hint of trembling in your voice. You’re grateful for the funeral veil concealing your expression. “I apologize for breaking the promise my father made.”

Paul’s jaw clenches.

“You’re lying.”

“Son…” Leto Atreides begins, a slight warning in his tone. 

“There is something she isn’t telling me, father,” Paul insists, his green gaze narrowing. “Speak the truth.”

You shiver before feebly uttering, “My Lord…”

“Silence!” You flinch at the sudden wave of power engulfing you, forcing you into quietness as if someone snatched your tongue from your mouth. You release a shaky breath, staring up at Paul in shock. The Voice. Paul used the Voice on you. A Bene Gesserit skill meant to make the target bow to the user’s will. Your wide-eyed gaze rests on Paul. You never expected him to use this on you. As if you were some enemy he needed to interrogate.

His anger cracks in the air like a whip.

“I said…Speak the truth,” he snaps, using the Voice again. 

A great pain settles in your body, pins and needles coursing through it. Sweat breaks out on your skin. Words tear from your throat on their own, aching  as they spring from your tongue. 

“I offered myself to him on Giedi Prime,” you blurt out.

Your hands fly to your mouth as soon as the words pour out of you. Your eyes fill with tears. Paul looks at you in a way he never has before. Like you’re a stranger. Your heart sinks.

“I see. So it is true.”

Meanwhile, at your side, Feyd-Rautha basks in every second of the spectacle, twisted mirth swaying in his dark orbs. He hasn’t said more than a few words during the whole exchange but it’s clear he’s plucking joy from this, reveling in your misery.

Paul nods, stepping away from you.

“You are dismissed, my Lady. You may go to your future husband.”

Paul’s icy timbre shatters what is left of your heart. He turns his back to you and you feel more alone than you ever have in your entire life. Your lips clamp shut, a cold wave setting all the way to your bones. 

Even Paul’s parents, the Duke and your aunt the Lady Jessica appear disappointed in you, their eyes bereft of its usual warmth as they watch you leave with the enemy.

You have nothing, no one. Just the monster beside you. Your soon-to-be husband, who won your hand through bloodshed and deception.

Feyd-Rautha’s hand curls around your waist, guiding you towards his starship. With every step you take, further away from the Atreides castle, you feel more hollow.

“Come with me, my love. Let us go home to Giedi Prime,” the monster whispers.

You don’t put up a fight as you’re nudged inside the vessel, silently accepting your defeat. Feyd-Rautha plants a deep, slow kiss on your lips and you passively let it happen. 

You admire the beautiful green fields of Caladan one last time before the doors close. An errant tear skips over your cheek. You likely will never see your planet again. And even if by some miracle you could return, you would be the enemy to all of them…even to your own family, who holds you responsible for Father’s untimely demise.

You peer down at your hands. If you let your mind wander, you start to relive that awful moment. That moment your father’s wet, warm blood coated your hands, dripping between your fingers. You will never wash off the stain, shed the guilt. 

You wanted to feel the flames, experience the full-blown heat of something thrilling and new. Something you never had in your tedious, predictable existence before.

You in fact got to feel this heat. You walked through the fire and the flames consumed everything you held dear.

And now you stand amidst the ashes, everything you ever knew ripped from you forever. 

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha #dune #dune part 2 #feyd-rautha harkonnen #dark!fic

[snooyaki]

이찬연 — BARISTA BOY ☂︎ CH. I

a/n: my first ever written work on tmblr wooo 🥳 if this receives good feedback i’ll be willing to turn this into a series! hope you enjoy 💗

‘DONT CRY … DONT CRY.’ anton repeated to himself, feeling the lump forming in his throat as his eyes couldn’t help but begin to grow glossy. having a full mental breakdown in the middle of brewing up a coffee for a costumer was not an option for the boy. anton sniffled, a shaky exhale releasing from his trembling lips as he finished off his cappuccino with his signature leaf art. what a sad looking leaf it was. anton took a deep exhale, placing the coffee cup down as he pushed it forwards against the counter. ‘speak… you can do it..’

“o-order for minyoung?” anton’s delicate voice cracked.

the boy mentally cussed at himself, watching in fear as the scary woman he had encountered earlier stomped her way up to the counter, anton flinching with every clack of her heels. the woman’s sharp wrinkly eyes glared daggers at the anxious boy who couldn’t help but gulp at the sight.

“finally got my order right??” the woman’s icy tone spat, as anton quickly nodded his head. “y-yes maam… i apologize again for the inconvenience…” anton managed to speak despite his heart rate going off the charts.

anton was having a shitty day.

the boy had woken up that morning and not a thing was going his way. he had slept through his alarm and missed his bus on the way to work, resulting in being scolded by his manager. he had burned himself on one of the steamers, causing a mug to fall and shatter. not to mention the rude customers. anton did not know what was going on today, as it seemed that everyone was not having a good day. especially him.

anton was an emotional boy, one who got overwhelmed easily. today was taking a toll on him. it was mentally and physically draining to contain his tears and his thoughts. he just needed to make it through the day, he kept telling himself.

“excuse me,”

anton paused, eyes widening slightly in realization. he had been staring down at the cash register lost in his thoughts as a customer was patiently waiting for him to come back to his senses. god he was embarrassed. could this day get any worse? the boy lifted his head, ready to apologize to the customer before his words got stuck in his throat at the sight before him.

“… hi,” y/n smiled warmly, gazing up at anton with kind yet curious eyes. “you’re anton lee … right?” her soft voice rang out, a bright and comforting aura radiating off the girl.

anton stared at the girl in disbelief, the tips of his ears slowly beginning to turn a deep shade of red. out of all days his crush could have shown up at his work, it just had to be today? anton shook his head as he snapped back to his senses, a soft chuckle and forced smile came from the boy.

“yeah … yeah that’s me.” he spoke, rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly, before meeting her gaze. “you’re y/n l/n … right?”

of course, anton knew who she was. everyone in their school knew who she was. y/n was a star student, known for her good grades, kind soul, and her beauty. it wasn’t a surprise that anton began crushing on y/n in the beginning of tenth grade after being in three out of the six classes a day for a whole year. it had all started the first day of school, when y/n had spoken to him for the first and the last time.

ೀ

“excuse me!” a hurried voice spoke, catching anton’s attention as the boy curiously turned around, his gaze instantly shooting down. there she was, in all her glory.

y/n gazed up at the boy with a kind smile, holding out a familiar navy-blue notebook in front of the boy. “here, your notebook. you left it in the classroom.” she hummed, as anton’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“oh …” anton muttered, slowly taking the notebook from the girl, a small smile lifting on his lips.

anton could feel his heart beating out of his chest as he stared at her pretty smile. “thanks …” he had managed to speak, before the girl had nodded her head.

“of course,” y/n smiled, before retreating to her friends. anton watched as she walked down the hallway, laughing and giggling with her friends. he watched her until she had disappeared in the large crowd of students.

“anton…?” sohee spoke, not snapping the boy out of his daydreams.

“anton… why are you so red?!”

  ೀ

although of course, anton had no intentions on pursuing her. y/n was way out of his league, or that’s what he believed. he was a silent admirer and planned on keeping it that way.

well, until today.

the girl nodded her head enthusiastically at anton’s question, delighted that he had remembered her name. “mhm! i didn’t know you worked here… this is quite a famous coffee shop.” y/n chuckled softly in attempts to make small conversation with the quiet boy.

anton felt his heart skip a few beats at the sound of her melodic giggle, nibbling his lip anxiously before nodding his head. “ive been working here for a few months now…” anton spoke, his eyes not being able to trail away from the girl’s face as she scanned the menu. anton couldn’t get his eyes off her. it was like he was stuck in a trance, analyzing every feature on her face. her beauty marks, her hair, the way her eyes sparkled excitedly while deciding what she was going to drink.

“make me your favourite order here. i want to try something new.” y/n eagerly spoke, taking anton for surprise. he had never had a customer ask for that before, but he was willing to do it. especially for her.

anton finally gathered the courage to show a little smile, nodding his head in approval at her request. “sure. i’ll make you something good.” anton stated, earning an excited smile from the other.

anton didn’t know what was with him in that moment. he felt a surge of confidence rise. ‘its now or never …’.

“it’s on me,” anton added, his eyes gazing down at his crush, watching as her expression quickly falter. anton rang it through the register before she was able to protest, chuckling at the sight of her shoulders falling in defeat.

“you didn’t have to do that anton…” y/n frowned, almost as if she was glaring at him in disappointment. anton looked down at the floor, a soft blush rising over his cheeks mentally preparing himself to meet her eyes again.

“but… i wanted to.” anton managed to say, his eyes searching for a reaction from the girl.

anton swore he saw her blush. he swore by it, but the self-doubt was convincing him otherwise. he couldn’t tell if he was imagining things. “it’ll be ready at the end of the counter.” anton then added, snapping y/n out of her thoughts.

the girl then showed off her signature smile, letting out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding in. “thank you anton.” she hummed.

anton’s day was suddenly, not so shitty anymore. he couldn’t help but smile as he made her order the whole time, silently giggling to himself as he thought. he talked to you. he had finally talked to you again. something he had been meaning to do for two years. it finally happened.

anton gazed down at the cup, focusing hard on the heart he hadn’t even realized he made on your latte, resulting in a soft blush when he came to his senses. anton grabbed a lid, placing it over the cup as he let out a soft exhale in preparation before making his way towards the end of the counter.

“order for y/n!” he called out, catching her attention.

y/n gazed up from her phone, shutting it off as she stuffed it into her jacket pocket. the girl then made her way over to anton, grabbing the cup from the shy boy. she examined the way he had written her name. ‘y/n ᵕ̈ ‘ it read in his hand writing. she felt like she could stare at it for days, as a smile began slowly spreading over her face. y/n gazed up at the boy, letting out a soft chuckle. “thank you again anton.” she beamed, as anton gazed down at his feet, flustered.

“of course, y/n.”

the two shared a soft gaze, both in a comfortable silence unable to rip their gazes away, until you had spoken up. “i’ll see you at school…” y/n spoke, not breaking eye contact with anton once before slightly hesitating her next words. “dont be a stranger.” she stated, watching as anton shook his head at the girl. “i wont.” he stated back.

anton watched as the girl then began making her way out of the coffee shop. it saddened him a bit, to see her leave, her figure slipping past the door. but after his encounter with you, he couldn’t have been happier. anton stood there, smiling like an idiot. there were hearts practically surrounding the boy in love.

maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

— nari ¨̮

#ˋ ୨୧ ˊTAGS !

#snooyaki ¨̮ #anton lee #anton x reader #riize anton #riize x reader #anton lee x reader #riize #riize imagines #anton imagines #kpop #anton fluff #anton fic #anton scenarios #anton #anton x y/n

[niiine]

𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐋

Character(s). Xiao, Scaramouche, Kazuha x Reader (Separate, ofc). Mentions of Venti, Heizou, and Aether.

Synopsis. In which they keep on denying having feelings towards you but then becomes hella possessive and gatekeeping experts when someone shows interest.

Modern! AU, Fem! Reader (I'm so sorry for putting this so late T^T)

Fluff

Tsundere! Scara and Xiao, as usual, and Shy Kazu bebi.

NOT PROOFREAD, please don’t expect.

Xiao

He’s just tolerating you.

Or so he says. But Aether always finds it amusing how you can pester XIAO from time to time and get out of it with just a sigh from the golden eyed lad.

Like today, for example.

- As an introvert, powernap at the university’s roof top is like a holy grail for Xiao. He treasures it so much that the moment the bell signifies lunch, he’ll dash out of the room in a heartbeat. His friends know better than to disturb him else they receive some icy words. But somehow, much to Venti’s amusement, Xiao let you crash his solace and talk his ears out on days that you feel like doing so. Pretty privileges. Venti thought, before gushing it out with their friend group.

Heizou tried to make him confess that he is head over heels for you. He just finds it so funny how Xiao keeps denying his very obvious crush on you. Come on, he’s pretty sure that he’s not the only one who notice how Xiao’s sharp eyes keeps drifting back to you every time.

“You don’t look at me like how you look at her!”

“No. It’s just that it hurts my eyes when I see you.”

It’s the talk of the group for like a week. How they would see Xiao being such a gentleman when you’re in the room, his patience longer than they’ve ever seen, and more.

“Just admit it lover boy. You simp for (name)” Scaramouche pointed out. A sinister thought playing in his mind.

-  “I told you, I don’t. She’s just much tolerable than the rest of our classmates” The questioned man rolled his eyes, not entertaining the idea because even if he does, he’s a hundred and ten percent sure that you’re not in love with him. “Well, if that’s true, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I go after her?” the indigo haired man piped, only to be met by daggers sent through Xiao’s eyes. Eerie silence filled the room until Scara raised his hands in the air, satisfied smirk decorating his lips, “I’m kidding.” (Much like what he had done in this one.)

“Thought so.”

Scaramouche

This man is so obvious it hurts.

And also, he’s extra mean to you. He wants your attention babe, believe me.

“Hah! I can do that better. You suck.”, “What? Speechless because you’re so in love with me?”

No, it’s the other way around and SCARAMOUCHE KNOWS IT.

But like, you don’t believe his attitude towards you because his actions say otherwise.

- “You’re an idiot. Acting so high and mighty while being pathetically weak.” And then he proceeds to help you pick up the books that have fallen from your grasp and took the remaining ones on your arms to carry it himself.

- “Heh. You think he’s gonna like you back by helping him out? No way you’re uglyyy” “I don’t like him idiot. I have to do this, so he’ll pay me nice and good” you rolled your eyes and he sighs in relief.

He’s actually pretty close to you since you’re friends since middle school.

Venti and Heizou will call the two of you an old married couple because of the continues bickering. Of which Scara will return with disgusted look because no, He can’t have it get to him because he will lose you if he does.

But his friends know otherwise. They notice how careful the man when it comes to you, how observant he is when you’re involved, etc. And besides, Venti just feels it.

And Venti turns out right (again) when their group passed by two students who are obviously gushing over you and one of them spot Scara.

- “Just confess to (name)! You wouldn’t know until you try.” One of them says, and Scara’s ears perked up at the sound of your name. “But aren’t they like with that scary dude?” cue Venti and Heizou snickering in the background. This resulted to the two met gazes with them. Their knees tremble at the sight of your bestfriend. His usually playful eyes now dark and looming—and it’s directed at them.

“Yes,” he started menacing look present in his lovely, porcelain face. “they’re taken by the scary dude.”

The two ended up running and Venti and Heizou needs to be intervened by Aether for them to stop laughing.

“Hey scary dude. I thought you didn’t like her?” Venti teased, and Aether just sighed.

“Shut up”

Kaedehara Kazuha

This man is a gentleman you wouldn’t notice anything if you’re not as observant as Heizou.

He smiles so gentle with anyone, he talks with utmost respect, this guy right here is the epitome of prim and proper.

“But he’s always giddy when he’s talking to them” Heizou pointed out to Venti one day, to which the latter ended up agreeing to. Because now that he mentions it, Kazuha really seems so excited talking to you.

His eyes literally sparkles when you’re in the room, and his smiles are wider and brighter than usual when talking to you.

And in addition to that, KAEDEHARA KAZUHA always go out of his way for you.

- “Kazuha?” The man turns to you, a tender smile immediately making its way to decorate his face, “Yes, (name)?”. “I made a (a dish with gourd in it). Would you like some?” And oh, the man will munch on it like it’s his most favorite thing on the whole Teyvat, only it’s not. He hates bitter gourd. But to make you happy? Give it all to him and he’ll eat it with the sweetest smile.

The lad also does everything in his capability to be near you. You need something from the cafeteria? He needs to buy something as well. You suck at this one subject? He’ll offer to teach you. You accidentally have no partner in light stretching for P.E? He, too!

But it seems like this fact hits Venti and Heizou earlier than him, as they can also see clear signs that Kazuha is not aware of his own feelings.

That’s why they took it to their own hands. They must help their friend in need you know! So, they did the most obvious thing one should do,

They asked him.

- “Zuhaa,” Venti piped in as Heizou placed his arms around Kazuha’s shoulder. “We’re wondering, do you perhaps fancy (name)?”. They received a soft chuckle from the lad. A very composed answer left his lips. “(Name) is certainly beautiful and wonderful individual,” he smiles and cleared his throat. Bashful and shy from his words, “But I am afraid I have to say no to you question.” The other two expected this. ALL their friends are like this, Kazuha is not the first one, so they know what to do. “Ohh That’s great!” Venti exclaimed, as if excited at the new found information before turning to Heizou, “You can pursue them then!”

Kazuha’s heart almost stopped at his friends’ words, so Heizou like you? Of course, he does. You’re beautiful and kind and gentle, and more. It’s only natural to like you. But he wants you! And words left his lips before he can keep it shut.

“No, they’re mine!”

Awe, the usually composed and collected Kazuha now red and ashamed of what he has done. The back of his hand failing miserably at trying to hide the red hue that painted his face down to his neck.

The other two looked at the outburst of their friend before erupting into laughter.

“Not if you don’t confess soon enough” Heizou said in between laughs and Kazuha sent him a sharp look. Face still beet red.

“Don’t do that again” he warned the other two, now caught up on their antics.

#xiao imagines #xiao fluff #xiao x reader #xiao icons #venti #xiao x oc #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #genshin impact x you #xiao genshin impact #genshin impact xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #gi xiao #adeptus xiao #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche x reader angst #scaramouche #genshin impact kunikuzushi #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #scara x reader #scara x y/n #scara x you #kazuha kaedehara #kaedehara kazuha x you #yae publishing house

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 10

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Praise Kink - Hyunjin

Word Count: 11.7K

Summary: As a lead detective in the police department, you've been assigned to solve a serial killer case, but you've hit a point where you can no longer work on the case by yourself. Hwang Hyunjin, the golden child of the police department and your sworn rival, is assigned as your partner.

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

You have officially run out of red string. 

The cork board in the conference room doesn’t have any more open spaces for new leads or clues. You can’t even see the brown of the board anymore. 

Instead of whittling information down, you’ve only come up with more suspects for the case. 

It’s better than the case going cold, sure, but it feels like you’re getting further and further from actually solving the damn thing. 

It also doesn’t help that you not only have Chief Bang breathing down your neck, but the entire city as well. You understand, really, everyone wants a killer to be caught. 

But these sort of things take time. 

And they usually don’t have a million and thirty leads. Typically, you were lucky to have one. 

Everyone in the city has a tip. And you have to check each and every single one. 

Three sharp knocks draw your exhausted attention away from the board. 

“Come in!” You call out. 

The door clicks open and dress shoes click on the floor. 

“I think you’re going to need another cork board soon, Detective.”

Your mood curdles like milk. 

“What do you want, Hwang?”

Hwang Hyunjin, the department’s top detective and your least favorite person in the world.  

Every case he touches is solved. Every last one of them. But maybe— just maybe— it’s because he gets to pick and choose which ones he’s assigned to. 

The golden child of the police department. The biggest, cockiest pain in the ass you’ve ever met. 

He clicks his tongue and walks up to the conference table you’re leaning against. 

“I have a whole new stack of tips for you.” 

The sound of a thick stack of papers hits the table, you cringe. 

You haven’t even finished going through the last stack. 

“And I am once again humbly offering my assistance on this case.”

You look over at him for the first time tonight. His long black hair is pulled back with a few strands dangling in front of his face. 

He wears a pressed dress shirt, black tie, black vest, and slacks. 

Truly, it looks like he popped off a magazine cover and you hate it. 

“And I am humbly declining. I can handle this on my own, thank you.” 

Your own heels click along the floor as you come around the conference table to sit down in front of the first stack of papers. 

Hyunjin shoves his hands in his pockets and meanders closer to the cork board. 

He looks up and down all the different leads, the ever expanding list of suspects, murder weapons, locations. He’s silent for a long moment. 

The only sound in the room is the clock ticking on the wall. 

What time is it anyway? You’ve been here since 4 AM when a call came in about another victim. The bags under your eyes surely look like bruises at this point. 

Since you started on this case two months ago there hasn’t been a single night where you’ve gotten more than five hours of sleep. 

Words are blending together on the paper. Is the sun up?

Warily, you turn and eye Hyunjin, who’s still staring at the cork board. His head cocks to the side as he studies all the different clues littering the surface. 

He takes a deep breath and turns to look at you. You point an accusatory finger at him. 

“No! No, no. You’re not coming in here and solving my case that I’ve been working on for months!”

His mouth shuts, a smirk appears. 

Oh, you want to smack it off his face. 

“I was only going to say—“

“No! Nothing! I do not need your help! Get out of here!” You shoo him away. 

“L/N—“ he tries again. 

“Shut it!”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth while making his way to the door. 

You glare daggers into the back of his head, praying that a ceiling tile will miraculously fall and crush him. 

He grabs the door handle and walks into the hallway. Right before the door closes, he peeks his head in through the crack. 

“The killer is ambidextrous,” he says in a sing-songy voice. 

A frustrated, muted scream tears from your throat and you hurl the nearest object— which happens to be a metal cup full of pens and pencils— at the door. 

It shuts before the cup makes contact. 

Hyunjin’s laugh comes through the closed door and it only makes your blood boil more. 

You slam your head down onto the wood desk. 

“Of course he’s ambidextrous.”

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

“Detective L/N,” Chief Bang’s head pokes into the conference room. “Can I see you in my office please?”

You haven’t gone home yet. You’re in the same clothes as yesterday except now they’re more wrinkled. 

Nodding, you put down your pen and tell your chief you’ll be there in a minute. 

He hums and leaves the room. 

You rub the heels of your palms into your eyes to try and get the exhaustion out of them. 

About 100 ounces of coffee is flowing through your body but it’s doing nothing to wake you up, all it’s doing is increasing your heart rate. 

To anyone else who wanders through your police department, they might think you’ve escaped the morgue.

The walk to Chief Bang’s office was short. 

As soon as you step inside, your heart sinks. 

The chief sits behind his desk, but that’s not why your stomach turns. 

Hyunjin takes up one of the chairs, another freshly pressed suit on his body. 

The man is flawless and it makes you want to become a suspect for one of your cases. 

“Take a seat, detective.” Chief Bang motions to the other empty chair. 

Hyunjin looks up at you, arms crossed over his chest. A smug smirk pulls on his lips as he takes in your disheveled appearance. 

You tongue your cheek for a moment and flip your hair over your shoulder before sitting down. Your fingers iron out deep wrinkles in your pencil skirt. 

You try to maintain some level of pride. It’s comical, really.

“Now, I’ll cut right to the chase here, Y/N, it’s not that I don’t trust your abilities as a detective, I do.”

You deflate. 

“But this case is becoming too much for one person.”

Your jaw clenches. 

So badly you want to refute that claim, to tell Chief Bang that you have it handled, it’s no big deal. But that’s a lie and you both know it. 

And the smug asshole next to you definitely knows it. 

“Detective Hwang has kindly offered his assistance on the case, so I’m assigning him as your partner on this.”

You think for a moment. “Can I get a different partner? I think Detective Kim just closed his last case, meaning he’s available to help.” 

“Detective Kim started a new case this morning.”

“Detective Lee?”

“Busy.”

“Officer Yang?”

“He’s not even a detective.”

“What about Detective Seo?”

Chief Bang stays silent, deadpan eyes watch you. He cocks his head to the side. 

You sink back in the chair. 

“I specialize in homicide cases, L/N.” Hyunjin pipes up from next to you. “I’m the best one for the case and you know it.”

“Zip it, Hwang.”

Hyunjin scoffs. 

Chief Bang rolls his eyes, his patience obviously wearing thin. “Y/N, I’m going to need you to swallow your pride for the sake of the city. There’s a murderer on the loose, remember? You’re my top detectives, it would be stupid not to partner you together.”

You can’t meet his eyes, you look off to the side, crossing your arms over your chest. Anxiously, your leg begins to bounce.

“Put your personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

Silence falls over the room. Both of the men wait for you. 

It really doesn’t feel like you have a choice, here. Obviously, you don’t. 

“Fine.”

“Great!” Hyunjin taps his hands on the arms of the chair and then pops up. “I’m going to need access to all the files you’ve been looking at these past two months as well as the extra key to the conference room.”

He grabs his trench coat off the back of the chair. 

“I’ll also need you to catch me up to speed on the latest tips from civilians; you did have time to read those last night, right? Additionally, I think we should rearrange our hours so that we’re on duty together until this is solved.”

He makes his way towards the door. 

“Come on, L/N! We’ll discuss over coffee.”

You stare at Chief Bang. He offers you a slightly amused, slightly sympathetic smile. 

“Best of luck, detectives.”

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

The hot mug rests between both of your shaky hands. Hyunjin sat across from you in a large diner booth. 

Files littered the entirety of the top of the table. It’s all things you’ve seen before and practically have memorized by now. 

You explained everything you knew to him from the beginning, sparing no detail. 

College girls were all found murdered in their dorms. No security footage of anyone going in or out of the building that doesn’t belong there. 

Each victim is about two weeks apart. 

A half eaten fruit cup sits next to your coffee. ‘Fruit cup’ is a loose term since more than half of it was honeydew melon. 

Why can’t they just throw a few strawberries in there? Slice up a banana or toss a few blueberries in? They already have the fruit in the back for the pancakes, it would be so easy to—

“I don’t think this victim is from the same killer.”

Your head snaps up and you glare at Hyunjin. “Who?”

He slides the file across the table to you. “Andrea Bowman. She doesn’t fit the same profile as the other victims. All the others were blonde, Andrea has brown hair.”

You sip at your coffee, glazed eyes scanning the file. You’re simply too tired to keep up the anger.  

“I had thought the same thing at first. But according to the coroner, her time of death would put her as the first victim of the killer, first victims of serial killers tend to not fit the profile of the rest since it’s the first taste.”

Her autopsy stares up at you. 

“Plus, everything else is consistent with the rest, bruised wrists and ankles and a slit throat. They’re all college aged girls who went to the local community college.”

You slide the crime scene photos around, taking in all the details. 

“Maybe she wasn’t his victim.” One of her school photos peeks out from the bottom of the stack, you pick it up and look at it solemnly. “But something tells me she was his first.”

Hyunjin watches you closely, any rebuttal he had died on the tip of his tongue. 

Plates clatter in the kitchen.  

Your nose scrunches and you pack away Andrea’s file. 

“You said they all go to the same school?”

“Yeah, the community college.”

“Did they all study the same thing?”

You shake your head, taking another sip of coffee. “Nope, all different fields of study, all different extracurriculars. They didn’t even live in the same dorm building.”

Hyunjin leans back against the booth and picks up his iced coffee, taking a long sip while staring out the window. 

Your fingers run through your hair. “I requested their transcripts and class schedules from every year but I’m waiting on all those requests to process. With how slow the registrar’s office is taking you would swear they didn’t want this case solved.”

“Red tape always gets in the way.” Hyunjin reaches down in his pocket and takes his phone out, tapping a few buttons and then holding it up to his ear. 

You cock an eyebrow at him, he only holds up a finger at you. You scoff. 

“Dianne? Hi, it’s Hyunjin!… I’m doing so well, and you? … That’s great to hear! … Yes, yes those homemade cookies were to die for.”

Your mouth falls open a bit. Who in the hell was he talking to? Homemade cookies?

Throwing your hands up in front of your face, you give him a flabbergasted look. 

He narrows his eyes at you and gives you a look that says ‘be quiet’.

“Listen, I was actually calling to cash in a favor, I have a list of students I need transcripts and schedules of for a case. … I can email it over to you, it’s for the— … yes, yes that one.”

You slow blink at him. Does he have a contact at the registrar’s office? Of course he does, why wouldn’t he have one?

The golden child strikes again. 

“You’re a darling, Dianne, thank you. I’ll send it to you asap. … of course, say hello to Rob for me. Bye!”

He hangs up and puts his phone back on the table. 

Hyunjin takes one look at your face and shrugs. “What? I helped her with a personal matter when I was a P.I.”

If you roll your eyes anymore, they’ll go into the back of your head. 

“So do you have a list—“

You interrupt him. “Yeah.”

“Can you—“

“Mhmm.”

You finish your coffee and reach into your purse, digging out a ten dollar bill and tossing it onto the table. 

“Where are you going?” He asks you. 

“Home,” you respond simply while shuffling out of the booth. “I haven’t slept since Monday.”

Hyunjin looks down at the various files on the table. “What about the list?”

You move the files around and pull out one of the papers and place it in front of him. 

“It’s right here. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hwang.”

“Tomorrow? But what about—“

“If Dianne gets the list back to you, just forward it to me. I’ll look at it when I wake up.” Your voice is full of venom. 

“I really think we should look at it together.” His eyes narrow. “We’re partners on this, remember?”

“As if you would even need my help,” you spit out. “By the time I come in tomorrow, you’ll probably have the entire case solved, the perp arrested, and all the paperwork done before I even pour my coffee.”

The more you talk, the more your anger levels rise. You lean over him in the booth, one of your hands on the back of the seat to keep you balanced. 

Hyunjin’s eyes widen and he leans back as you go forward. 

“The golden boy will strike again, solving a case that I’ve been working on for months and getting all the credit. Because that’s just how good you are. Mr. Perfect. Everything about you is just amazing.”

He gulps and shifts around. A red tint creeps up on his face. 

And for the first time since you met him, Hwang Hyunjin is speechless. His mouth opens to say something several times but no sound comes out. 

“Now. If you’ll excuse me.” You stand back up and turn on a heel, leaving the diner and a very flustered detective behind. 

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

Knock after knock after knock after knock bangs on your apartment door. 

You’re not sure of how long whoever’s been knocking has been at it, but it takes you a solid thirty seconds to wake up fully. You had peacefully drifted into a very deep sleep the moment your head hit the pillow. 

The entire bedroom is pitch black, the sun no longer in the sky. The clock on your nightstand displays that it’s around 1 AM. 

“What the fuck?” You slur out. It’s so hard to open your eyes right now. 

The knocking persists.

With all the grace of a drunken newborn deer, you slither out of bed and make your way to your front door. 

You flip on a light on your way there. 

Staring through the peephole, a frown pulls at your face as soon as you see who’s banging on your door at this ungodly hour. 

You rip the door open, startling Hyunjin. His hand still hangs in the air when you open it. 

“Finally!” He shoves past you and into your apartment. 

“No, please, come on in.” You growl and shut the door, securing all the locks in place again. 

Behind you, you hear him slam a stack of papers onto your kitchen island. 

“I forwarded you the transcripts hours ago but you didn’t answer.”

“I told you I would look at them when I woke up.”

He takes in your disheveled appearance with judging eyes. Your hair was all frizzy and out of place, a loose t-shirt hung off one shoulder and was so big you couldn’t see the shorts underneath. 

His Adam’s Apple bobs with a swallow. 

It was obvious he wasn’t used to seeing you in such a relaxed state. He was still wearing his dress pants from earlier, but he only had a dress shirt on with his trench coat over the top. 

“You’re awake now, aren’t you?” He looks back down at the stack of files and opens them up, spreading papers everywhere. 

You come up to the table and look down at everything. 

Semesters of different class schedules stare back at you. Some have highlighted portions, others are still blank. He seems to have given up in the middle of doing it himself, opting to bring it here. 

You tongue your cheek, looking over what you can see so far.

It’s going to be a long night.

“I’ll make coffee.”

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

Hours have passed, the sleepiness and weariness of being woken up has been replaced by the delightful thrum of caffeine in your veins.

After about a half an hour of going through the transcripts, you quietly asked Hyunjin if he was alright with you playing music softly. 

He stared at you with wide eyes, “Ah, yeah, of course, that’s fine.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m just… not used to you asking for permission before doing something.”

Grumbling, you rolled your eyes and picked your phone up to scroll through playlists. You settled on a calmer one full of music from artists like Lord Huron and Tom Rosenthal. 

Since then the two of you have been silently going through each schedule. 

Biting the end of the highlighter absentmindedly, you study the class schedule. 

“I’m only seeing one similarity.” You say out loud. Hyunjin looks up. “This one class, it’s a gen ed Physics class. But each of these girls took it, all at different times though.”

“Which class?”

“PHYS 100. Same Professor– Dr. Furon.”

“Do you think we should bring the professor in for questioning?” he asks.

“Couldn’t hurt. Right now he’s the only common denominator. Is it anywhere on your transcript?”

Hyunjin flips through the pages. “Yep, right here, her freshman spring semester back in 2020.”

You pull out a sticky note and write down that info. 

“Can you go through each one and tell me when they took the course?”

Hyunjin gathers all the stapled packets of papers up. “Yeah.”

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

You and Hyunjin stood shoulder to shoulder looking through the one way glass. 

A near ninety year old man sat on the other side. 

“So,” Hyunjin says to break the silence. 

“So.”

“It can’t be him.”

“Obviously.”

Another long moment of silence. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to question him or should I?”

You sigh, watching as the professor fidgets with a loose string on his sweater sleeve. The officers had completely forgone the handcuffs, allowing him to sit at the table freely. 

They also rolled in a comfier chair and gave him a cup of coffee. 

“My case. I’ll do it.”

“ Our case.”

“Shut it, Hwang.”

You make your way into the interrogation room with a notepad tucked under your arm. 

The professor looks up as soon as you open the door. He shakily stands up from his seat with proper manners. 

You smile gently. “Dr. Furon, thank you so much for taking the time to come down.”

Both of you shake hands before sitting down. His grip is not firm whatsoever. 

Arthritis. 

“Oh, it’s no matter. Happy to be of help.”

You place the notepad down and scoot your chair in. “I’ll get right to it since I can see you’ll be our best help here. When analyzing the list of victims, we saw that each of them had taken your class before. It’s a small lead, I know, but it’s too much to sweep under the rug.”

He nods, listening carefully. He blanches and leans back. “I didn’t realize I had each of them. There are so many students in each section, there’s not enough time to learn names.”

He shakes his head. 

“I had recognized a few in the paper, but I try not to do too much digging, it hurts too much to look into. I don’t know how you detectives do it.”

You reach across the table and grab his hands warmly. “I feel the same way about physics, I don’t know how you do it. All those equations.”

Dr. Furon cracks a smile. “Someone has to. But I do have help with all my courses. Each student has a specific discussion section once a week with a smaller class size, but they’re all taught by graduate students.”

You jot that down on your notebook and lean your chair back. You knock once on the window.

“On it.” Hyunjin’s muffled voice comes through the glass. 

“Just one more question, Dr. Furon, I won’t take up any more of your time, this has been very valuable. Are there any students or people that you come in contact with that maybe trigger some alarm bells or a gut instinct?”

He shifts around, he really thinks about it. 

“I really can’t think of anything, detective, I’m sorry. The girls’ names that I recognize were normal students too, granted they weren’t the best, but I do know they were doing their very best. Breaks my heart.”

You scribble that down and stand up. 

“Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Furon. We greatly appreciate your help.”

He nods and stands up as well. “Of course, if I can do anything else, please give me a call.”

“If you think of anything else, here’s my card.” You reach across the table and hand him a small business card. 

You showed the professor out of the room, asking if he needed anything. He patted your arm sweetly before leaving. 

When you turn around, Hyunjin is standing there, waving a file around. 

You roll your eyes. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

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

Your apartment has become the unofficial meeting place for both you and Hyunjin once your shifts are over. The department wasn’t great for concentration. 

They say not to take work home with you, but your home is so much cozier. 

It’s only about 8 PM. Takeout containers take up a small portion of the kitchen island. 

Another pot of coffee is brewing. 

“So, between the victims, there are five different graduate students that taught their discussion sections. And one of them graduated last year.” Hyunjin flips through his notes. 

You run your hands through your hair. 

“So, four graduate students.”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. 

“Do we have any information on the four students?”

“No, but we have enough cause to bring them down to the station for questioning.”

You sigh and pick up your phone. “Let’s do that, then.”

A message is sent off to Chief Bang, he replies immediately saying he’ll contact them immediately and have them brought in and that he’ll call you when you can come in. 

“I just don’t think it was any of the graduate students.” Hyunjin adds, sliding papers around to grab a victim’s file. 

“I agree.”

He doesn’t seem to hear you. “Two of the graduate students are women— women don’t commit murders like this, the other two are masters in their field with promising careers.”

“I know, I agree with you, Hwang.”

“And I just don’t think that— wait, you agree?”

You stare at him with a blank expression. “Yes, I agree with you.”

He shifts around on the seat. His mouth opens and closes a few times before actually speaking. “You agree?”

Rolling your eyes, you place the papers down on the table. “Hwang, you know I would rather die than agree with you, but in this case, yes, I agree, I think you’re right.”

“Oh.”

Looking back down at the papers, you absentmindedly read a sentence in one of the witness statements. “I know you get the job done, I’m not going to put personal feelings before a case.”

Hyunjin fidgets more. “So, you think I’m a good detective?”

Is he serious?

You roll your eyes, still not looking up. “Yes, Hwang. Chief Bang has proclaimed you as one of the greatest detectives— everyone at the station knows that.”

“I just didn’t think you thought that way.”

“I’m not here to stroke your ego, Hwang.”

He clears his throat and shifts forward on his chair. “But do you , Y/L L/N, think I’m a good detective?”

Putting the paper down on the counter, you look up at him with a cocked eyebrow and a frown. “Really? Do your work.”

“Not until you say it.” He smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. 

Rolling your eyes, you look down once more. What was on this page again?

“Choke.”

Hyunjin takes a breath to say something, but your phone lights up with a call at the same time. Expecting it to be Chief Bang, you answer quickly. 

“Detective L/N.” 

“Detective!” An old voice comes from the other line. You pull your phone back to look at the unknown number and then bring it back to your ear. 

Hyunjin’s attention peaks at your confusion.

“It’s Dr. Furon, I apologize for calling so suddenly.”

“Oh, hi Doctor, it’s no trouble at all.” You look around for your notepad. 

“Put it on speaker,” Hyunjin hisses while leaning forward. You shoo him off. He reaches forward to grab the phone from you, you smack his hand. 

“I remembered something I didn’t get a chance to say earlier, I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it,” Dr. Furon continues. 

“That’s quite alright, it’s the reason I gave you my number. Now, what is it?” You grab a pen and a random piece of paper. 

Hyunjin reaches again, you smack his hand once more. “Speaker!” He grumbles again. 

Dr. Furon talks, unaware of the petty brawl happening on the other line. “All of the students that are struggling in my class, I point them to the tutoring center in the library. As far as I remember, the names that were in the paper, the ones I recognize at least, they were going to the tutoring center.”

Your eyes widen and you write it down quickly. 

Hyunjin’s patience wears out, he stands up from the counter and comes around to your side, his face dipping down to press his ear to the other side of the phone. 

“Is there only one tutor available for your class?” you ask, jotting down notes. 

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry. You know, now that I think of it, on their final exams, I give extra credit if they write down that they went to tutoring and name their tutor.”

“Do you have those exams?” Hyunjin asks into the phone. You reach over and flick his forehead. He swats your hand away. 

“Oh, Detective Hwang, how are you?” Dr. Furon says politely. 

“I’m doing very well, thank you.”

You go to smack him again, he once more swats your hand away.

The professor comes back to the conversation. “I have them but they’re in my office. Would you two mind coming to campus to get them tomorrow?”

“Of course,” both you and Hyunjin say at the same time. 

You sneer and push his face away. 

“Great!” Dr. Furon gives you all the details for tomorrow and the two of you hang up. 

Placing your phone on the counter, you stand up to get away from Hyunjin. 

“You could've put it on speaker.” 

“You could’ve been patient!” Grabbing the nearest object— a tissue box— you hurl it at him. 

Hyunjin only laughs and catches it. 

“Putting more coffee on?”

“Obviously.”

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

“It’s the same one,” you say incredulously, flipping through the exams that Dr. Furon had given the two of you. 

While you got the papers from the professor’s office, Hyunjin had gone to the tutoring center for a list of tutors. Apparently he had a connection there as well. 

The two of you now sat in the conference room with your original cork board to the side. New leads and pictures right smack in the middle. 

You had spent the day questioning the graduate students, but as you suspected, it was a dead end. No one knew anything. 

The exams spread over the table were the best lead. 

“It is,” he mutters in agreement and disbelief. 

“Eric Rowan.” 

“Do you think…?” Hyunjin trails off. 

“I do,” you state clearly. “I really do.”

Shaking your head, you flip through the exams over and over to make sure you’re right, to make sure you’re not looking past something. 

You’re not jumping to conclusions, are you?

Hyunjin suddenly stands up from the table and makes his way to the door. “I’ll have the chief get someone to bring him down to the station.”

He didn’t even give a second thought to your decision. 

The door clicks after him. The silence inside the room is deafening. 

It would be perfect if you could play music like you do at home. 

“Eric Rowan,” you whisper solemnly. 

One tutor from the library at the university. 

It would make sense. 

Hyunjin had managed to get Eric’s entire tutoring log, every student he’s ever tutored had been included. 

You were able to highlight each and every one of the girls’ names that were victims of these heinous crimes. There were about two weeks of time between their last tutoring session and when they were found dead. 

One name stuck out, one name brought you an endless sigh of relief: Andrea Bowman.  

It made your skin crawl, but you instantly noticed she was the first female he tutored during his time. 

Slowly, the pieces started clicking. Your throat got a bit tight, it was difficult to swallow the emotions. 

You look around and grab her file underneath a huge stack. Her school picture is the top photo paper clipped on the inside. 

Andrea’s smiling face will haunt you for a long time. 

Hyunjin came back into the room, you didn’t look up. 

“Chief just sent someone out to get him, we’re getting interrogation room two ready for him, I think that— L/N?”

Your head snaps up and you sniffle. 

“Sorry,” your voice is hoarse. 

He shifts his weight in the doorway. “Everything finally hitting?”

You bite your lip and look back at Andrea’s picture. “Yeah.” 

Standing up from the table, you close the file and tuck it underneath a few more. 

“The guy hasn’t even confessed yet, I’m getting ahead of myself here. It just makes too much sense. These girls stopped going to see him two weeks before he killed— supposedly killed them.

“It just reads so clearly. He probably made a move, they felt uncomfortable so they stopped seeing him for tutoring, he couldn’t face rejection, so he killed them. It’s fucking sick.”

You roll your shoulders and look up at the ceiling. “Am I being too hasty? It just feels right, like … like these girls are cheering for me and telling me I’m right.”

The door shuts behind Hyunjin. He weighs his words carefully and walks up to his jacket, grabbing it off the back of the chair he sat in before. 

Those perfectly polished dress shoes click on the floor. It echoes off of each wall. 

“There’s one thing I’ve always lacked as a detective.” He folds the trench coat over his arm and walks up to you. “It makes me so mad that I don’t have this, it would help with so many of my cases.”

You watch him warily. There’s a sad smile on his face as he takes in your frazzled mood. 

You’ve never worn your heart this freely on your sleeve before. 

With a sigh, he reaches up and taps on your forehead. “Women’s intuition.”

For the first time, you have no response for him. 

As far as Hwang Hyunjin goes, this is the closest you’ve ever gotten to a compliment from him, or even an acknowledgment of your skill. 

Your lips stay sealed. 

“I’ve never not trusted your judgment. Ever. If your gut is saying this is the guy, then this is him. When have you ever been wrong?”

Your mind is reeling. 

Did he just compliment you again?

Heat rises to your cheeks. Your stomach flips. 

“I’ve always been so jealous of that. You just… know.” He shrugs and looks around, a small tinge of pink on his cheeks. “When the pieces finally fit into place you’re fucking brilliant at solving everything so fast. What’s that about?”

A sad laugh tumbles from his lips.

“This case would’ve taken any other team months to solve, but you and I did it in two weeks. Maybe we should work together more often, Y/N.”

There’s no way he said that. 

He’s jealous of you?

And did he just call you by your first name?

He stares down at you for a couple of seconds. Maybe you were imagining it, but you could swear that his eyes flickered to your lips more than once. 

“Come on then, we have an interrogation to do.”

Hyunjin turns on a heel and makes his way to the door. 

“Thank you,” you call after him. Hyunjin’s hand pauses on the door handle. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t acknowledge what you did— the favor you just returned. 

He doesn’t speak on the new level that your relationship just crossed nor the mutual respect that you two just shared. 

Nothing. 

You don’t even get to see his face when you call him by his name for the first time. 

But, by the way his shoulders square and his head twitches, you know it affected him. 

Wordlessly, he nods and opens the door, leaving it open for you as he walks into the hallway and towards the interrogation rooms. 

Hwang Hyunjin, the golden child of the police department, considers you to be on the same level as him. Who would’ve thought? 

Maybe he’s right, maybe you should work together more often. 

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

Hours and hours and hours have gone by. 

Hyunjin as well as other officers have been grilling Eric for what seems like days. But it’s only been about 18 hours. 

The bags under your eyes feel like bruises. 

Three empty coffee cups and one full one sit next to you as you stare through the one way glass. 

Hyunjin’s pacing around the room with his hands in his pockets. 

His tie is loose around his neck, the sleeves of his button up are rolled up, his hair is tied up out of his eyes. 

He’s been trying to go the good cop route for the last 3 hours. Slowly, that act has been dropping; Eric is getting on his last nerve. 

You both let Eric sit in the interrogation room by himself for 4 hours leading up to this to get to his head. It didn’t seem to work. You can only legally keep him here for forty-eight hours.

If anything, he’s only gotten more agitated. 

Hyunjin walks up behind Eric, he reaches one arm down to the table. 

“You’ve never seen any of these girls before?” Hyunjin slides a few photos towards them on the table. 

“No.” Eric answers quickly. “I’ve already told you that.”

“I just think it’s interesting you’ve never seen any of them, Mr. Rowan. You tutored them. All of them.”

“Do you realize how many students I tutor on a daily basis?”

Hyunjin barks a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn't realize you were that popular.” He comes around the table and opens a file. 

Hyunjin pulls out one specific page, and reads off the top. “Actually, here we go, I know exactly how many students you tutor. Let’s see here: ‘Eric Rowan works two days a week in the tutoring center, Tuesdays and Thursdays.’ Last week you tutored 3 students total, and they were all returning students— how interesting!”

He slams the paper down onto the metal table. Eric jumps. 

“Only three returning faces to your tutoring session, Mr. Popular. And here’s the funniest thing;  I’ve noticed that there’s no women on this list. Weird.”

Eric’s eye twitches. 

Hyunjin takes a seat across the table, folding his hands on top of a notebook. 

“Have you ever had a girlfriend before, Mr. Rowan?”

Eric scoffs and shifts around in his seat. 

Your interest is piqued, you sit up straight in your chair and lean forward. 

Why did he get so nervous all of a sudden? 

Eric picks up the cup of water that he requested and takes a long sip from it. Hyunjin waits patiently. 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to anything, Detective.”

Hyunjin laughs and opens the file. “See, I thought you would say that. My chief also asked the same question.”

Said Chief, who has been standing behind you for the better part of 5 hours, most certainly did not ask that. Chief Bang snorts quietly at the lie. 

“But you know what, we detectives have to do our due diligence.” Hyunjin opens a file and slides a large printed photo out across the table. “Recognize her?”

So many different emotions fly across Eric’s face: anger, loss, betrayal, depression, rage, hurt. The muscles in his face dance as they try to settle on an expression. 

“No,” he grits out. 

An obvious lie.

“Interesting.” Hyunjin pulls out another photo and slides it across. “Because just by taking a quick look at your social media profile, I can see how this girl was your girlfriend . Look, here you are together! Leah Miller. Pretty girl.”

Eric says nothing. He can’t look away from the picture. 

“Most interesting part I noticed was that you haven’t posted anything with her in about a year. What happened? Breakup? They suck, hm? Sorry, should I have said ‘ex-girlfriend’ before? My bad.”

You can’t help but smile. Hyunjin’s always been brilliant in interrogations, you can’t deny that. You’ve only ever heard rumors about how he is on the other side of the one-way mirror. 

Sneaking a peek at the picture of Leah Miller, your eyes widen. She fit the profile: long, blonde hair and sweet, light eyes.

More pieces fall into place. 

“It’s none of your business,” Eric grits out between clenched teeth. 

Chief Bang shifts behind you and grabs the back of your chair. Obviously he senses it too, a confession, a slip up, anything. It’s showing its head. 

“What? What are you saying?” Hyunjin laughs. “It’s exactly my business. That’s quite literally what my job is, you know, to know your business. It’s the same reason I know that you asked out Andrea Bowman during one of your tutoring sessions and she rejected you.”

“That’s not—“

“Oh, sorry, is that not how it happened? Did you maybe try and make a move on her and she rejected you that way? Maybe you put an arm around the back of her chair? Classic.”

“I-I didn’t—“

“Not that one? Understood.” Hyunjin nods and flips through the pictures on the table. “Oh, did you use the old ‘give me your number just in case you need more help’ trick? Used that on a girl in college, myself. Of course, it worked for me.” He winks at Eric.

Eric is fuming, his face is turning redder and redder, the vein in his forehead is popping. 

“Here we go,” Chief Bang whispers under his breath. 

Your mouth is agape, you’ve heard about Hyunjin in interrogation rooms before but you’ve never actually seen it. 

It’s like he’s dancing with fire so beautifully. He’s twirling a flaming sword with a silver tongue. 

“I think Andrea rejected you and then when she never came back for more tutoring, you lost it. You looked up her campus address in the internal systems, because guess what, you have access to that as a tutor, and you went to her dorm room, and you killed her.”

“Wh-What? You’re way off base here, Detective.” Eric stutters, his eye twitches again, his leg starts bouncing under the table. 

He pulls on the cuffs keeping him to the table. 

Hyunjin you’re so close, come on, come on. 

“Funny!” Hyunjin exclaims and slides another piece of paper across the table. “Here’s the search history in the library computer with your login credentials!”

Eric gapes, his mouth opens and closes several times.

“You know what, maybe you didn’t go to Andrea’s dorm with the idea of killing her. Maybe it was a grand romantic gesture, yeah, that seems more like it— flowers and everything.” He slams another picture on the table. 

A bouquet of flowers was found at Andrea’s crime scene. 

“You presented her with the flowers. And she rejected you. Again. ” Hyunjin’s voice is getting louder and louder, crescendoing with Eric’s anger and heart rate. 

Your breathing picks up. Both you and Chief Bang stop moving. 

“Stop,” Eric suddenly pleads. His hands shoot up to cover his ears but they’re stopped by the cuffs. 

The metal clinks and pulls, they dig into his wrists. 

“She rejected you twice! To your face! But you couldn’t take that for an answer. God, why did she do that? Why did she turn you down when you were just trying to be nice? ”

Hyunjin stands up slowly from the table, towering over Eric. 

“She was just like her, she was just like that bitch that broke up with you? She tore your heart out and spit on it! She was no better than Leah! So, you knocked her out and you tied her down to her own fucking bed in hopes that she would just hear you out!”

“Stop, stop!”

“Because maybe if she just listened she would understand that you’re just a genuine guy trying to be a good boyfriend to someone! You’re so nice, you’re such a good guy, no one likes good guys anymore, huh? And, of course Leah didn’t see that either!”

“ Stop! ”

“She tried to scream for help, so you killed her. You slit her throat without a second fucking thought for anything! And it felt so fucking good, didnt it? It felt so good to finally take power back from her? So, you didn’t stop.”

Tears spring from Eric’s eyes as he squints them shut, his body physically curling in on itself. He writhes around, unable to get far because of the handcuffs. 

“So you kept going, and you went after women who looked just like Leah. And it felt amazing because every single time you could picture her face as you slit their throats. Each and every one of them babbling for mercy, crying out for their mothers, to only choke on their own blood—“

“ FINE! ” Eric screams, slamming his fists on the table. “I killed them. I killed each and every one of the fucking bitches. And I fucking wish I could have killed her too!”

The sudden seemingly endless torrent of sentences comes to a screaming halt. 

Hyunjin sits down on his chair once more with a huff. 

And just like you did yesterday, he leans back on his chair and knocks once on the window. 

It takes you a second to find your voice after witnessing the most amazing, jaw dropping interrogation you’ve ever seen. 

“G-Got it!” You say loudly through the glass. “We got it. Oh my god!” You stand up quickly from the chair and turn around to Chief Bang, who has an equally surprised expression. “We got it! ”

He stutters for a moment and shakes his head to clear his mind before speed walking out of the side room to get officers to arrest Eric. 

Eric Rowan, who is now pathetically sobbing in his chair. 

Eric Rowan who signed his confession with the opposite hand that he’d been using to drink his water. 

Eric Rowan who is ambidextrous.

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

It’s so weird to see your kitchen island devoid of files and endless stacks of papers after the last few weeks. 

Eric was taken in for booking. Your job was over. 

Well, it was over for now. Chief Bang gave you and Hyunjin a week off and then you’re due back in the office for the next case. 

Plus, you’ll have to be at Eric Rowan’s trial since you were the lead detective on the case. 

So maybe ‘over’ isn’t the best way to describe it. 

More soft music plays from your speaker as you clean up the rest of the files. A large t-shirt draped over your body, it practically covers the shorts you have underneath. 

There’s a couple knocks on your door. His knocks are so distinct. You’ve gotten so used to them over the past two weeks. 

“Come in, Hwang!” you call out. 

The door opens and shuts. 

“I think I left a few things here,” he says kicking his shoes off in your entryway.

You hum in response, gathering up files to stack them neatly. 

His soft footsteps pad up behind you. 

“I don’t think I ever saw your countertop, is this granite?” he teases over your shoulder. 

You snort a laugh. “Yeah, it is. Came with the place, so don’t ask any more questions.”

Putting the stack down, you turn around and come nose to nose with Hyunjin. He is so much closer than you thought he was. 

You jump slightly and back up a bit, your hips hitting the countertop. 

Hyunjin doesn’t move. 

“I didn’t get to see you after the interrogation,” he says with a quieter voice. 

Not able to hold his searing gaze, you look off to the side and cross your arms over your chest. 

“Yeah, well, you know how the hustle and bustle can wrap someone up after a case closes. Next thing I knew, Bang was sending me home.”

Hyunjin takes a half step closer to you. “What did you think?”

“Hm?”

“What did you think of the interrogation?”

So many sarcastic, sharp retorts die on your tongue when you remember the conversation that the two of you had earlier. 

But still, complimenting him was about as easy as petting a cactus. 

“I told you I’m not going to stroke your ego, Hwang.”

He takes another step towards you, both of his arms come up to cage you to the counter. 

Heat rises on your cheeks more and more with each passing second. You refuse to meet his eyeline. 

“Humor me, L/N. How was my performance today?”

Tonguing your cheek, you roll your eyes. Your heart rate picks up at his proximity. Why does he smell so good?

The last time the both of you had an opportunity to shower was two days ago. 

He still smells like aftershave and expensive cologne. 

“It was good, okay? You got the guy.”

“ We got the guy, L/N.”

“Yeah, yeah, golden boy, we got him.”

He knows your sarcasm is empty. Just by looking at your flushed face he can tell you don’t mean it. 

“Come on now, L/N.” Long, lithe fingers grip your chin and turn your head towards him. “You can do better than that.”

Your jaw clenches. Arousal shoots down your spine like an electric shock. 

Fuck. 

Closer and closer his alarmingly handsome face inches closer to yours. The beauty mark under his eye seems more prominent than ever. 

His mind is one of a brilliant detective, but god, that face. He should’ve been a model. 

You bite the inside of your cheek and when you try to look away from his deep eyes, the grin on your jaw tightens. 

“Come on, L/N.” He smirks. “Tell me how good I did today. Say it.”

The brat inside you decides to surface. So, he wants to go this route, hm? “Why do you need me to say it so badly, Hwang? Everyone else in the department is so far up your ass, they can wear you like a hat.”

He rolls his eyes, his body pressing against you entirely. Your arms uncross and you reach back to grip the countertop next to his hands. 

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. You should be shoving him away, slapping him across the face, spitting on his shoes. But instead you relish in the feeling. 

“Yes. But they’re not you. ”

Your eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches. He knows he has you in the palm of his hand. He just needs to break you more. 

But does he really?

Finally, he brings his lips closer and closer to yours. He pauses right before he makes contact, giving you a chance to say no. 

Nothing of the sort tumbles out. 

The first kiss he presses to your lips is nothing short of devouring. 

His soft, plush lips consume yours like he’s a starving man at a feast. You meet his enthusiasm with fervor.

Hyunjin’s head tilts to get better access to your mouth. His eyebrows pull together in concentration, he almost looks like he’s in pain. 

The fingers on your chin move down to your neck, he wraps his hand around it, thumbs on top of your pulse point, but he doesn’t squeeze. 

Your hands tentatively reach for him, grabbing at his dress shirt and tie, pulling him even closer to you. 

A small moan comes from the base of his throat and through his nose. Hyunjin’s other hand grabs your hip possessively. 

“Say it, L/N,” he hushes between kisses, completely out of breath. “Tell me how good I am.”

How is it that he has this sort of possessive grip on you and yet he’s putting the ball in your court?

A small boost of confidence courses through your veins. 

“Can’t you just admit it already?” he adds.

Smirking, you say nothing. One of your hands threads into his long hair and yanks his face back to yours for another bruising kiss. 

He huffs through his nose once more, but kisses you nonetheless. 

Twirl after twirl of his tie around your hand tightens your grip. With the last tug, Hyunjin moans once more into your mouth. The hand on your throat squeezes a bit.

“L/N,” he pleads again against your lips. 

You tug hard on his tie. Hyunjin loses his balance slightly, his knuckles turning white from grabbing your countertop so tight. 

Bringing your lips to his ear, you blow hot air on the sensitive skin first. He shivers against your hot body. 

At the same time, your bare foot travels up the back of his clothed calf, your thigh brushing against his hip.

“If you want my approval that badly, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Hyunjin makes a choked moan, “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. The hand on your hip tightens. The fingers wrapped around your throat twitch. 

“How does that sound, Hwang? You be good to me and I’ll let you know how well you’re doing.” You roll your hips against his.

Your words have an obvious effect on him, the hardness that presses to your leg says it all. 

Hyunjins lips drop down to your neck, he bites the soft skin where it meets your shoulder. “Fucking hell, L/N, don’t play hard to get.” 

Humming, you roll your head back, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on your skin. “I’m not playing anything, I already told you how to get what you want.”

Licking and sucking his way down your neck, his teeth nip at your exposed collarbone. The hand on your throat slides backwards and into the hair on the back of your head. 

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth to stop a moan from leaking out. You pull Hyunjin’s tie to keep his face there.

“Just like that, golden boy, your mouth feels so good.”

His hips involuntarily buck into yours at the praise, he whimpers against your skin. “ Shit, ” he curses into your neck with a hot exhale. 

You wrap your entire leg around his waist and roll against him more. His mouth stutters, but afterwards he sucks hard . A bright purple hickey already surfaces when he detaches. 

“L/N,” he murmurs into your neck. You hum in response. “Can I take this off?” He tugs at your shirt.

You smirk. “You can.”

When your hand unwinds from his tie, Hyunjin backs off of you. His face is already so fucked out; eyes are half-lidded and hazy, his lips are so puffy and swollen, spit glistening off them in the soft kitchen light. 

From all your pulling, Hyunjin’s hair is all askew and coming out of its usual ponytail.

He wastes no time, grabbing the hem of your t-shirt and yanking it over your head, he throws it behind him carelessly. His eyes light up at the sight of your bare chest, tongue poking out to lick his already slick lips.

You chuckle.

“You gunna touch me or what?” you tease. “Or maybe you don’t want it that badly.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenches and he meets your eyes. The look he’s giving you is dangerous.

He huffs once and grabs your waist tightly, lifting you up off the ground and sitting you on the cold granite. The sharp temperature change against your flushed skin makes you shiver. 

Hyunjin parts your legs and stands between your thighs, his head dips down and envelopes one nipple in his mouth.

“Fuck!” you cry out, grabbing a fist full of his hair.

One of Hyunjin’s hands trails up your leg to grab at your exposed thigh while the other comes up to play with your other perky bud.

His eyes shut in his own pleasure. That tongue is absolutely relentless, licking circles around your nipple to flick over it a few times and then sucking.

Your toes are already curling, legs wrapping around his waist to get him closer to you.

“How about now, L/N?” his hoarse voice whines against your spit covered chest. “Is this good for you? Does it feel good?”

The more he talks, the more you can’t tell if he’s teasing you or genuinely asking for his own sanity. 

“It feels fucking amazing, Hwang, keep– shit – keep going.”

Hyunjin takes in a shaky breath and switches sides, your fingers yank on his hair and he whines again around your nipple. 

You let him continue for a while, relishing in the feeling of his spit dripping down your chest and onto your navel. The wet licks and sucks bouncing off the walls combined with his own small whines and your loud moans. 

Roll after roll of your hips grinds against his hard tent in his dress pants. After a few minutes, your hips seem to have a mind of their own, your soaking wet cunt seeking friction against anything to satiate the need for contact. 

The more he licks at your chest, the more Hwang Hyunjin continues to drive you insane. 

“H-Hwang,” you pull his attention. His eyebrows furrow as you yank him away from your purple marked chest. 

When he finally detaches, he looks up at you, panting. 

“Touch me, touch me, please . I can’t fucking take it.”

His shoulders curl forward like you knocked the air out of him. 

With more strength than you thought he had, he scoops you up and wraps your legs around his waist while smashing your lips together again. 

You cling onto him for dear life while letting your tongues slide over one another. 

“Hah,” you pant out in between kisses. “You’re doing so fucking well.”

He whines.

“Could’ve made me cum with just that tongue on my tits. Such a shame.”

Hyunjin drops your body onto the couch without a warning. You squeal and bounce on the soft cushions. 

“Hwang–” your voice dies in your throat when you catch the sight of him standing on the other side of the sofa arm. 

The change in his demeanor gives you whiplash. 

His eyes are dark, almost black. His chest is heaving with heavy pants. Those long fingers are tugging at his tie, until it's loose enough for him to rip off his neck. 

Your knees tuck up a bit towards your chest as you watch him with wide eyes like prey. 

Hyunjin reaches down and snatches your ankle, he tugs on it harshly. You yelp as you’re dragged forward into a lying position.

Coming around the sofa, he swings one knee over you to straddle your hips. One by one he begins to unbutton his dress shirt, never once breaking eye contact.

Each sliver of skin that is revealed is devoured by your eyes greedily. Never once has he so much as undone the top button on his collar at work.

Shamelessly, you rake in his athletic build. 

“You want to cum with just my tongue? Okay, L/N, I can do that.”

Your heart thuds in your chest. 

He shrugs his shirt off and drops it to the floor. Hands grab at the waistband of your shorts and yank them off with your panties in one swoop. Another article of clothing to hit the floor.

The cold air against your soaking wet folds makes you hiss slightly. 

Hyunjin stares down at your arousal, biting his bottom lip. Lower and lower he descends until you can feel his heavy exhales against your cunt.

He pushes your thighs apart, putting one over his shoulder, your heel settles into the dip of his spine. He’s smirking the entire time.

Finally, he tears his eyes away from your folds to look you right in the eye.

Your jaw clenches and you watch as he licks all the way from your entrance, up to your clit, circles around it to go back down to your entrance again.

An immediate shockwave of pleasure shoots through your body down to your toes. You toss your head back with your mouth agape, a silent scream stretching your lips.

Hyunjin keens at your reaction, doing the same maneuver again before focusing his attention on creating the most sinful figure eights with his tongue.

Your hand flies down to grab at his hair, shoulders arching off the couch. “Shit, shit, H-Hwang, feels so– hah – s-so good.”

He moans into you, the vibrations go right through you. 

With your heel on his back, you can feel how his back curves as his hips rut into the couch underneath him to relieve some pressure off his aching cock. 

Praises fall from your lips like water falling over rock. Each one makes Hyunjin whine and kick it up a notch. 

“That fu- uh -cking silver tongue, holy shit .”

Hyunjin moans loudly, he grabs both of your hips, nails digging into your skin with deep scratches. It only makes you cry out louder, pulling on his hair even harder. 

The tie in his hair comes out completely. You toss it away from you and gather up his hair in between your fingers to keep it out of his eyes. It feels like silk.

A coil within you begins winding tighter and tighter. The more he licks and sucks, the higher your cries get and the tighter your abdomen feels.

“Feels so good, it feels fucking amazing ! S-So close! Shit, please make me cum, please, shit!”

Each word makes Hyunjin sutter and moan into your folds, his eyebrows pulled like he’s in pain. Harder and harder he ruts into your sofa, his nails digging into you so much you think he might draw blood.

It’s taking every ounce of his will not to spill out in his pants at your praise. At your begging .

One of his hands comes up and kneads at your chest. His thumb rubs over your nipple a few times and that’s all it takes for the band within you to finally snap.

Your orgasm washes over you so hard it’s like being hit by a bus. 

With a silent cry, your entire body tenses up. Hyunjin’s movements slow down, but he still coaxes you through your climax with that skilled tongue of his. 

He hums into your folds, licking up every last drop of your juices.

You come down from your high slowly, chest heaving up and down, every exhale is paired with a moan. Shockwaves still ripple through your thighs.

Hyunjin’s eyes open and he stares at you, his mouth going over to bite your inner thigh. You squeal and squirm.

Slowly, like a lion, he gets up and crawls over your form, keeping eye contact. Once he’s close enough, he captures your lips greedily. Your arousal is still all over his tongue. It’s swapped between the two of you with your spit. 

Your hands reach down and fumble with his belt buckle. Hyunjin makes no move to stop you, instead, he pushes you further.

“Look at that,” he pants, looking down at your fumbling hands. “So desperate for my cock, huh, L/N?”

Your eyebrow twitches. You undo the buckle and reach down to grab his rock hard erection through his pants.

Hyunjin’s elbows buckle at your touch and he grunts, squinting his eyes shut.

“All talk, aren’t you? Once I touch you, you crumble .”

“Shit!” His eyes snap open and he bucks into your hand. “Because– ugh –, like I said, it’s you . Fuck ,” he moans when you squeeze him again over his pants.

“Keep going,” you tease. “Keep going and I’ll keep stroking this fucking monster cock you keep tucked in these pressed dress pants of yours.”

He exhales shakily while you unbutton his trousers. 

“When were you ever going to fucking– agh – realize that you drive me fucking insane, L/N?” His eyes start to unfocus when you push down the waistband of his pants and boxers down his thighs.

Fucking hell . Has he always been packing this?

“God damn, Hwang.” Your hand runs up his length. Hyunjin shudders and closes his eyes. Your touch is so featherlight he thinks he’s going insane. 

His eyebrows twitch and hips buck forward to try and reach your touch. 

“I’m not hearing a lot of talking.” You lean up and attach your lips to his neck, continuing to only trail the gentlest of touches up and down his throbbing cock. 

The head is red and angry and weeping precum.

His body trembles. “ Shit – I wanted you for so long, L/N. You drive me– fuck – insane. Every single fucking day I did whatever it fucking took to get your attention.”

Finally, your hand wraps around his length tightly and you start pumping very slowly. The long, pathetic moan that tumbles from Hyunjin’s lips is something of sin.

He sounds so relieved yet even more aroused at the same time. 

You continue to suck your own marks onto his perfect skin. Sweat drips down the side of his face and down his now slick back. 

“ Ughhh – L-L/N…” He buries his face in the crook of your neck. 

Your hand stops moving when he stops talking.

He cries out into your neck, hips frantically bucking into your touch to chase it. You only chuckle in response. 

“ Please! ” He whimpers. 

“Keep going then, golden boy.” You suck a sensitive spot underneath his ear. 

Another stutter of his hips.

“I begged the chief to put me on your case!”

Your pumping picks up speed again, his entire body rolls into yours. You grip him tighter and jerk him faster.

“I said– ah – I would do whatever case he wanted next if he– ffuuck – let me work with you on this one– oh my god! And I still would, I would do whatever– mmmph – case I need to to fucking work with you every day. Agh! ”

Despite your outwards nonchalant expression, on the inside, his words are fucking killing you. The throb in your cunt that was satiated moments ago comes back with a vengeance. 

To hear Hwang Hyunjin at your mercy is going straight to your core. Each noise he makes goes straight to your pussy.

“God, fuck , L/N, I-I’m close. Please, god , shit.”

After a few more pumps, you stop, taking your hand away completely. Hyunjin cries into the crook of your neck again, his body rolling and rutting the air at the loss of contact. 

“Please, why, fucking hell , I was so close!”

You grab the hair on the back of his head and yank his head up to look down at you. His eyes are cloudy, ears and cheeks bright red. Sweat drips down the side of his face and over his sharp cheekbones and jawline.

“Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?”

His face twists up with another moan. 

Hyunjin dives down and captures your lips in the sloppiest kiss of the night. He’s messy and desperate the longer he kisses you. 

While trying to stay attached to your lips, Hyunjin fumbles around to kick off his pants and boxers.

Both of you finally naked together, he grabs his cock in his fist.

“I-I’m not going to last–”

You cut him off with a sharp tug to his hair. “Fuck me, golden boy, don’t you think you deserve it after today?”

His eyes practically roll back in his head.

As soon as he’s lined up with your entrance, Hyunjin slides into you slowly. Inch by inch you’re stretched open,

He might not be thick but god, he is long .

With his mouth on yours, he swallows each moan and cry of pleasure. Without wasting any amount of time, he pulls out to slam back into you.

Both of you moan out together.

Your arm wraps around his neck. He rests his weight on one elbow and the other wraps around your shoulders to hug you close to him. His hand splays out between your shoulder blades to keep you anchored against his sweat slicked chest.

The skin to skin contact sends both of you wild.

Over and over again his hips undulate to thrust into you in the most delicious way. The angle of his hips brushes his pelvic bone against your clit with each slam against you. 

“You feel so fucking good,” you whine into his ear.

Hyunjin’s next thrust hits a bit harder. If praise makes him fuck you harder, then so be it.

“God, your cock is amazing.” Harder. “Hitting me just right.” Harder. “Never knew you would feel this fucking good.”

With his mouth on your neck, he leaves sloppy hickeys wherever he can reach. His pants fill the room and mix with your whines.

His head suddenly dips down to take your nipple into his mouth once more. You keen and toss your head back, hips canting up. The new angle has his cock slam right into your g-spot.

A loud scream tears from your lips. Hyunjin immediately picks up on this and picks up the pace, making sure he hits that spot every time.

If you thought your first orgasm had a sudden build up, it’s nothing compared to this one. There’s a sudden pressure increasing in your lower stomach.

“Fuck!” Thrust . “So good!” Thrust. “Oh my god!” 

Praises and noises fall from you, you don’t even realize what you’re saying anymore. The pleasure has your mind in the clouds.

“Y/N,” the sudden use of your name grabs your attention. Hyunjin comes up over your face with a pleasure twisted face. 

“Say it, please, please , I’m fucking begging you , please, say it.” 

Your eyebrows pull together, mouth still hanging open. What does he want you to say that you haven’t said already?

“ My name. Say it, please, please, please, please–”

Oh, fuck.

You smirk and watch as the desperation drives him wild. Even in the deepest throes of pleasure, you string him along for a few more seconds as you approach the edge.

Closer and closer you come to the edge.

He whines, begging louder and louder as his own climax creeps up on him, the muscles in his body tightening more and more. 

He needs it so bad. 

“Y/N! Please! ”

Just as you’re about to tumble over, your mouth stretches open.

“Fuck, Hyunjin! ”

The loudest moan you’ve ever heard from a man comes falling out of his mouth as he buries his face into your neck. Hot, sticky warmth shoots within you in long, drawn out spurts that match with Hyunjin’s whines and groans. 

His hips stutter for another twenty seconds before his moans finally calm down. 

Both of you hold onto each other tightly, heaving heavy inhales and exhales to catch your breath.

Absent-mindedly, your hand begins to rub up and down Hyunjin’s clammy back, drawing small circles and lines onto his skin.

He hums into your neck and holds you closer for a moment before collapsing onto the couch on top of you.

Surprisingly, his weight on top of you doesn’t seem to phase you; instead it brings the same comfort as a weighted blanket.

After a few more minutes of you silently rubbing his back, Hyunjin begins to lazily press kisses onto your bruise covered chest, paying extra attention to your collarbones. 

The kisses are soft and sweet, nothing like the lust coated ones from before. 

“Did you mean it?” you ask him quietly.

He pauses his kisses only to answer you. “Mean what?” He starts kissing you more.

“That you asked Bang to work on the case.”

He chuckles against your neck, his hair tickling your skin. “Oh, yeah. It took entirely too much convincing.”

You laugh with him and keep him close to your body.

In the back of your mind, you know you should get up, that he should pull out and the two of you should shower and drink water, but you can’t seem to distance yourself from him.

There’s no harm in sitting there for a while anyway.

Hyunjin hums into your neck again, “Thank god we have the week off.”

You couldn’t agree more.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hwang hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids x y/n #skz x y/n #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic

[amethysts-tavern]

So I had this random thought about Astarion eavesdropping on a conversation you were having about him. His big elf ears would make it easy for him. And so I present:

“Sweet dreams.”

“You can’t tell him,” you look pleadingly at Karlach. “Pinky-promise me that you won’t say anything to anyone about this.”

“Sure, sure,” she says, dismissing your demand, but offering you her pinky.

“Are you sharing secrets without me?” Gale says, jauntily approaching your tent. “What about?”

“It’s nothing,” you reply, shooting daggers at Karlach.

“Someone,” Karlach looks directly at you, “may have had a racy dream about someone else,” she turns her head to indicate Astarion across camp.

“KARLACH!! You pinky-promised not to tell anyone!”

“I didn’t mention any names!” she retorts in her own defense. All you can do is bury your face in your hands and scream in sheer embarrassment.

“Don’t you worry, your secret is safe with me,” Gale pantomimes zipping his lip. “But tell me, exactly how racy are we talking?” Gale asks, giving you an interested look. “I need to know all the details. Strictly for academic purposes, of course.”

You let out an exasperated whimper as you watch Karlach whisper in Gale’s ear all the horny details you shared with her about your dream. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as each moment passes. Gale’s eyes go wide as Karlach nears the end of her sharing.

“Oh… oh! My, my…” Gale exclaims. “Tav! You naughty little creature! I wouldn’t have figured you for the kinky type!” He gives you a wink.

“Please, I’m begging you both. This doesn’t go any further than the three of us,” you’re practically on your knees pleading with them.

“Tav, you’re really embarrassed by this,” Gale finally notices. “Think no more of it. Your secret is safe with us,” Gale gives Karlach a death look to let her know he means business.

“Thank you,” you say, quietly. The flush in your cheeks finally subsiding.

“Come on, Karlach, let’s let Tav have some peace,” the wizard says, grabbing the tiefling to lead her away from your tent.

You watch them go. For all of the frustration they give you, they are good friends. As you turn to enter your tent to get out of sight of your party members, else you die of further embarrassment, you hear another voice calling your name.

“So, Tav, I hear you’ve been having some interesting dreams lately.” Astarion drawls, sauntering over.

You feel your breath catch. You look around camp to find the blabbermouth. Astarion cups your chin and turns your head so that you are looking only at him.

“No one has betrayed you, darling,” his eyes sharp and penetrating. “Elf ears. I heard everything.”

“Everything?” you ask timidly.

“Everything,” he repeats, dropping his voice low, and stepping closer to you, his hands now on your hips, pulling your body up against his. He plants a passionate kiss on your lips, catching you off guard. He sighs contentedly as he releases you and steps back.

“Sweet dreams, Tav,” he says seductively. He flashes you a sultry smile before turning on his heels and heading back to his own tent.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #astarion x reader

[revasserium]

do you right series/multiple parts for zoro opla X reader. If you do could you write something angsty n maybe reader was a part the butlers crew before n stuff. A lot of angst but also fluff n cute zoro X reader moments. Thxxx

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

catch.

opla!zoro; 9,224 words; fem!reader, no "y/n", slowburn, disgruntled companions?? to lovers, fluff and banter, so much banter, nicknames ("kitten", "pretty boy"), semi canon-compliant, tiny bit post!opla, more plot than not

summary: zoro calls reader "kitten", reader calls him "pretty boy" back. story ensues.

a/n: ha. i have no excuses for this... it's not a series/multipart, but i do hope that the sheer length of it kinda makes up for that lol; tagging @dira333 and @bby-deerling

The first time he sees you, it is over daggers and bared teeth, a hiss working up your throat as you glare at him from the balcony of Kaya’s expansive estate.

“You’re gonna need a lot more than that, kitten.” Zoro’s smirk goes slanted as you leap off the thin railings to land noiselessly before him, your curved daggers striking against the edge of his swords with a metallic spray of sparks.

His smirk fades after that, replaced by a wild, jagged grin as he swings both swords around his body in a wide arc — but you’re backflipping up, too high in the air to be fully natural, your feet landing perfectly on the backs of his blades before you’re kicking off again, forcing the blades down and throwing him off balance.

“I highly doubt it,” you bite out, skimming by his cheek with a savage smile as he jerks to the side just in time to avoid having his face split open. But you whip back around and it’s all he can do to parry your blow.

The discordant clang of metal on metal rings out in the otherwise silent room as you both flicker around each other, him as steady as the tide, you as quick as the flutter of a sparrow’s wing.

“Where was that fake butler hiding you, kitten? You’re much better than those other two —” Zoro grunts as he narrows his eyes, digging in his heels as he parries another flurry of your quicksilver blows. Your lips curl in contempt as you swipe for his stomach and catch on the edge of his white-hilted blade.

“He wasn’t hiding me anywhere —”

The world blurs in a whirlwind of flashing metal — it ends with you hissing as you find you and Zoro on opposite ends of the cavernous room, amidst wood splinters and slivers of shredded upholstery. There’s a thin slash oozing blood down the side of his face and a long gash along your arm where his sword had nicked your bicep.

“Then why’re you with him?” Zoro asks, grimacing as he wipes blood from his cheek.

“Because, pretty boy,” you smirk at the way his eyes narrow, “the old tomcat owes me something. And I never forget a debt.”

Zoro’s eyebrow quirks, and for a single second, you can see the cogs turning behind his darkened eyes, “So… you’re only with him until he pays you.”

You grin, Cheshire wide, and a second later, you’re right in front of him, pressing up into his personal space with a finger trailing up the length of his neck. Zoro’s breath catches, and he’s acutely aware of just how open he’d been, how easily you might’ve decided to end his life had you replaced your finger with the tip of one of your curve-bellied daggers.

“That… and I happen to enjoy slicing things up, y’see…” your voice is syrup sweet and sharp as poison even as he jerks away from you, instinct thrusting his swords forward before he can stop himself. But you’re already dancing away with a soft, ringing laugh, shaking your head.

“Gonna have to be faster than that if you wanna catch me… pretty boy.”

You slink into the shadows, giggling even as Zoro grimaces and tries to chase after you, slashing at whispers and shapes in the dark. He makes it all the way down the hallway before Luffy’s voice catches his attention and he doubles back with a final look over his shoulder, an unsatisfied knot tied tight in his stomach.

The second time you meet, it’s over a barrel of dried sardines.

“We pick up another stray?” Zoro asks, frowning as you grin cheekily down at him from the bow of the Merry. He could imagine the way your ears might flick if you had them, the way your invisible tail might twitch from side to side, snide and all too satisfied.

“Yeah! Didn’t I tell you? She’s coming with us!” Luffy grins wide as he climbs up onto their new ship, giving you a hard pat on the back, “Welcome to the Straw Hat Crew!”

“Thanks, Cap!” you smile, slipping off the railings to help with the extra supplies.

Nami sighs as she joins Zoro on the docks, “Sad, desperate souls, like I said — but hey, at least she helped us escape.”

Zoro frowns, “She did?”

Nami rolls her eyes, “Who do you think undid all those locks on the metal shutters from the outside? Geez…”

Zoro grunts, catching another barrel of dried food as Nami tosses it up toward him.

After that, things… do not get better. You’re too quiet, too quick, and Zoro can never quite tell when you mean what you say or if you ever say what you mean. Your laughter sends shivers down his back, and he finds himself watching you, even when he doesn’t mean to.

By the time you’ve all reached the Baratie, it’s become second nature for him to keep his eyes trained on you, to take stock of where you are, to seek you out the first thing after he wakes and the last thing before he sleeps.

“Ah — apologies madam I didn’t see you there —” Sanji smarms as Nami’s eyebrows inch up her forehead. You bite back a grin as Zoro scoffs to your right.

“And… for you?” when Sanji finally turns his eyes onto you, you’re ready for him, leaning forward, your tongue slipping languorously across your bottom lip as you peer up at him from beneath your thick lashes.

“Got any Déesse? Ah, but you must have — an establishment as fine as this?”

Sanji takes a long breath; Zoro feels the air turn sour in his lungs.

“Of course we do — a woman of taste, hm? And… for the rest of you?” Sanji’s voice flatlines as he looks over the rest of the crew.

Zoro snorts, rolling his eyes, “A beer for me and… a few for my friends.”

Sanji shoots a curt nod his way before recounting the table’s orders, “A few beers, a milk —” he dips his head in Luffy’s direction, “a normal water in a normal glass,” a smile at Nami, “and… a bottle of Déesse — any preference on year, miss?” He twinkles in your direction.

“Oh… surprise me.”

Sanji sweeps into a theatrical bow, “Right away,” before gliding away from the table.

Everyone starts talking all at once —

“Why’re you ‘miss’ but I’m ‘madam?’”

“Great fighter, that guy — did you see him roundhouse that other guy in the face —”

“Wow… don’t tell me that worked on you?” Zoro scoffs as he turns to look at you.

You shrug, “Sometimes, it pays to meet people on their level, hm?” Then, your smile turns saccharine as you tilt your head, eyes flickering towards the triplet of swords caught in the small gap between the plush seats and the pillar to Zoro’s right.

“Right. Whatever.” His lip curls. Nami sighs, leaning her head back against the studded velvet seat backs.

“The two of you are gonna be the death of us…” she muses, laughing as you curl back into your seat with an exaggerated pout and Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, feeling heat crest up into his cheeks.

And later, it’s you who tries the hardest to talk him out of his duel with Mihawk, a dull, feline glint to your eyes as you glare at him from across the wide kitchen counter —

“You couldn’t even beat me in single combat — what makes you think you’d be able to best Dracule Mihawk, huh?!”

Zoro snarls as he rounds on you, “It’s not like I was really trying.”

“Seemed like you were doing a lot more than trying to me!”

“You were the one who ran away.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t have a death wish!”

“So you admit that you would’ve lost to me.”

Your eyes narrow into slits as you hiss, “Yes, just like you’ll lose if you go through with this.”

A muscle feathers in Zoro’s jaw as he slowly peels his eyes away from you and turns back to the methodical work of polishing his swords.

Later that night, you find him sitting in the Merry’s kitchen with his eyes closed, arms crossed, his swords lined up just so on the suspended table in front of him.

“You can stop sulking. I know you’re there.” He opens a single eye to peer at you as you melt out of the shadows near the door, your own arms knitted tight across your chest.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I’m meditating.” His eyes slip back closed.

You leap deftly onto the table and cross your legs, looking down at his row of swords.

“You’ll need more than a good meditation session to beat that old hawk.”

Zoro’s eyes snap open, his words taking on a hard, metallic edge, “What would you know about it?”

Your grin is crescent moon sharp as you tilt your head; you reach forward as if to tap a finger against the sheath of one of his swords. There’s a dull thump as Zoro makes to tug the sword away, but a second later, you’ve got his wrist pinned to the table’s marred surface. Your face is half an inch away from his and he can taste the heat of your breath on his lips.

“See? Not nearly fast enough,” you tut, still grinning as Zoro yanks his arm away.

“If you’re trying to change my mind, you’re doin’ a shit job.”

“No,” you sigh, jumping off the table, your feet eerily silent as always. You make it all the way to the door before turning to glance at Zoro over your shoulder. There’s an inscrutable look on his face as he watches you, and you allow him one last, little smile.

“I just… thought you should be well-rested for your own execution.”

The next morning dawns too bright, too early, the sky too blue and perfect. It’s a blood-hungry day, so your grandmother used to say, the kind of day that aches for disaster. You shiver as you walk silently behind Usopp and Luffy, trailing in Zoro’s shadow as he makes his solemn way to the docks to face Mihawk.

There’s a quick exchange of words before Mihawk’s eyes slide onto you; the faint upward tick of his eyebrow is the only indication you get that he recognizes you. But then, he’s cocking his head, and musing aloud —

“They say it’s good luck to have a cat on a pirate ship, but I’m afraid this one won’t do you any good today, Roronoa Zoro.”

“Oh god… he’s really doing this, isn’t he?” Nami’s hand slips into yours, squeezing tight, her voice nothing more than a terrified whisper.

You give a brief nod, squeezing back. On your other side, Usopp swallows hard, but Luffy doesn’t seem all that worried.

It’s a quick, brutal, and decisive fight, but you watch as Mihawk pulls back at the last second, Yoru slicing through the air, much slower and softer than you knew it could. Nevertheless, Zoro’s blood splatters the creaking wood beams below as he collapses. You feel your lungs slowly calcifying as everyone rushes to Zoro’s side but you stand there, frozen, the world tunneling around you, the wild thumping of your heart echoing in your ears as Mihawk slates you a single look before turning and strolling off back toward the Baratie.

You slip away in the chaos of everyone trying to get Zoro back onto the ship.

“Come to seek revenge for your little boyfriend?” Mihawk asks, casually leaning up against the near-empty bar in the Baratie’s mouth.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply, voice clipped. Your fingers are curled into fists at your side, nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Mihawk gives you a single once-over before tutting.

“I see you’ve been sharpening your claws.”

“I see you haven’t,” you bite back. Mihawk rolls his eyes.

“Dear, dear — if even you’ve noticed something then I really am getting rusty. Though it has been hard to find a good sparring partner ever since Shanks lost his arm. Careless man.”

“Why’d you really let him live?”

Mihawk pauses in his rather thorough inspection of his nails to look up at you, lips twitching.

“I meant what I said — the world needs a few more wildcards and… I have a feeling he’ll be coming to find me soon enough.”

“You don’t take on students.” You don’t quite manage to keep the bitterness from your voice even as Mihawk shrugs.

“Just because I haven’t before, doesn’t mean I won’t ever. Now run along — I think your little swordsman friend might need some help, hm?”

You open your mouth to argue, but you hear the distinct sounds of Luffy’s voice echoing out from the kitchen, high and desperate, followed by the base rumble of Zeff’s voice. You slink into the kitchen between the flapping doors, watching as Sanji scrambles to gather Zeff’s knives.

“I’ll get the fish,” you offer, making nearly everyone jump as you reach for the freezer box.

No one has the time to ask any more questions as Luffy leads the way back to the Merry.

Nami’s eyes are wide and over-bright when you set the yellowtail on the table next to Zeff, and the whole room watches with bated breath as the old chef starts to work. Wordlessly, you tug out the large curved needles and place them at his elbow. He spares you a grateful grunt as he grabs them.

You take three steps back, letting out a long breath as you press your back to the cool wood of the doorframe, watching as Zeff stitches Zoro back together.

You spend the next two and a half days curled up in the small chair next to Nami’s bed, dozing every so often, at other times humming, or keeping still as Nami, Usopp, and Luffy take their turns next to Zoro’s sleeping form as well. You’re reciting a childhood nursery rhyme when Zoro finally wakes up.

“I thought cats were supposed to be quiet…”

“— and all the king's horses and all the king’s men — oh… you’re awake.”

“What about the king’s horses and men?” Zoro’s voice is thick and gravelly from disuse, but there’s that familiar twist to his mouth as he turns slightly to blink blearily up at you.

“It… it doesn’t matter — I should go tell Luffy —”

“No, finish the story, kitten.”

Your voice catches in your chest, and after a second, you sigh, dropping back into your seat with a resigned little laugh.

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men… couldn’t put Humpty back together again.”

Zoro hums, “Wow, cheerful little kitten, aren’t you? You always pick such nice things to say at a sick person’s bedside?”

“No, just the ones that really deserve it.”

Zoro laughs, the sound a base rumble that makes him wince, his hand shooting up to clutch at his chest. You lurch forward, catching yourself before you actually touch him, hovering there as Zoro opens his eyes and a strained sort of silence thickens in the air around you.

Like this, you’re acutely aware of the heat rising off of Zoro’s skin, the fact that his shirt is still pulled open to accommodate the thick bandages wrapped around his torso, the taut skin of his stomach, flexing as he takes in shallow breaths. Like this, you can count the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and see the pinprick black holes threatening to take over his eyes as they dilate.

It isn’t till you both hear the clatter of footsteps and Usopp flings himself into the room that you jerk back, blinking as Usopp gasps for breath, gesticulating wildly, rambling about Luffy and fishmen and a fight that’s broken out at the Baratie.

You glance down at Zoro, who sighs, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Go.”

“You stay put.”

“Right, like I’m goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

Zoro grunts, and you spare him one more sharp look before following after Usopp.

Three days later finds you all back at sea, with a newly minted member in tow, chasing after Nami’s shadow.

It does not take long to track her down, and when you do, the fight is — if not quick, then at least decisive. You’re not the only one who notices the stiffness in Zoro’s limbs as everyone eats and drinks their way through a whole night of merry-making.

“Back for seconds — must’ve liked it!” Sanji crows, slapping another spoonful of food onto Zoro’s plate.

“It was okay.”

“That plate says different.”

“Not hungry?” you jump slightly at Nami’s voice, and you lift your eyes just in time to see her eyebrows kick up. She cocks them at you before settling down by your side.

“Not often that you’re caught off guard — something must really be bothering you.” You can hear the edge of forced lightness in her voice, and your eyes flicker to the fresh bandage on right arm.

Events of the past few days flash behind your eyes and you cast her a small grin.

“Just thinking…”

“Sounds like trouble.”

“It does seem to follow me around, doesn’t it?”

Nami regards you with a curious look before scoffing, “Don’t you mean ‘us’?”

You frown, turning towards her. She slates you a glance before darting her eyes back to the party.

“In case you haven’t noticed… ‘Trouble’s kind of our middle name. If you don’t like it, then…”

Her voice trails off then, and the playful smile flickers like a flame caught in a sudden gust of wind. You press your lips.

“Never said I don’t like it.” You return her smile and see her firelight catch again.

“C’mon then — no more sitting around —” you let yourself be pulled to your feet, the pair of you stumbling towards the large bonfire where several of the villagers are strumming at battered instruments, though the music they make is no less brilliant for it.

“Ah, now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” Sanji says, tapping a bit of ash off a freshly lit cigarette as Zoro scrapes the final bites of food from his plate.

“Hn.” But his gaze lingers on the light-caught shape of you, a black dress hugging the curves of your waist and the bend of your hip, cascading out as you spin beneath Nami’s arm. There’s a softness about you he’s never seen before — something more than the damnable feline grace with which you fought or the steel-lined quickness and skill that forever nipped at his heels like a hungry dog, reminding him that he still had so much more to master, to learn — no, this is something else entirely.

Something lissome and light, something tantantalizing and sweet.

Something… lovely.

And it stirs something inside him too — something not at all sweet and light, though… no less tantalizing.

A semi-inebriated Nojiko manages to pull Sanji into the fray, and a moment later, you glance over to meet his eyes. A line catches then, hooked from the center of his chest to the dark, mesmerizing flash of your eyes, Zoro feels himself tipping forward.

Until he actually is, and there’s a bottle being pressed into his hand by a stranger he doesn’t even glance at.

He finds himself at your side, somehow, everyone spinning around the bonfire like marionettes on a massive stage, his limbs loose and a smile tugging wide his lips. At some point, he thinks he might’ve felt your hands in his, but then again, waking up the next morning face down in a pile of hay, a headache pounding behind his eyes, he thinks it’s probably just his imagination.

They set course for the Grand Line proper then, and everyone settles into a kind of routine. Though despite everyone’s initial protests, Zoro can be seen at the bow of the ship every sunrise and sundown, running through katas, grunting and wincing occasionally when his wound threatens to reopen, at which point you’d appear like a vague, disgruntled shadow, and shoo him back to bed.

“I’ll never best Mihawk if I don’t get better —”

“Exactly.” You pin him with a hard look; he can almost see your hackles rising as he huffs and slumps down into his hammock. You relax slightly, perched atop a rather precarious pile of barrels, but Zoro knows better than to doubt your balance.

“You’ll never beat him if you don’t get better first,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes as Zoro scoffs, pointedly twisting to face the other way. The ship rocks the hammock to and fro, and after a while, Zoro feels himself drifting off into that ever-familiar limbo of half-sleep, his mind wandering through the avenues of his memories, images coming in watercolor flashes, seeping into his vision.

“Tell me something,” he says, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

“Hm?” you barely make a noise, but he feels your presence in the corner of his room, has memorized the specific size and shape and weight of you such that he could pick you out of a moving crowd with his eyes closed, his face turned the other way.

“What do you want to know?”

“You had plenty of stories when I was unconscious — don’t you have more?”

For a moment, you don’t speak, and the silence is filled by the rhythmic creaking of wood, the soft splash of water against the ship’s hull, the occasional cry of seabirds, and the dull, muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from above deck.

“Once upon a time, a kitten was left by the roadside in a tiny village by her mother, who was sick and didn’t have enough milk to feed all her children, but it just so happens that a great big hawk was soaring overhead and took a liking to the kitten. The hawk picked her up in his great talons and brought her to a castle on an island, surrounded by thorns and briars and the most beautiful roses the kitten had ever seen. There, the hawk set her the task of hunting down mice so he himself could go after bigger, juicier prey — for you see, the hawk had long dreamed of becoming the greatest hunter in the whole wide world.”

At this, Zoro shifts to turn back towards you, peering open one eye to watch as you leaned back against the wall of the small storeroom he’d claimed as his own, one of your knees propped up, your arm hanging loosely over it, your other leg dangling down over the side of your barrel, your heel occasionally knocking against the wood with gentle little thumps.

You take a deep breath and glance down at him, a sad, faraway look in your eyes as you continue —

“Eventually, the kitten got very good at catching mice — she grew faster, stealthier, learned to sharpen her claws and teeth, learned to hide amongst the beautiful roses in the garden until the mice grew complacent before she struck. But no matter how much she begged, the hawk would never let her hunt bigger things. And then one day… the hawk took her up in his giant claws again and tossed her onto the beach — told her that there was nothing more he could teach her, and that she ought to find her own way in the world.”

You sigh, shaking your head, “What a liar…” you murmur, almost to yourself as you lower your eyes to your hands, “he never really taught me anything…”

And this time, it’s Zoro who remains silent, letting the quiet seep through the floorboards like the thick, morning mists, rising off of the water’s surface before the sun bakes it all away.

Then, he swings himself off the hammock and makes for the door. Before he can reach it, you’re in front of him, blocking his path with a bright glint in your eyes and a challenge in your smile.

“I’ve rested,” he says, plainly, taking half a step back.

“You’ll never get better like this —”

“Exactly,” he throws the word back in your face before sighing and looking away, “so… help me.”

You blink, staring up at him as he stares right back at you.

“Help you how?” You resist the urge to look away, swallow down the bitterness crawling up the back of your throat — I can’t even help myself —

“Mihawk trained you —”

“No,” you spit out, your shoulders tensing as you glare up at Zoro, “he didn’t — he did everything in his power not to —”

“Tch — you lived with him on that island and he trusted you with keeping the — the mice away —” a vein ticks in Zoro’s jaw as you watch him stare down at you, your heart thumping warm and wild in your chest, “just because he didn’t personally hold your hand and teach you his technique… doesn’t mean he wasn’t training you in his own way.”

You swallow hard.

“So what? It’s not like I can ever beat him.”

“You might. Or I might. If we help each other.”

You ball your fingers into fists, “What makes you think either of us stands a chance against him?”

At this, Zoro’s smile goes slanted — a raw, wild, blood-beat thing.

“Because I’ve seen you fight and I think you’re good. And… I know I’m good. Or at least, I know I’ll get there.”

There’s a certain quicksilver edge to the shape of his words that makes you look up, your eyes meeting his like the colliding cores of two tidally locked stars — something terrible and magnificent, a catastrophe of gravity and inevitability.

Your mind spins and for a second, you can almost see it, that distant future in which Roronoa Zoro becomes the best, better — even — than the best. The greatest in the world. You lean back, your gaze appraising.

“Tell you what — if you get good enough to catch me once… I’ll take you to him.”

Zoro frowns, “What do you mean?”

Your grin quirks and you lilt your head, “Exactly what it sounds like — you get fast enough to catch me, and catch me properly then… I’ll take you to his island.”

Zoro stares. And then, his own grin stretches to match yours.

“Deal.”

Things change after that, the mornings and evenings no longer finding Zoro alone at the bow of the ship, but always with the shape of you flickering around him, the bright, hungry gleam of sun on steel flashing around you.

“Too slow —” you gasp, dodging beneath one of his swipes as he grunts and swings downward, nearly catching the tips of your hair as you spin away.

“But — you’re getting there,” you grin, holding up a hand as you lean back against the side of the Merry, your other hand pressed to your chest.

“Outta breath, kitten?” Zoro asks, smirking as he slowly sheaths his sword, sweat glistening along the planes and grooves of his chest.

“Hardly.” You flick him a disapproving look but there’s a tiny smile that threatens the corner of your mouth as he scoffs, reaching for a rag to dab at his forehead. You can’t help the way your eyes linger on the strong, sturdy ripples of muscles that flex along his back and shoulders as he straightens up either, and when he catches you staring, it’s all you can do to hold his gaze.

You don’t give him a chance to gloat. Instead, you swing your knives around your fingers and cast him a grin.

“Breakfast,” you say.

“Mm,” he agrees, just as Nami comes padding up onto the main deck, stifling a yawn and squinting at you both with a mildly disgusted look on her face.

“How the hell are you guys up so damn early all the time?”

“Ah, they say that cats are diurnal creatures — so they’re most awake at dawn and at dusk. As for the moss-head… I’ve heard that idiots don’t need as much sleep. Not as much brain to rest, y’know?” Sanji remarks, smirking as he brushes by Nami with a wink.

Zoro scoffs, wiping off his blade with a rough cloth, “It’s called bettering yourself. Not that you’d know what it means. All this time and your congee’s still runny as f —”

“Says the guy who can’t tell the difference between sunny side up and scrambled eggs —”

You sigh, ducking around the squabbling pair with a long, sinuous stretch.

“So… how goes the sparring, hm?” Nami asks, her voice dripping with innuendo as she follows you into the kitchen, her sleep-blurred eyes now sharp, her grin moon-sly and teasing.

“It goes,” you say, opening a cupboard and rummaging around for anything that catches your eye.

“I see… and is it going somewhere in particular?” Nami drapes herself across the long couch, her eyes tracking you as you move from cupboard to cupboard, and finally stopping in front of the fridge.

You hoist yourself up onto the suspended table, a glass of milk in your hands, “Depends on where this particular place is.”

Nami shrugs, “Dunno… just seems like Zoro’s spending a lot of time following you around like a lost little puppy these days. When was the last time he’s left you alone for more than say —” Nami makes a show of checking her watch, “15 minutes?”

“We’re just training together — and he doesn’t follow me around all the time —” but even as the words leave your mouth, Zoro ducks into the kitchen, his eyes skipping from you to Nami and back again.

“Waiter said we’re on our own for breakfast.”

“I’m good with milk.” You hold up your glass even as Nami snickers and Zoro nods, rummaging through a few cupboards until he pulls out a bag of jerky. At this, Nami’s eyes slingshot between the pair of you one last time before she sighs dramatically and saunters back out of the room, muttering something about conning Sanji into making proper breakfast.

The quiet twines around your ankles, soft and familiar. Zoro leans against the counter, the small bag of jerky untouched as he watches you sip at your milk. Heat curls along the curve of your spine as you feel the weight of his eyes tracking your lips, the bright pink flash of your tongue.

You swallow.

So does he.

“You’re getting faster.”

“You’re getting stronger.”

Your words overlap like the pages of a book, flipped through too fast.

You blink, and then — laughter. Your’s startled and shy, his soft and… you turn just fast enough to catch him duck his head the other way, shoving his hand into the bag of jerky. He clears his throat.

“Thanks.”

“What for?” you work to press some of your usual purr back into your voice, but it sounds strange and tinny in the wane morning light.

“For…” Zoro hesitates, and for a second, you find yourself leaning into the smooth weight of his voice, as if you might be able to catch his next words in the palm of your hands like bruised fruit.

“Alright — outta my kitchen, mosshead — lovely ladies like these should always start the day with a well-balanced meal.”

Sanji kicks open the door and Zoro glares. You’re already hopping off the counter, quiet as starlight, grinning behind Sanji’s back even as Zoro sighs.

“It’s not your kitchen, waiter. I’ve got as much right to be in here as you do.”

You try to slip away but Nami’s hand darts out to catch your wrist.

“Not so fast… kitten.”

Your entire face flushes at the word.

“I don’t know what you’re —”

Nami’s satisfied smile is more Cheshire than cat but you allow her to drag you up to the bow of the ship, half-concealed by her tangerine trees. Up here, the air tastes briny and sweet with morning air. Up here, you have you squint against the sea’s shattered glass light, cast up towards the dawning sky.

Nami leans against the railing and casts her eyes out towards the distant horizon. There’s always been a sun-kissed quality about her, the brilliant orange of her hair, the darkening patches of freckles scattered across her nose-bridge. You let her press her arm to yours and feel the warmth and soft of her skin.

“So. Zoro, huh?”

You sigh, looking down towards the dark emerald of the waves below. You watch as the water froths against the ship’s hull, peeling away in roils of white lace.

“A little cliche, if you ask me — y’know, the swordsman and the knife-girl? But… I guess it makes sense.” There’s a lightness to her voice that makes you laugh, a solidness to her words that makes you powerless to contest them.

“They say it’s good to have hobbies in common,” you offer, hoping to match the playfulness in her voice. Nami chuckles, making a noise at the back of her throat.

“Oh yeah, I bet ‘bodycount’ means something totally different to the two of you, huh?”

You let a real laugh break though then, your head tipping back and reveling in the sound. The rapidly rising sun casts everything in a dreamy, slant-wise glow — golden hour, you think you’ve heard it called. But you wonder if it’s might just be more amber than gold, standing here, laughing with Nami, you feel for the first time, a weight shift and slip from your shoulders. Like shedding a thick coat after a long day’s travel.

Then, the light shifts, a thin fog of clouds dulling out the sun’s light as Nami fixes you with her too-sharp eyes.

“He’s going after Mihawk, isn’t he?”

You sober as well, wetting your lips. “Eventually, yeah.”

“And… you’re helping him.”

You nod.

Nami sighs, dropping her chin onto a the heel of her hand.

“You… really think he can do it? Beat Mihawk?”

You take your time scanning the horizon. Without the transcendent glow of the rising sun, the waves are cooler, darker, and you know better than most the monsters lurking just beneath the surface.

“Mihawk’s only human,” you say. To which Nami scoffs.

“Right. That makes it loads better.”

You instinctively reach for where you knives would be, the empty loops on your belt like a persistent itch in your fingertips.

“At least it means he bleeds red just like the rest of us.”

Nami nods as you push away from the rails, retracing your steps into the kitchen where you’d left your knives.

Sanji is halfway through grilling mackerel with a steaming pot of miso soup bubbling on the stove. He gives you a wink and a knowing grin as you wander in, jerking his chin towards the hanging table where Zoro is running an oiled cloth along the length of his sword.

“In case you were lookin’ for your knives,” Sanji’s voice is silken tofu smooth as he turns back to his cooking.

Zoro doesn’t look up as you reach for your knives, laid out perfectly, already cleaned and oiled.

“I was doing mine anyway,” Zoro says, by way of an explanation.

You smirk, reaching out to tuck each one into its spot on your belt.

“Thanks, pretty boy, altruism looks good on you.”

You slink from the room before you can hear Sanji’s witty taunt or Zoro’s biting retort, a satisfied heat stirring steady at the base of your stomach.

The languorous days slip into sun-soaked weeks, and though it takes longer than anyone would’ve liked for Zoro’s wound to heal, it does. And the scar, well —

“I think it looks awesome!” Luffy says, clapping Zoro on the shoulder as you tug away the gauze to inspect the long thin strip of puckered skin, a few shades lighter than the rest of Zoro’s chest.

“Yeah, real… manly-like,” Usopp adds, arms folded, leaning against the far wall, fighting an expression between impressed slightly queasy. He backpedals immediately as Zoro casts him a dark look.

“N-not that you’re not real or manly already or anything like that! It just uh — adds to the allure, y’know?”

Nami makes a face, “Yeah, I don’t know about allure…”

Sanji grunts.

“When did this become a museum exhibit?” Zoro snaps, frowning at the entire crew, gathered around him as you unstick the last of the bandages from his now healed stomach.

“We just wanted to make sure you were alright, Zoro!” Luffy says, rummaging around for a snack now that he’s satisfied his first mate is properly healed.

“I’ve been fine for weeks,” Zoro says flatly as Usopp joins Luffy and Sanji wanders towards the window to let out a puff of smoke.

“Can you lean back a bit — I think it’s still not completely healed by your —” you frown as you try to press Zoro back, your palm splaying against his stomach as your free hand traces at the waistband of his pants towards where the large gash tapers into his right hip.

Zoro hisses between his teeth and the room goes deathly quiet.

You look up to find everyone staring, and then half a second later Nami leaps to her feet, talking loudly about a part of the East Blue map she wants to finish, Usopp stuttering after her about checking the knots on the main mast, and Sanji dragging Luffy by the scruff of the neck, insisting that they set up the fishing lines for the day.

The door slams behind Luffy and somehow, the room feels more full than it had been just a few seconds prior. The silence pulses between you, thick and pitched and expanding.

You clear your throat delicately, lowering your eyes back to the task at hand, doing your best to ignore the uncomfortable heat now creeping up the back of your neck.

“Can you —”

Zoro leans back wordlessly, propping his arms against the table, his hips shifting forward to allow you access.

You gently tug down the material of his waistband several inches to reveal the tip of the wound, still a bit raw and red, possibly from the friction of his clothes, or just his general lack of regard for his own recovery.

“Yeah, it’s still not all —” your voice cuts off as you look up to find Zoro staring, and the burgeoning hunger you find there stills your heart in your chest. It’s a strange, base, animal thing, caught in the swirling darkness of his irises, but he holds his breath, and so you do yours —

“Healed…” you swallow hard, reaching for the thick, pungent balm sitting by his left hand.

With slow, methodic movements, you uncap the balm and dip your finger into the sticky surface, reaching forward to run the tip along the soft redness of Zoro’s skin. Thinking back later, you might’ve been thankful for the sharp herbal fragrance of the balm to distract you from the deeper, muskier smell of Zoro’s skin, salted as it always is with sea and sweat, tempered with the unmistakable scent of steel.

But right then, all you can think about is the sharp cut of his hipbone as it slants down, and down, and —

You pull back when you’re done, making to wipe your hand on a piece of washcloth when Zoro catches your wrist in one smooth movement, pulling you up till you’re chest to chest, your body slotted between his spread open legs.

“Zoro, what —”

“Caught you —” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, but you feel it rumbling through his chest to yours.

“— You’re losing your touch.”

You narrow your eyes, “Not a chance — I was distracted, that’s not fair —”

You try to tug your wrist away only for him to tighten his grip. A fist-like something clenches inside your stomach along with his fingers. Fire licks at the base of your belly before climbing up your spine.

“Hn. All’s fair.”

You watch in near slow motion as his eyes flick down to your lips and back up again; you’re helpless to do else but mirror the movement. With your wrist still caught in his grasp, it’s almost too easy for him to pull you forward, to tip you into him till you’re nearly spilling over, till you’re scrambling back with half-caught breaths and wide eyes and your other palm pressing firmly to his chest, where you can feel the fluttering beats of his own heart caught just beneath your touch.

“I-if you’re gonna make a move, at least wait till I’ve finished wiping off my hands,” the words come tumbling out, more a reflex than anything else, but it makes Zoro blink and lean back just a few inches. His grip on you eases ever so slightly, and you tug your wrist from his grasp, expecting him to snap to, to jerk away, to blush or apologize, but instead, all he does is watch you mutely wipe at your hands with those dark, hungry eyes.

When you’ve finished, he quirks an eyebrow as if waiting for you to make the next move.

At this, you huff, rolling your eyes, “Come on*,* pretty boy — you can’t expect me to dress your wounds and make the first —”

The kiss is quick and searing and over all too fast, as most first kisses are. The second kiss is more patient, a slow easing in, a teasing of lips and and a testing of tongues. The third is breathless, hedging on urgent. The fourth — well the fourth is cut short by Zoro pressing his forehead to yours, the both of you panting.

“Wh — what the hell was that?” you ask, gulping down great lungfuls of breath as Zoro scoffs.

“C’mon kitten, don’t go gettin’ shy on me now…” Zoro smirks even as you lean forward to try and nip at his bottom lip, eyes flashing. He tilts your mouth back to his, and words are lost for a few more moments before you find them again.

“Who said anything about getting shy? I just wanted an explanation.”

Zoro makes an abortive noise at the back of his throat as you nose into the place under his jaw and graze your teeth along the skin there.

“C-can’t a guy say thanks for someone dressing his wounds?”

You pull back with a soft hiss and a sly smile; it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter.

“Don’t tell me this is how you’ve been thanking all your savoirs. I’ll have to go compare notes with Zeff —”

At this, Zoro grunts, wincing slightly as your belt presses against the inside of his hip where his wound is still raw. You pull away, startled.

“Sorry — I didn’t —”

“Hey.”

Zoro tugs you back with soft hands and an even softer smile, “Not sure I liked having you talk about Zeff while we were…”

You break him off with a helpless laugh and he joins you a second later. And then, before either of you can say more, Usopp’s voice echoes down from above deck.

“Land ho! Land ho!”

You glance back at Zoro, who slips off the table and has the decency to rearrange his clothes. You share a meaningful look before trying to pull away but Zoro once again catches your wrist.

This time, his lips are set and his eyes are just a tad bit harder than before.

“Don’t forget, kitten, you still owe me an island.”

You pause, peering at him beneath half-lidded eyes as your head lists first to one side, and then the other.

His eyes track yours before ticking down to your lips once more, where your tongue traces a path his own had run along not so long ago.

“You should know by now, pretty boy, that I never forget my debts.”

And just like that, your wrist slips from between his fingers, and Zoro’s left with nothing more than the taste of your mouth and the flicker of your shadow as he steps into the dim hallway.

Loguetown is a bustling place, a bleached button pressed into the chest of the East Blue, bright as a Marine’s new uniform. People blow through like fall leaves on the wayward wind and ships of all shapes and sizes dot every bit of tangible coast, their masts foresting the skyline until it’s barely visible from the docks.

“Need new swords,” Zoro announces as the crew all gather on the creaky boardwalk.

“Same. Could do with a few more knives,” you nod.

Nami tuts, rolling her eyes, “Well I’m getting a new wardrobe.”

“I’m gonna get some lunch!” Luffy grins widely as Sanji sighs, digging in his pockets for a fresh light.

“Looks like we’re stuck with the grocery shopping,” he says, nudging Usopp.

“Uh… I was actually gonna go check out some tech shops to find some parts for…” Usopp trails off as Sanji pins him with a look before shrugging, “Or… I mean, I don’t mind doing groceries first and then looking for parts.”

“Good man!” Sanji smiles, clapping him on the back as he frog-marches Usopp towards the market.

“No getting into fights, got it?” Nami looks between you and Zoro, “we need to be discreet.”

You bat your lashes, “Us? Never! We’ll be sweet and soft as kangaroos.”

Nami frowns, “Wait — kangaroos aren’t —”

You laugh, flouncing off towards town, “Never said they were!”

Zoro sighs before following after.

“It’s not your first time here,” he says after a while. It’s not a question, so you don’t provide an answer, contenting yourself with looking around at all the new shop fronts that had popped up since you were last here, and all the old haunts that have been here since what you’re sure is the inception of time itself.

“Where are we going?” he asks after several more minutes of turning down seemingly random streets.

You flash him a grin, “I know a place.”

When you duck into the arms shop, Ipponmatsu glances up from over his bulbous nose before doing a double-take. His eyes narrow to slits.

“You! You nearly robbed me blind the last time you were here! Get —”

Drop a bag of clinking Berry into one of the sword bins with a feline smirk, drawing a long finger against the hilt of some unnamed blade.

“There. That should set us even. And… you did try to swindle me first. Plus, I’m here on proper business today — my friend is in the market for some swords.”

Ipponmatsu’s eyes remain slits, but his fingers twitch as he edges toward the bin, snatching the sack from it and clutching it to his chest.

Zoro glances around at the various blades hung and displayed around the surprisingly spacious shop. The distinct unctuous tone of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by the shopkeeper, but he seems too distracted by the sack of Berry to snipe any further.

“Well,” Ipponmatsu gruffs after a few more seconds, “I’m watchin’ you… oh…” his eyes slide from you to Zoro and then to the Wadou Ichimonji at his side. Zoro almost feels the man’s jaw go slack for a second before he slams it back into place.

“E-esteemed swordsman, sir! That blade — at your side — if I might just take a look —”

You’re perched on the cashier’s counter faster than either of them can blink, one leg crossed over the other, feet hanging idly off the side, a palm pinning Ipponmatsu’s greedy hand to the surface, an almost bored expression on your face as you squint down at his fingers.

“Hm… don’t they say that swordsmen ought to take good care of their hands? I could feed a whole family of mice with the dead skin of your cuticles.”

Ipponmatsu yelps and tries to jerk free but your hold is firm, and Zoro has to fight down the amused grin twitching at the edge of his mouth. He’s felt first hand how strong your grip can be, how unnervingly quick the pressure is there, slicing off circulation with the precision of a blade.

“W-what do you want?!” the shopkeeper looks wildly between the pair of you.

You shrug, “Like I said, we’re in the market for some swords. I’d just like to make sure we keep all the dealings above water, hm?”

Ipponmatsu glares at you for a second longer before all the fight goes out of him and he slumps against the counter.

“Oh, alright alright! Look at the damned swords — it’s just… you’ve got a mighty good blade there. You’d do well not to lose it, ” he jerks his chin towards Zoro’s blade, “or get it stolen,” his eyes flash back to where you’re now cheerfully perusing a collection of knives in the far corner, the space you’d inhabited on the cashier’s counter static with your absence.

Ipponmatsu rubs as his wrist. Zoro nods.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Don’t worry — I’ve got no interest in katana’s. I prefer more subtlety myself.” You swing a pair of serrated claw knives around your fingers as if testing them for weight before putting them back.

All in all, it takes half an hour, a cursed blade, and some groveling on Ipponmatsu’s part before you and Zoro stroll out of the arms shop with two brand new katanas strapped to his side, and a fresh set of throwing needles tucked into your belt.

You take off in a random direction and Zoro follows after. You pass through a wide open square brimming with people and slip into a dark alley between two buildings made of carved marble so white it almost hurts the eyes.

Zoro is quiet as he walks behind you, until he isn’t.

“So, what’s the story?”

“Oh… just something from a past life of mine,” you answer offhandedly, fluttering your fingers through the air.

“Yeah? And how many of those have you got?”

You shoot him a piercing look and a crooked grin, “Some number between one and nine — take your best guess.”

Zoro falls silent again as a pair of drunken sailor careen by, arm in arm, belting a sea shanty.

After a while, you turn, “Hey, how’dyou know there was even story to begin with?”

Zoro ticks up an eyebrow, his hands resting one on top of the other over his newly obtained sword hilts as the pair of you wander through the tributary streets, ducking under awnings and slipping through crowds.

“With you, there’s always a story.”

He feels your eyes on him first, and he lets you watch him for a while, his own eyes slipping from store fronts to shop windows. Occasionally, he lets himself linger on the reflection of you and him — him made of so many solid, hard shapes, and you, soft as water, quick as light, elusive as any shadow.

“Then… how do you think this one ends?” you ask, your eyes meeting his in a reflection of a window across which you can see the a vague Nami-shaped pile of expensive clothes.

“This one?”

“Yeah. Ours.”

Zoro grunts, letting his gaze flick away, “What makes you think it’ll end anytime soon?”

He catches your smile and you let him, “Who said anything about soon?”

He feels the prickle of heat as it crawls up his neck and clears his throat.

“Well then, maybe when I become the World’s Greatest Swordsman.”

You frown, suddenly contemplative.

“So… it’ll end when you beat Mihawk?”

Zoro shrugs, “Might. Or it might not.”

Your frown deepens as you turn to face him proper. Through the glass, Nami catches sight of you and is waving you in, pointing at a rack of clothes glittering in sequins and patched in colors you’ve never imagined putting on your body before today.

“No? Won’t that be when you become the greatest in the world? When you beat him?”

Zoro turns, and there — just there, caught in the light of his eyes, the spark of something as he looks down at you. There’s a smile pressed between his lips that’s part mischief, part hesitancy, and all earnest truth.

“World’s a big place. Might have to check around to make sure there’s not a better swordsman out there, somewhere.” His voice is low, hope twisting beneath its rippling surface.

You feel your heart skittering your chest, the warmth in your stomach crystalizing into something more than simple curiosity and harder than desire.

“Ah… right. That does pose a problem, doesn’t it?”

Zoro makes a consenting noise.

“So,” he says, with a tone of light finality as he turns back toward the window behind which Nami is now twirling in front of a mirror in a truly lurid dress of hot pink.

“So…” you say, feigning an air of defeat as you sigh, “I guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet, pretty boy.”

“Hn.” Zoro, for his part, doesn’t sound too upset with the proclamation.

Just then, Luffy’s voice shouts from behind you both and you turn to find him waving.

“Zoro! You have to come look! There’s a guy at the market selling Sea King Meat!”

Then, Nami finally pokes her head out from inside the clothing store, now sporting a pair of blindingly bright disco pants.

“C’mon! There’s like a million dresses I put aside for you to try!”

You and Zoro turn back to each other in a single, stolen breath. Your eyes collide, and Zoro smiles. A small, brilliant, unguarded thing.

“Go on, kitten. I’ll catch up to you.”

You toss him a wide, lingering grin.

“Right. You’d better.”

Zoro waves as he turns towards Luffy, “Don’t worry. I will.”

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece live action #one piece scenarios #opla zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #x reader #opla #one piece netflix #opla zoro x reader #scheduled post #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #one piece fluff #roronoa zoro imagines #opla x reader #roronoa zoro scenarios #floofy floof floof

[readychilledwine]

Lollipop pt 2

Summary - Azriel and Seraphina Vanserra will take what happened between them after the High Lords Meeting to their grave. Well, at least her father's grave.

Warnings - NSFW, oral (f rev), fingering, degradation, Dom sub dynamics, power play, shadow play/bondage, praise kink, corruption kink, use of pet names, 😻 slapping, spanking, overstimulation, Azriel being a fuck rabbit, dumbification, cock warming, virginity loss, orgasm denile, implied anal and throat fucking, a very rough first time.

An - so.... this was supposed to post at 1pm my time 😒 evidently I drafted it instead of hitting schedule post. Low key thought you all hated it and I failed. Anyways! Forgive me 💜 and don't worry, you'll still get two smut corruption pieces today, though. Ps if you see mistakes, you don't.

Read Part One Here

Seraphina rocked back in her heels as he circled her like a hawk, a small smirk playing on his face as shadows broke her skin out in chills. “How lucky am I,” he moved closer to her back, “to have such an eager, pretty mate.”

She was beautiful. Smaller than he normally liked, but he knew from Eris that Beron kept her food very controlled to prevent her from gaining weight.

Which was a damn shame in Azriel's mind. The more curve, the better, and he would change that once she was his and his alone.

His scarred hand ran up her dress before gently wrapping around her throat, testing the waters instead of diving in head first. Seraphina, in return, whimpered loudly, the scent of her honeyed arousal coming into the air. Her hands found his thighs, gripping for purchase as she tilted her head back, allowing him, and his hand, more access. “Good girl,” he praised her softly, kissing below her pointed ear. “You know how to tug the bond, right?”

“Yes.”

Azriel kissed her bare shoulder before correcting her, “Yes sir.” Serphina nodded, watching him from the mirror. Her eyes widened at the feel of something cold and sharp on the base of her spine. “Breathe,” he kissed down her neck, and in one swift movement cut her dress enough to be able to rip it off.

She was calm throughout his testing of the waters. He rose a brow at her deep breaths. “You aren't afraid?”

She shook her head, her heart racing as hazel eyes met hers in the mirror. “What exactly do you plan to do to me?”

His shadows seemed to thicken and his eyes darkened as he stared at her in the mirror, placing that sharp dagger back into it's holster. “Everything,” he growled before gripping the back of her neck and turning her into a heavy kiss.

It was electric. It was passionate. It was fire meeting shadows. Dancing together as her hands found stability and purchase on his chest after her dress fell.

He backed her to the bed instantly. Growling as he shoved her back and was instantly on her body again.

He had waited years for this. Years for a mate, an equal. The fact that he would be her first. That he would be the one to ruin her and corrupt her was just a bonus.

Bites and kisses started going lower down Seraphina's body, making her shiver. Azriel bit down on her neck, causing her back to arch and a soft whine to leave her mouth. Her hand tried shooting to her lips, hoping to trap the noises in just for shadows to rip her arms away from her, locking them above her head in a vise like grip.

Azriel tutted her softly. “Do you want to be my good girl?” She nodded eagerly, arching into his shadows and hands as they roamed her body. “Words or we stop.”

“Yes sir,” his own heart fluttered at her submission, at how quickly she was taking her role.

“Then let me hear everything. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel.”

“Yes sir.”

“And stop looking away. I want you to watch what I'm doing to you.”

She nodded again, lip pulled between her teeth as his kisses reached her breasts and his warm tongue began to play with her nipple. The soft moan that left her lips was music.

Her body was a harp, a fine tuned instrument just waiting to be played, and for once, Azriel truly felt he was a musician. He wanted to cherish her, to show her how she as his mate would spend her life treated and worshipped.

But then his mind flashed back to her pretty mouth wrapped around that candy, to her visual fantasy Rhys had happily put into his mind the second it started, and all that hope went out that window.

His sole mission was to ruin her. To ensure no other male would bring her to the brink of pleasure over and over and over the way he could. And Azriel never failed a mission.

Kisses became soft bites, making gasps and moans fall from pretty parted lips and Seraphina's amber eyes to roll back. She thought he was going to kill her. He had hardly touched her and she knew she was soaked. She knew that coil would snap within moments of him doing anything to her. A pained whine came as his teeth sank into the inner side of her right breast, bruising and marking the soft untouched skin there before turning and marking the left the same way. “Mine,” he growled causing more heat to shoot through her body. “All mine.”

His kisses began to trail lower again. Mouth coming to a halt above her center as he looked at her. “Also. Fucking. Mine.”

Azriel did not give her a chance to respond, a chance to understand what was about to happen, and that first lick had her jaw fall open, head going back to the pillow and an almost scream like whine leaving her mouth. He wasted no time, instantly feeling that noise shoot to his cock and began eating her out like it was his last meal. Every nudge of his tongue in her center, on cilt, in her folds had her moaning, arching, pulling at his shadows as they restrained her tighter, holding her wide open and completely under Azriel's control.

His hands dug into her hips, leaving bruises there instantly as well as he groaned into the taste of her before wrapping his lips around that swollen bundle of nerves and focusing a ruthless attack there. He watched her under hooded lashes as she arched, as she cried, as the foreign feeling brought tears to her eyes and began to ruin her mascara.

She'd cum just from this. Just from his tongue rolling her pretty clit, circling it, pushing down on it. She'd cum for the lightest touches. And that got him off. It made him feel like a God.

Sera felt her eyes roll back again, an unfamiliar feeling in her stomach as her breathing and moaning picked up. She needed something, needed more. “Please,” she began to beg, her voice breathy and desperate as he began fucking her core, stretching her slightly with his tongue. “Sir, please. I-”

He pulled away, a hand quickly striking her pussy before rubbing gently to soothe her. “Good girls do not beg, pet. Are you a good girl or a whore?” He glared at her slightly as she whined before smacking her again. “if you want to be treated like a fucking whore, then I will treat you like a whore.”

He turned her, allowing his shadows to restrain her on her stomach with a limb towards each corner of the bed. He placed a pillow under her hips, positioning her ass and pussy in the perfect spot for him before waiting to see if she tugged the bond, if this was too much. Her hips wiggled instead, trying to sneak attention from that trapped pillow.

He sent a silent prayer and thank you to the Mother, to the Cauldron, to any deity listening, and then he spanked her.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Watching as her milky pale skin turned bright red for him, watching as she began dripping for him. “You are a fucking whore, aren't you? Getting off on me spanking you.” He spanked her again, watching as her legs began to shake. “Are you going to cum from me spanking you?”

Shame should have filled her then and there, but it didn't. She should be ashamed of herself. She had always been taught sex was not for her. It was for the male. Her sole job was to please him and him alone. Yet here she was, seconds from finding absolute bliss as her mate did nothing more than treated her like a babe in need of punishment.

Azriel brought both hands down on her ass, and watched as she screamed, body jolting and her tight hole clenched around nothing. She came screaming his name, tears streaming down her face. He ran his hand up and down her back, slowing her breathing through the High before running his hands back to her pussy and feeling those soaked folds.

“You have to relax,” he warned gently as she stiffened. “If you don't relax, I will end up hurting you, and I don't want to hurt my perfect pet, do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Sera tried relaxing. Focusing on the humming bond. On his amusement, his pleasure in seeing her like this. She whimpered as two fingers ran from her clit to her whole, lubricating those thick scarred digits in her nectar.

Azriel pushed his middle finger in. He felt his own eyes roll back, imagining the feeling of her soft tight walls on his cock as she let out a breathy moan. He began pumping immediately, not giving her time to adjust and then inserted a second finger before leaning over her to put his hand in her hair and pull, forcing her to arch her back more as she began to cry again. “Gonna feel so good on my cock, pet. So fucking tight and warm.” The praise warmed her immediately. Another wave of heat and wetness flowing through her. “This pussy is mine, you hear me? You are mine. You belong to me.”

Seraphina felt her heart flutter at that. At the idea of being his and his alone. At the idea of no one else stretching her like this. Her walls began to twitch as he found a spot he had been searching for and began to ruthlessly curl and thrust his fingers in to it.

She was soaking the pillow, her thighs, his hand. Azriel's shadows began to remove his clothing, freeing his aching cock and allowing him to stroke it in time with his fingers. Sera was panting again, her hips trying to meet his hand only to be held in place as he felt her approaching the edge again.

Before she could, he pulled away, landing a harsh spank on her bruising ass before standing and removing his leathers completely.

“All in one or gently. Pick now.” His desperate voice sent a wave of power through Sera. The idea of him being this worked up for her while she did nothing but submit to his will make her glow with feminine pride.

“Just fuck me.”

He was surprised by the answer, hand coming to use her juices as lubricant on his cock before he got behind her with a dangerous grin. “I'd tell you to hold on to something, but it appears your hands are a little preoccupied.”

It was pleasure, pain, completion, everything. Sera felt herself fall into shock before a loud wailing moan filled the room along with the scent of her Maidenhood breaking.

Azriel's hand gripped the sheet next to her head as he too let out a pitched moan. She felt exactly as he had imagined. Warm, velvety walls pulsed around him. He gave a gentle teasing thrust, watching as her mouth fell back open. Her make up always ruined, her hair a mess, body littered in bites and bruises.

He had not been gentle with her once tonight, and he was about to start now unless she asked. He placed a foot solid on the bed and grabbed her waist. Then he began.

Seraphina saw the heavens when he moved. His thick cock dragging in and out of her, lighting every inch and nerve on fire as she could do nothing more than lay there moaning and crying out for him.

Her walls were twitching, begging for release instantly as they pulled him in deeper and deeper. He was going to fuck her into two pieces. She hadn't even had the chance to look at his cock, but Gods she felt it. She felt it brushing her cervix with each thrust. She felt it hitting places healers didn't even have names for yet. She felt it pulling her apart inch by inch until she was the perfect sleeve for him.

Azriel watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a small smile forming on her face, and she began to drool slightly.

He had fucked her dumb this easily. Fucked every brain cell from her and rendered her completely to his will.

Seraphina would be easy to train. Easy to make his personal whore. His perfect little mate, his perfect little wife, his perfect cock sleeve, always ready, dripping, and eager for him.

He fucked her until dawn broke through the window. Taking her cunt, her throat, her ass. He came on her face, inside of her, on her tits. She was soaked in his seed, her essences, his and her sweat.

He held her tight in the tub. Bouncing her on his cock as she sat in his lap crying from overstimulation. He released into her again, triggering another orgasm from her that left her in a silent scream and whimpers. He didn't allow her off, forcing her to sit chest to chest with him and warm his cock.

No words passed between them.

No words needed to.

When she tried to speak, he pushed two fingers into her mouth. “We will talk when master is ready. Am I understood, whore?”

She nodded, gagging as the digits pushed in further and maintaining eye contact like he had taught her. He hardened inside of her tender abused cunt again. And he lifted her off and turned her.

The slow realization hit her. 12 orgasms wasn't enough.. 8 hours wasn't enough. Her mate was insatiable.

And she was all too happy to just be used.

#acotar #azriel acotar #azriel #Azriel x innocent!oc #azriel x vanserra!oc #azriel x oc #azriel acosf

[hush-writes-preg]

Spooky Season Day #22

Summary: [Dominant AFAB reader] A classic werewolf attack (and breeding) with a twist-- sometimes even a werewolf will bite off more than it can chew. Wordcount: 1,760

Themes: Werewolf breeding, werewolf pregnancy, nonhuman pregnancy, outdoor sex, dominant pregnant individual

You started your day searching for wood, but apparently the universe had a weird sense of humor, because it gave you something else entirely.

The forest just outside your tiny village held plenty of firewood, but few dared to venture far into its dark, imposing depths. Hushed stories spoke of faeries and monsters and all sorts of fantastical beasts just waiting to snap up a distracted traveler. Even hunters shied away from it, no matter how lean times got, unwilling to risk their lives to the unknown.

You, however, didn't care much for such campfire stories. You could handle yourself. You might be short and wiry, but the years you'd spent working the farm with your father and brothers had honed the feminine form you'd been born with into one just as rugged and masculine as theirs. You'd proven yourself through many a rough-and-tumble brawl with the other village boys, too. Nobody would guess from a simple glance that your clothing hid secrets.  

And you preferred it that way.  

You'd gathered half a load of wood when you heard the crunch of a twig snapping somewhere behind you. You didn't react, for you'd been listening to whatever-it-was for some time. Something dogged your heels, something quick and quiet and following you with the ruthless persistence of a predator, but you didn't feel fear. If anything, the prospect of a good fight left your nerves humming with anticipation.

Leaves shifted. The faint chitter of birdsong quieted.  

Your fingers tightened around your axe as you subtly shifted your weight, ready for whatever might come.  

The first blow came at your right shoulder, but your stalker hadn't expected you to be prepared when it finally pounced. 

The two of you tumbled across the forest floor, grappling for dominance in a heated dance that could mean the difference between life and death. Claws tore at your clothes, and wicked teeth snapped inches from your fragile human skin, but you gave as good as you received, blocking the worst of its attacks with the haft of your axe and landing a few blows of your own.

In retrospect, you probably shouldn't have won that fight. The creature stood over a head taller than you, its body heavily corded with muscle, but you moved with an agility that it couldn't hope to match. So when the blade of your axe somehow found the vulnerable curve of its throat, it had no choice but to freeze.

Straddling the beast's hips, you stared down at the creature beneath you, your panting breaths meeting its faint growls in a harsh melody. The burning heat of its curse-twisted form leeched into your thighs. You could feel it flex its powerful body, testing your weight and the sharpness of your weapon. It was large and furry, and reeked of a unique combination of fresh sweat and musk that made something jolt in your gut.

A werewolf.

You've subdued a freaking werewolf.

You should have been terrified, yet you couldn't draw your eyes away from the fearsome creature.

The werewolf stared back, its dark gaze fathomless above a long, furred snout. Its black nose twitched with an obvious inhale.

Then its eyes narrowed.

"What, didn't think you could be bettered, pup?" you sneered, leaning more of your weight against your blade. "Just because you're a little fuzzy doesn't mean I'm gonna take one look at you and run off like a spooked fawn."

A curious shudder vibrated through the creature's body even as it snarled, its dagger-like teeth bared in obvious threat.

No, not it. He.

For the furry sheath pressed intimately against your groin began to twitch and swell as you watched, revealing a hint of something red at the tip.

Your breath caught in your throat. The feral masculinity of the creature at your mercy sparked a strange heat in your belly, a kind you couldn't recall ever feeling before. Your mouth practically watered at the sight of your attacker's arousal, and you didn't think that was normal. "Like that, did you?" You impulsively rocked your hips, rubbing yourself teasingly against him. "It's always the big, bad boys who secretly wanna be pinned down."

The werewolf's lips curled back, venom in its gaze, but the shaft nudging against your crotch jerked. 

Fuck, the friction felt good.  

You shouldn't want it, but the thought of taking that thick, alien cock inside of you left sent a surge of liquid heat through your core. 

Your trousers were already torn from the earlier scuffle, and it wouldn't take much effort at all to shift the homespun fabric a little to the side and– 

"Fertile." A single word somehow forced its way from a jaw not intended for speech, low and gravely and barely intelligible. The werewolf's long tongue lapped at its lips before it inhaled again, a whine rising from its throat.  

Fertile. 

You glanced down at the flat plane of your belly, towards the womb hidden just out of sight. Could the werewolf smell the arousal heating your blood? Or did it scent something else?  

"Smell something you like, pup?" You rubbed yourself against him again, not bothering to hide the smirk on your face as you took advantage of his helplessness. "What makes you think you can just ambush someone in the woods and take what you want without asking? Maybe you need a taste of your own medicine."

The werewolf growled again, a line of drool glistening on its muzzle. Those dark eyes remained narrowed in anger, but something feral burned there, too, something that threatened to engulf you. A fur-covered Adam's apple bobbed in its throat while the engorged shaft between its legs rose to full, glorious mast.  

Gods above and below. It wanted this as much as you did!

"Tell you what. You lay there nice and still like a good boy, and I'll take what I want. And maybe you'll get your rocks off along the way. Deal?"

That long tongue slipped out again, as much a nervous tic as it was a sign of anticipation, just before your subdued monster gave the very faintest of nods.

One hand continued holding the head of the axe to its throat while the other groped blindly between your legs, shifting just enough fabric aside to clear the way to your dripping hole. You weren't about to risk removing your trousers for this. Besides, the thought of mounting it mostly clothed only made your lust burn hotter. You unwaveringly held the werewolf's gaze as you guided the bright red head to your entrance, your breath hitching at the first nudge. "Stay," you ordered.

And just like that, you sank down.  

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck oh fuck.  

You've had a few lovers in your time, but none of them filled you as thoroughly as this bad-tempered beast. The work-toned muscles of your powerful thighs flexed like steel rope every time you lifted yourself almost free, only to impale yourself again with a pleasured grunt. 

But the werewolf wasn't a lover– no, it was nothing but a toy in this moment, and a hell of one at that.  

The thick, inhuman shaft stretching you out nearly made your eyes roll back in your head. Already the juices of your need ran slick between your thighs and dampened the creature's fur. For its part, the werewolf remained mostly still, though its clawed fingers flexed and dug deep furrows in the earth beneath it every time you ground down on its cock. Gasping, cursing, groaning, you rode your deadly plaything into the damp fall leaves, never taking your eyes off him.

"Damn, you feel good," you muttered, tossing the hair out of your eyes. "Got a nice cock for a monster. Bet you didn't expect this to happen when you jumped me, did you?"

The werewolf's hips jolted up in spite of the threat at its neck, driving it roughly into your eager body. "Smelled you," it rasped, the sound edged in a whine. "Needed it."

It smelled you? 

What was that supposed to mean?

You shoved your axe even harder against the creature's neck, slicing away fur and pressing metal to bare skin. "Shut up," you huffed, clenching your hole around it. "Don't wanna hear you while I'm getting off, you mangy mutt."

And surprisingly, it obeyed. Fur lay thick and coarse beneath your fingers as you exploited your attacker's lust for your own benefit, roughly pounding your greedy hole with its rock-hard shaft. It felt like you couldn't get enough, like you might just expire if you couldn't reach your peak. Something about the feel of the werewolf, the scent of it, the danger of its teeth and claws-- it all wound your desire tighter and tighter, like an overcoiled spring.  

It was too much. You couldn't hold back your sounds of pleasure any longer.

"Fuck, I need more," you hissed, your grip on the axe faltering and your bound chest heaving as you bared your human teeth at the werewolf. "Make me come, you flea-bitten cur!"

Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was fate. Or maybe you'd truly made the werewolf your bitch. But instead of taking advantage of your faltering attention, the creature began snapping its pelvis forward with punishing force. A strange bulge at the base of its cock, one that you'd only just noticed, demanded entrance. You weren't sure you could take it, but your hole seemed eager enough to try and swallow it up.

Your voice rose to the sky, filled with a fierce, wordless hunger that ached to be sated.  

An unearthly howl answered from the beast between your legs.

And suddenly, the knot forced its way inside of you, and your entire world shattered.

You eventually made it home that day with your firewood, a sore groin, and a belly full of werewolf seed.  

Its knot kept you tied up a bit longer than expected, but in time, you managed to pull free, unleashing a torrent of warm, sticky fluid down the inside of your trousers. The two of you scrambled apart afterward in an uneasy, unspoken truce, sharing a heated look that spoke volumes before the werewolf bounded back into the forest.  

Months passed, yet you never forgot that day, nor the feel of that deadly predator moving between your thighs. Especially once you finally realized what the beast had meant when growling about you being 'fertile'.

The next time you entered the forest, your tunic stretched over a belly swollen with werewolf pups. And the 'wood' you craved wouldn't come from any tree.

(A Spooky Season story.)

Tip Jar ✨ My Pregnancy Writing ✨ Commissions

#hush writes preg #spooky season pregnancy #werewolf breeding #werewolf pregnancy #nonhuman pregnancy #nonhuman breeding #monster breeding #monster pregnancy #monster fucker #monster fucking #monsterfucker #werewolf kink #ftm breeding #ftm pregnancy #trans pregnancy #trans preg #tpreg #tmpreg #male pregnancy #nb breeding #nb pregnancy

[natashascars]

Jealousy, Regret, Reconciliation

Pairing: Regina Mills x fem!reader

Warnings: none?

Word Count: 2k

Summary: In the midst of a lively evening at Granny’s Diner, Regina Mills becomes increasingly agitated by a misinterpreted situation between her secret lover (you) and Ruby, sparking a heated argument. The night brings a storm of emotions, keeping both you and Regina awake, haunted by the recent conflict.

A/N: Heyy, this is my first ever fanfiction and I honestly don’t know how to feel about it. I just wanted to try writing a jealousy fic of Regina because… why not? Also I’m not sure how to tag this because, again, I’m very new to writing fanfiction. Anyways feel free to leave any advice or criticism on how I could improve my writing (please be nice though, because I am sensitive af lmaoo). Oh, and the classic "english isn't my first language" applies to this

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The atmosphere at Granny's Diner was as vibrant as ever, filled with its customary chatter and laughter. Regina Mills sat in the corner booth, seemingly focused on her drink. Yet, her gaze intermittently drifted towards you, engrossed in what seemed like an innocent conversation with Ruby Lucas, your laughters blending in with the diner’s ambiance.

Despite the celebration for a milestone achieved in Storybrooke, Regina's attention remained elsewhere. She noticed the way Ruby's gaze lingered on you, and a flicker of unease sparked within her. Though typically composed, Regina couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy seeing Ruby direct playful banter at you.

Regina had always been protective, especially of you. The two of you had been friends for years, your bond growing stronger as time passed. Recently, however, your relationship had shifted, blossoming into something deeper and more intimate. You and Regina had been secretly dating for several months now, relishing the clandestine nature of your romance, keeping it hidden from the prying eyes of Storybrooke's inhabitants.

As the evening progressed, Regina found it increasingly challenging to ignore the growing jealousy that had taken root within her. Each playful exchange between you and Ruby fueled the flames of her simmering frustration, her jaw clenching with suppressed emotions.

Inwardly seething, Regina took a deliberate sip of her drink, a facade of composure masking the turmoil raging within her. The cool liquid did little to quell the storm of emotions churning beneath the surface as she maintained a poised exterior, concealing the inner conflict brewing within her.

As Ruby leaned closer to you—a gesture Regina interpreted as flirtatious—her jaw clenched further, the surge of jealousy nearly escalating. Her grip on her drink tightened, the glass threatening to shatter under the pressure of her clenched fingers. She had to look away, fearing that her emotions would betray her in front of everyone.

Ruby's laughter crescendoed, a sound that grated against Regina's frayed nerves. Each interaction between you and Ruby felt like a dagger twisting in her chest. Regina's mind raced with irrational thoughts and deep-buried fears. The ache in her chest had morphed into simmering anger, a blend of jealousy and frustration.

Eventually, the tension proved too much to bear. Regina abruptly rose from her seat, the sharp clicks of her stilettos echoing across the wooden floor of the diner, drawing your attention. Your eyes met hers, capturing a glimpse of something raw and untamed within Regina’s usually composed expression before she stormed out of the diner, her sole focus on escaping the suffocating atmosphere.

You watched her leave, a furrow forming on your brow, a mixture of confusion and concern evident. Sensing the tension that had soured the once cheerful atmosphere, you quickly excused yourself from Ruby's company.

Outside the diner, the cool night air failed to offer any relief as Regina briskly walked down the sidewalk, the echo of her heels punctuating the silent night with each determined step. The weight of unresolved emotions hung heavy in the air, evident in her gait and tense posture.

“Regina!” you called out, your voice cutting through the stillness of the night. Regina hesitated for a moment, the rhythmic click of her heels faltering before she continued walking, determined to distance herself from the scene that had stirred up a storm of emotions in her.

Desperate to bridge the growing distance between you, you quickened your pace, the echo of your own heels resonating as you tried to catch up to her. “Regina, please!” you called out again, the urgency evident in your voice.

Regina slowed down, hesitating for a fleeting moment before reluctantly turning to face you. Despite the distance, the streetlights illuminated the conflict etched on her features, a blend of hurt and frustration.

As you finally caught up to her, you were slightly taken aback by the look on her face. "What's wrong?" you questioned, worry lacing your voice.

"What's wrong?" Regina scoffed, her eyes flashing with suppressed frustration. "Can you not see it? How you entertain every flirtatious remark from Ruby as if it's some kind of game?"

Your brows furrowed into a puzzled expression. "Regina, Ruby and I are just friends." you defended, a hint of frustration creeping into your tone.

Regina's facade cracked, her voice rising with pent-up emotions. "Friends? Can't you see how she looks at you? How you laugh at her jokes and bask in her attention?

"I don't know what you're talking about," you retorted, a surge of defensiveness colouring your voice. "Ruby is just a friend, and you know that."

"Don't play ignorant!" Regina's words cut through the air like a knife. "I saw the way Ruby practically threw herself at you, and you seemed all too eager to indulge her!"

Confusion swept over you. "Indulge her? Ruby was just being friendly!"

"You don't see it, do you?" Regina's voice wavered between anger and hurt. "I've watched the way she looks at you, and it's not just harmless banter!"

Caught between Regina's piercing gaze and the unexpected accusation, you felt a surge of frustration rise within you. "Regina, it wasn't like that! Ruby and I were just having a conversation—"

"You can't be that naive!" Regina cut in, her frustration boiling over. "She was flirting with you right in front of me!"

You let out a scoff of disbelief. “Are you serious, Regina?” you questioned, eyebrows raising in astonishment. “Are you actually suggesting that? Or are you just fucking jealous?” you shot back, your disbelief now mixed with irritation.

Regina’s eyes widened, her initial frustration giving way to a mix of surprise and indignation. “Jealous?” she snapped back, letting out a breathless chuckle. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just pointing out the obvious.” Her words carried a sharp edge, her frustration still palpable.

“You’re overreacting!" you retorted, anger and hurt evident in your voice. "Sorry I didn't realise I needed your permission to talk to someone!"

The words hung heavily in the air, each sentence fueling the fiery argument. Regina's jaw clenched, her emotions unravelling with each passing second. "This isn't about me. It's about you and your constant need for attention from others!"

Her words cut deep, and you felt a surge of frustration mingled with hurt pride. "Is that what you really think?” you questioned, the words coming out with a mixture of hurt and astonishment.

Regina’s gaze hardened, the tension palpable in the charged air between you. “It’s not about what I think, it’s what I’ve seen.” she retorted sharply, her voice tinged with a mixture of exasperation and lingering hurt.

You stared at her, a lump forming in your throat. The air around you seemed to disappear, making you feel suffocated. “After everything—” you paused, struggling to contain the tumultuous emotions threatening to spill over. “Do you not trust me?” you whispered, tears threatening well up in your eyes as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

Before Regina could say anything, you turned away and stormed off, leaving her standing there in the chilly autumn night. Regina watched you disappear behind a corner before she let out a frustrated groan. 

Regina got into her car, slamming the door shut with an echoing thud and driving away. Both of you retreated to your respective homes, leaving the echoes of the heated argument haunting the empty streets of Storybrooke.

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As the night settled in Storybrooke, both you and Regina sequestered in your separate residents, enveloped in the lingering aftermath of the argument. The thunderstorm raging outside seemed to match the intensity of emotions both you and Regina were experiencing, leaving you both unable to sleep.

Regina sat by the window of her dimly lit bedroom, the occasional lightning illuminating the shadows that danced on the walls. Her mind was a chaotic whirlwind, replaying the argument with you over and over again. Frustration mingled with regret as she pondered her rash actions. She knew her emotions had gotten the better of her, unleashing a torrent of pent-up feelings she had desperately tried to conceal.

Regina continued watching raindrops race down the glass pane, mirroring the tears she had refused to shed. Her thoughts drifted back to the moment she had stormed out of Granny’s Diner, her heart aching with the realisation that she might have irreversibly damaged something precious with her outburst.

Meanwhile, you sat in your own dwelling, the distant thunder echoing the turmoil in your mind. The argument replayed in your thoughts like a broken record. Confusion and frustration gripped you as you pondered the misunderstanding that had spiralled out of control.

Despite your best efforts to push the heated exchange aside, you couldn’t shake off the unease that lingered. Regina’s words cut deep, leaving wounds of misunderstanding and hurt. You hadn't anticipated this level of conflict, especially with someone as close as Regina.

As the night wore on, the storm showed no signs of relenting, as if mirroring the unresolved tension between you and Regina. Each raindrop that splattered against the windowpanes seemed to echo the unspoken words and emotions that lingered between you.

In a sudden surge of determination, Regina couldn’t let things remain this way. She couldn’t shake off the unsettling feeling of discord that had settled between you two. Despite the pouring rain outside, Regina made a decision.

Grabbing her coat, Regina dashed out into the storm, the raindrops pelting against her skin. She hurried through the deserted streets of Storybrooke, the only sounds being the rhythmic drumming of the rain and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. Each step towards your house felt heavier than the last, fueled by the urgency to clear the air and mend what felt irreparably broken.

Lost in your thoughts, you were startled by the sharp knock echoing through your home, interrupting the solitary brooding. You hesitated, puzzled by the unexpected visitor in the midst of such a storm. As you approached the door, the knock came again, more urgent this time.

Opening the door, you were taken aback by the sight before you—Regina stood there drenched, rainwater streaming down her face, making her usually impeccable appearance dishevelled.

"Regina, what—?" Your words were cut short as Regina closed the gap between you in an instant, her hands softly cupping your face and her lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss.

Your initial shock quickly gave way to a surge of warmth as you reciprocated the kiss. Despite the storm raging outside, this moment felt oddly serene—the only thing that mattered was the feeling of her lips against yours.

Regina pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours, a mix of apology and vulnerability reflected in their depths. “I’m so sorry.” she murmured, the words tinged with sincerity. “I didn’t mean for things to escalate earlier. I just...”

Regina’s lips parted, but no words escaped. You reached out, gently brushing a rain-soaked strand of hair from her face. Your gaze held a silent understanding, an unspoken acknowledgment of the tangled emotions that had led to this moment.

“I overreacted.” Regina admitted softly. “I let my insecurities get the better of me. I never meant to hurt you.”

The sincerity in her gaze was undeniable. You could sense the walls she had meticulously built crumbling down, exposing her raw feelings beneath the surface.

You gave her a sympathetic smile before pulling her into a tender embrace. Regina’s arms wrapped around you and her breath hitched slightly as she buried her face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your familiar scent.

"I didn't mean to upset you either." you whispered into her hair. Regina’s embrace tightened slightly as a silent acknowledgment of your words.

You both lingered in the embrace, finding comfort in the closeness that transcended words. However, as if nature had its own timing, a sudden rumble of thunder echoed through the sky, reverberating around you. Regina instinctively pulled away, her eyes widening slightly in realisation.

You glanced towards the downpour outside, the intensity of the storm painting the world in shades of grey. The reminder brought a faint chuckle from both of you, a brief interjection in the midst of the emotional intensity. 

"Come on, I don’t want you to catch a cold." you said softly, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you pulled her inside your home, away from the rain-soaked night. As Regina stepped over the threshold, you closed the door behind her, shutting out the storm and the chaos of the outside world.

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#regina mills #regina mills x reader #regina mills x female reader #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfiction #regina mills fanfiction #regina mills x you #ouat

[loonarmuunar]

Pauper, protector, prince.

I wanted to give a proper tribute to the chokehold of a broken family bond by @dekupalace! So. Take this‼️‼️

Extra under cut!!

Some contrived stuff bfkgk:

Siffrin’s head is turned up, towards the crown. A reference to how Siffrin mentions many times how he has to loop up higher and higher to see the King.

Flowers resembling the party! This is a reference to another fic, Bloom! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE check it out!! Siffrin is crushing the flowers under his heels.

The flower in Siffrin’s hair is a nadine jessie, a type of dahlia. Obviously supposed to represent Nadine, but I wanted it specifically in Siffrin’s hair bc of the festival :) (couldn’t get it on their hat bc of the angle lol)

Siffrin holds a rose tucked between his palm and thumb, representing the King. I chose a rose, because of its connection to theatre, and its thorns.

Siffrin’s pose is knightly in nature, but without a sword or any grand weapon. They hide their dagger behind their back, alluding to the role he’s supposed to play. He is a knight, a protector, without any of the grace or nobility.

Siffrin faces away from the stars, and his face is shadowed, kinda alluding to Siffrin’s doubts of if this is really the right thing, if they are truly doing what the universe wants. Siffrin is, literally, turning their back to the stars.

Songbirds- I talked about this in a comment, but basically in my mind Siffrin taking the plunge into having to assassinate Mirabelle kinda reminds me of Eurydice from Hadestown agreeing to go to Hadestown.

The songbirds are specifically loggerhead shrikes, songbirds that impale their prey on sharp things like brambles and wire. Beforehand they paralyze their prey by biting down on the spinal cord with their tomial tooth. This made me think of King’s time craft freezing, or “paralyzing” Vaugarde.

I was inspired by this wonderful animatic for it! Also I just really love birds and will take ANY chance to include them in a drawing. (and Loggerhead shrikes translate very well to a desaturated color scheme—)

The king’s hair is staining from white to black/black to white, like Nadine’s hair dye.

ANYWAYS!!! YEAH!!! This is kinda a love letter, so to speak, for this fic, but to these fanworks in general :) If you haven’t already seen them, please check out these wonderful and creative works. I absolutely adore them all, and they deserve love!!

#yippeeee #my art #isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #THIS TOOK. 8 3/4 HOURS I’M GONNA PASS OUT NOW YIPPEE #siffrin isat #isat siffrin #siffrin fanart #in stars and time siffrin #isat siffrin fanart #isat fanart #in stars and time fanart #tagging the others bc I will Die if people don’t see this #bonnie isat #odile isat #mirabelle isat #isabeau isat #king isat #the king isat #i love shading metal.. #was fighting for my life with the shading angles

[norman-fucking-reedus]

Guys I’m thinking about Rick and Daryl fighting, like Daryl is definitely a professional little brother and spends all day wrecking havoc upon Rick (and maybe a few others)

also I know Daryl is a hardcore hair puller. In the bed and in fights. When he and Merle would fight, it was like a second nature for his hands to latch onto to curly hair, yanking the strands and on one occasion knocking his head into a wall

me when rickyl but also brotherhood

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

On the outside, Daryl Dixon was quiet, dark, and mysterious. He was a dusty book that had been closed and locked tight for decades, never opening up no matter who or what tried to pry. Most people would think that he was just one of the ones that never expressed any type of concern or emotion, but really, Daryl’s just a silent person. Until someone he knows pops into the picture.

“Get tha’ fuck off me! Get tha’ fuck off of me!” His voice rang out through the community alongside side Dogs chaotic barking.

People rushed out of their homes at what they thought were very distressed cries, Carol’s bow loaded and almost aimmed as he stepped out onto hers, only frowning deeply when she saw what all the ruckus was.

Daryl and Rick were wrestling in the dirt, the huntersman pinned down underneath the officer in a very uncomfortable looking position. Dog was barking at the two of them, tail wagging in the air as he stood in a playful position, standing over his defeated owner.

“Blah blah blah. You’re just a sore fucking loser” Rick laughed at him, pointing a finger in Daryl’s face, and pulling it away when his sharp teeth clamped down. “Gon’ make mah dog eat you alive” The man grumbled and squirmed.

“Gonna make the walkers eat you both alive” You sighed from where you had approached behind Rick, Dog now eagerly lapping and jumping around you as you too stood over your defeated hunter. “Seriously?” You shook your head and pushed Rick off the man, watching the way he dramatically fell over. “He started it! I was bein’ nice” Daryl frowns, and so does Rick, sitting up to face Daryl who had childishly wrapped himself around your leg. “Nuh uh, no! This asshole tried sticking mud down my pants!” Daryl cackled at the sentence and you knew he was gulity.

“You two are grown ass men” You huffed, shaking your leg slightly only for Daryl’s to tighten his grip. Absolutely wonderful.

“He needs to be put in time out” Rick grumbled, and you wondered if you were getting paid for this. “Time out?”

“Time out?” Carol approached, bow and arrow no longer in hand.

Daryl pointed at Rick, while Rick pointed at him, both men staring daggers at each other. “Him! He fucking started this!”

You share a look with Carol as the men bicker, and it’s quite funny untill you feel a sudden emptiness at your leg, and Daryl is hurling a ball of mud at Rick, who unfortunately catches it with his face. “Now I can really call ya ‘shitface grimes’” Daryl laughed as he climbed to his feet, standing behind you as Rick wiped his eyes clear, immediately locking them on his target.

Daryl doesn’t wanna admit that he didn’t think Rick would just go right around you, yelling when the officer took a swipe at him. “Stop it yew shit eater!” Daryl ran away with Rick hot on his heels, Dog sprinting right alongside them and barking excitedly.

“Can you imagine a small mini version of all that?” You shake your head, smiling softly at Carol. “You have got quite the character on your hands. Clinging to your leg? He must love you” You laughed, peering up the street where they had run off too, a cloud of dirt forming as they tussled, and from Daryl’s very loud screams he was probably getting what he deserved. “Dealing with him? He better love me” You scoff, knowing that your giant manchild loves you more than life itself.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Each press of the cotton to his skin makes him hiss, and he winces at the burning sting of alcohol. “No more fights” You frown softly, tilting Daryl’s head as you cleaned his wounds, gingerly placing bandaids over them. “But he-“ “Yes I know he started it, he also finished it” Daryl pouts, legs swinging off the countertop. You stick a bandage over his nose, and kiss his forehead. “All better. I want you in this house before it’s too dark, okay?” Daryl drops onto his feet, and plants a quick but eager kiss on your lips. “Yes mama” He tosses over his shoulder as he snatches his crossbow off the floor, barreling out the door with Dog. You watched them go, a smile tugging your lips. It faded at the sound of a Rick’s high pitched scream.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

looks around because I dont know what happened and because I really like childish Daryl now and wanna write more

#the walking dead #daryl dixon #norman fucking reedus #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x female reader #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [PART 1]

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: You fall into a hole. There is something in the hole. Something with teeth, and claws, and a garbage attitude to boot. Today is not your day.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

Let it be known, that of all the ways you could have died in your miserable and unlucky life, falling into a pit trap had not been on the list. Or, well, if it was, it hadn’t even managed to crack the top ten. And that was what was making this whole ‘sudden demise’ thing feel really pathetic.

On top it also being an uncovered pit trap. No subterfuge or class to speak of. Just a big ol’ hole in the ground that you had waltzed straight into. Ace would keel over dead laughing if he ever found out.

It was a pretty nice trap all things considered. The walls were dug into some strange sort of stone rather than just packed earth, and rings of fresh talismans curled along its sides like hundreds of ugly finger paintings. Certainly something so impressive had not been built to catch some lowly, little, idiot such as yourself. But you were here now, so that was your captor’s problem.

You were wandering aimlessly around your new prison when you stepped on something weird, and long, and thin. You paused, brow furrowing in confusion, and glanced down at whatever had found itself wedged under your heel. And, hey. That was odd. It sort of looked like a—

There was a horrible, screeching, snarl, and you wheeled back in hysterical panic as an honest-to-god lion lunged from the shadows—jerking its tail out from beneath your boot and swatting at you with its absolutely massive claws that could definitely take your eyes out. And half of your face. And probably your brain too. You fell backwards on your ass in an ungraceful heap and immediately scurried back towards the opposite wall as fast as you could. You were one-hundred-percent ready for the lion to just follow you into your little corner and murder you dead, but instead, it just stood its ground—growling, and spitting, and whipping its tail back and forth like a rattlesnake.

The thing was absolutely massive—bigger than you thought a lion was supposed to be, at least. Weren’t they just, I don’t know, like the cat equivalent of wolves? Because you’d seen plenty of wolves before on the road, and they’d never been so… looming, in themselves. And size aside, the beast was just weird looking. With thick, ash-brown, fur cut through with strange, almost geometrical, whorls of black. Now, you didn’t know much about lions (they weren’t exactly native to your little, forested, corner of the continent, after all), but weren’t they supposed to be regal? Or something? With lush, red, manes and tan hides that glowed majestically under the sun’s light? Not some… scraggly looking monstrosity with too-large canines and limbs stained in black like it’d taken a hike through a field of ash.

Its eyes were the strangest part of all of it—a sharp, emerald, green that cut through the gloom of the pit with all the efficiency of a dagger. One of them was bisected with a thin scar that ran crookedly from brow-to-jaw. They were eyes that spoke of an intelligence that no animal ought to possess, let alone one that was perfectly capable of mauling you to death without the aid of functional brain cells.  

You continued your silent inspection of your new nemesis, and when your gaze hesitantly fell to its hind legs, you jolted in surprise.

Iron shackles.

Or, more specifically and horribly, a spike trap. A grim, metal, contraption that would snap into its victim like a vice, and then unfurl row upon row of jagged barbs—tangling them up like an unfortunate bug caught within the web of some really fucked up, sociopathic, spider.

You winced in sympathy, out of habitual concern for your fellow down-and-trodden if nothing else. The lion, with all its eerie intelligence, seemed to notice the pity flickering across your expression and put every single one of its too-sharp teeth on display. As if to say ‘how dare you?’  You held up your hands in surrender, hoping it looked placating and not threatening, and smooshed yourself even harder up against the wall.

After a few more moments of grumbly glaring, the beast dropped back down to the ground with a pissy huff and closed its eyes. Clearly, you weren’t worth the trouble—which was perfectly fine with you.

You gave yourself the rest of the evening to just lie around like a sad little slug and lick your wounds. Falling all that way had hurt, okay? And while the adrenaline rush of ‘oh shit, I’m going to be lunch’ had helped push away some of that initial pain, now that it was fading you could feel every twinge in your ribs, all the bruises climbing your back and the cuts littering your hands.

When the sun rose once more over the mouth of your prison, you stretched as best you could and prepared to make your escape.

Scaling the slippery, stone, walls had proved to be an instant failure. The rope in your pack wasn’t long enough to reach the top, and you smacked yourself in the face with the thing more times than you would like to admit. Trying to find grippy-bits to just crawl your way up the side like a bug hadn’t worked either. The first talisman you touched didn’t spark or bite at your fingers, but it had been seared into the stone with some sort of magic that made it slide like oil beneath your palms. And you’d plummeted back to the bottom with a lackluster thump. The lion had made some kind of huffing noise from its place in the corner, like it was laughing at you. And you fought the insane urge to flip off a creature that could just eat your entire hand in retaliation.

Next you rifled around in your pack, hoping for a miracle. You were pretty decent at throwing together little bits and bobs to create a cheap but generally functional solution. Like the time you’d rigged Deuce’s bow to spit stink bombs as it shot through the air, or when you’d managed to scrounge together a decent fishing-line trap out of Ace’s shoelaces to lure out a rogue pixie that had been cannibalizing your vegetable garden. But you’d only been heading into town for your monthly grocery trip, so the most you had on you were genuinely practical things. An emergency medical kit, a dagger, lock picks, some rations that lived at the bottom of your bag no matter where you went. Nothing nonsensical, and therefore nothing useful.

Your stomach gurgled irritably, and, well, maybe you had something useful after all.

You fished out some neatly wrapped bits of cured meats, and cheeses, and bread. You made yourself a tasty, little, sandwich, and hey? You know what? How many other Hole Prisoners could claim to have such phenomenal catering? Probably not many. You’d take that win, at least.

You were just about to take your first bite when your eyes guiltily swung towards the lion curled up and sleeping at the opposite end of your makeshift cell. It hadn’t even flicked its ears your way when you’d started to loudly rustle around in your bag. And it certainly hadn’t sniffed at the air or anything else dramatic like that when you’d unearthed your packed lunch. Which was… didn’t animals usually go nuts for tasty treats like this? The foxes that snuck around behind your cottage would scream like banshees if you didn’t toss them your leftovers. Even the bunnies that lived in the hole in the wall by your cellar had some food aggression issues.

You tore off a chunk of your sandwich and palmed it nervously.

Maybe if you fed it, it wouldn’t eat you quite so quickly.

You cautiously pushed the stack of toasty breads, and meats, and home-made cheese, towards the beast with the toe of your boot. When it didn’t move, you scooched the offering a smidge further, until it was nudging up against a paw.

The Lion lifted its great, dark, head to bare its teeth at you with a lazy twitch of the lip. You scuttled back as quick as you could, and once you were a fair distance away, it stopped glaring at you long enough to observe whatever you’d just shoved at it.

It nosed at the food with a level of apathy you didn’t think was even possible, before reaching out with a heavy, black, foot, to smoosh it ungratefully into the dirt.

“Hey!” you gasped, genuinely offended. Because you were just trying to be a polite cellmate, okay! Was that really so terrible?!

With a sharp little twist of its paw that looked far too dexterous for something its size, it speared through the meat with one of its curling claws, and raised that from the dejected pile of mush. It popped the chunk of cured ham into its mouth with a satisfied little grumble, and you felt your completely rational and not at all ridiculous discontentment ease. It lifted its head a little higher and its tail swished—not in the whipping, angry, way it had been the other day when you’d squashed it, but the gentle twitch of something closer to a cat lazing about contentedly in a windowsill. The lion kept looking at you then, with those too-cognizant eyes. You pulled another bit of meat from your sandwich and tossed it over. It caught it easily in its massive jaws with that same, contented, rumbling.

“I made that,” you beamed. Because you had. And it had taken you ages to balance out the perfect spice-salt-sugar combination for a proper cure.

The lion looked entirely unimpressed.

You sighed and sat back against the wall with a string of irritable mutterings. The lion made another one of those huffing noises, like it had earlier when you swore the thing was snickering at you. And then it closed its glowing, emerald, eyes and slipped back into its seemingly never-ending nap.

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in relative peace. Despite its lackluster (read: fucking rude) response to your earlier offering, come dinner time, you still slid the beast a makeshift plate stacked high with meat. It ate the food without complaint, which was better than outright scoffing at you, you supposed. You started to hum some nonsense under your breath, just for something to do, and the lion made a noise like you were physically torturing it. So instead you shifted to folding and refolding the scrap bits of parchment paper from your wrapped rations into ugly, veritably unidentifiable, origami shapes. This was apparently deemed acceptable, as the lion just sighed and rolled over to make itself comfortable for the night. Irritably, you flicked one of the little flowers you’d made at its dumb face. But it shot wide and landed somewhere off by its paws. The beast didn’t even bother to twitch its ear at you.  

The next morning came with little fanfare, and you stared longingly up at the warm light of the dawn.

Your eyes once more roved across the spiraling talismans dripping from the walls, and the great, iron, trap that certainly wouldn’t have belonged to any ordinary sort of hunter.

“You’re not a real lion, are you?” you asked, and the thing had the nerve to roll its eyes at you. You bristled and again had to tamp down the urge to do something very, very, stupid, and which would no doubt end in your immediate disembowelment. “Yes, yes. Laugh it up. I only mean that because—I mean, you can understand me, can’t you?”

Another long, slow, eye roll. Like it was making damn well sure you could see.

It was a lot harder to bite down your anxious ticks and ramblings when you knew you were speaking to something that could maybe speak back, rather than just a wild animal trapped at the bottom of a hole (there was a very good reason you lived in a quaint little cottage in the middle of fucking nowhere), but you grit your teeth and soldiered on.

“Alright then. Fine. I just wanted to say then. Well. I mean—I could… You know.”

When you held out the lockpicks from your bag, the beast’s eyes lit with genuine interest for the first time in this entire nightmare situation, and a teeny bit of your nerves eased.

You gestured to the spike trap entangling its legs and the lion turned to sneer at the mess of sharp ends with a genuinely bone chilling snarl.

“I can probably get that off—unlock the mechanisms, I mean,” you explained. “But you have to, you know—” You made a theatrical imitation of gnashing teeth over the meat of your forearm, “—not eat me.”

The Lion sat up on its haunches and its tail twitched restlessly at its side. After a long moment where you were genuinely concerned that the thing would rather eventually justbleed out and die in its trap rather than let you touch it, the lion raised its head and perked its ears in an imperious sort of way. And then it dipped its chin—a nod.

You scooched forward cautiously, pausing every few feet or so to make sure the thing wasn’t going to change its mind and maul you. The Lion just huffed at you, and shifted to give you better access to the horrible agglomeration of cold metal twisted around its limbs. You reached out carefully, the picks a light, familiar, weight in your hands. It was certainly a complicated looking contraption, but you’d yet to encounter something you weren’t able to break with enough force of will and sheer, dumb, luck. So you grit your teeth and got to work.

After a few minutes of poking, the first spiral of jagged spikes loosed with a rusty groan and the lion noticeably perked up—like it was shocked you’d managed anything at all. You decided very resolutely that you weren’t going to allow yourself to be offended by the implied emotions on the face of an animal, and continued your work. Your tongue poked out of the corner of your mouth as you focused, intent, and slowly—steadily—the barbed monstrosity gave way beneath your gentle fiddling. Every now and again, one of the spikes would ease itself from the lion’s hide, and you had to fight the urge to fuss over the oozing, painful, wounds that were exposed. You were almost there, you reminded yourself feverishly. Just a little more, and—

The last of the iron fell away with an echoing clatter, and immediately the lion reared up with a roar. But instead of lunging at you and your very accessible throat like you feared, it crouched back on its battered hind limbs and craned its head towards the open hole above your heads, and the blue, sunny, sky beyond. A swirl of strange, sandy, magic began to seep from the beast’s mane. The green of its eyes glowed hot and bright amidst the outpour of arcane energy, like the sole light in a storm. And then its fur was fading, its limbs cracking and groaning as they folded in on themselves into something more contained—more bipedal. The strange, geometric, patterns along its coat rippled like living things. They expanded and contracted as the creature did, before eventually settling into some new pattern that you hadn’t seen before.

And there, standing before you now, was a man. Tall, and lithe, and tan. With a head full of thick, dark, hair that looked startling like the mane that had just poofed from existence—except now it was twisted through with braids, and precious gems, and the occasional patchwork of beads and leather. The inky shapes settled themselves along his biceps, curling into the skin contentedly as if they’d lived there all along. There was still a pair of tufted, feline, ears atop his head, and a long, thin, tail whipping back and forth at his rear. His teeth were still much too sharp, and those eyes of his much too feral. He observed his clawed limbs with distaste, letting out a sigh that seemed to rattle his bones.

“Of course it’s still fucked,” he grumbled. His voice was deeper than you were expecting—smoother, too. Like it was meant to belong to someone regal and powerful, someone doling out orders and ruling nations. Not a sad, little, half-man-half-lion trapped at the bottom of a pit with an ever sadder, littler, human.

After a minute or two of what was clearly some very displeased inner reflection, he raised his hands over his head. A pale, dusty, magic swirled along his fingers, not dissimilar to the stuff that had coiled out from his furs. You watched in awe as one by one, the talismans began to burn away—disintegrated into nothing.

Once he had finished utterly decimating what had once been a nearly foolproof trap, he turned and looked down at you for a long, tense, moment with an expression that you couldn’t quite place.

And then he was leaping out of the hole with all the grace of a hurricane—tearing through stone and dousing you in waves of dust and debris as he went. His claws tore into the sides of his prison like it was made of paper, leaving deep, jagged, gashes in their wake. Some of the wall seemed to melt beneath his attacks—collapsing into a thin, sandy, mess beneath the weight of his irritation. With one, final, swipe that shook the pit from base to rim, he leapt out of the dug-in prison cell entirely and vanished from your line of sight. Lo, the Angry Lion Man was free at least. And you? Well—

“Hey!” you shouted after him, enraged. “Thanks for nothing, asshole!”

And so, despite all your hardships and good deeds, you were still stuck at the bottom of a fucking hole.

You stomped around for a bit, kicking at rocks and ranting at nothing. Once you’d tired yourself out enough to think a bit more rationally, you sat back and took stock of your continuing predicament. With the talismans burnt out, you might be able to try climbing out again without slipping down in the messy remnants of gooey, protective, spells. And actually, the guy had destroyed quite a bit of the stone in his rampage. There were enough tall heaps of fresh rubble that you’d probably have plenty of leverage to try and use your rope again.

So you went around collecting all your little scraps of paper, your meager personal items, and any bits of fabric that had been scraped off in the initial tumble. With traps as intricate and expensive as this, it was better not to leave behind any traces of one’s presence. Just in case the owner of said trap tried to go sniffing around for his lost quarry.

The rope ended up being a resounding success, and you hauled yourself out of the pit with a surprising amount of ease.

Once you were out, you breathed in the clean, crisp, air and looked around. Absolutely no sign of Mister Lion-Shifter to speak of. Or, well, there was a clear trail of dusty destruction leading towards the forest, so you would assume he’d run off somewhere in that direction. But you were well and truly alone again.

You shook your fist at the tree line for good measure, before turning around and starting the miserable trek back home.

.

.

Everything was as it had been when you left. Your chickens were quite happy to see you, happier yet obviously to be fed. You greeted the various other woodland residents that had taken to living out of your ramshackle little home (the foxes in particular were quite happy to nibble on the remaining scraps of bread and cheese in your bag). Your garden looked a little munched on, but nothing too terrible. All and all, things were… fine. It was honestly a bit underwhelming.

Later that afternoon when you were dumping out your bag to give it a good clean and restock, a dozen little, horrible, paper creations fluttered down to your kitchen table. You decided you would keep them, ugly as they were, as a kind of trophy for making it out of the Hole in one piece. Look at me, world. I—nothing more than a humble idiot—managed to survive in a Pit Trap alongside some sort of Skin Changing, lion, man. Who only almost mauled me twice. And here are the paper blobs to prove it.

Except—huh. That was a bit strange. You’d made a nice little flower too, hadn’t you? The one that you had tried (and failed) to shoot into the lion’s face. It had been the only piece that looked even halfway like it was supposed to. You’d checked every bit of the hole pretty thoroughly before you’d escaped, so certainly you would have scooped it up. After a moment of silent fretting, you shrugged and deposited the others into a nice, glass, jar. It had probably just been buried beneath the rubble or something.

.

.

Something had spooked your birds. You frowned out the window and into the rain. It was a gloomy, grey, day, and normally all your little farm friends would hunker down in their wooden huts to avoid the drizzle. But you could hear the geese honking and the chickens squawking in that indignant way of theirs as they flapped around and made a general nuisance of themselves.

There was a hard knock at your front door—a heavy, sharp, rap-tap-tap against the aged frame that sounded entirely unfriendly. You snuck a glance through the little, round, porthole and nearly doubled over in shock. You yanked the door open before you could think better of it, and there on your front porch, looking half-drowned and wholly grouchy, was the Lion Man.

His emerald gaze settled on you like a tangible thing that you could feel digging along your shoulders. His lips quirked up into a loose smirk that was entirely feline in its smug satisfaction and unfairly attractive. Especially considering he looked like someone had dunked him in a lake. His round, tufted, ears flicked irritably beneath each drop of rain.

Your brain whirled into overdrive, coughing up wave after wave of scenarios—each more outlandish than the next. Maybe he had come to eat you, to get rid of any witnesses. Or maybe this was the start of some epic quest, like you’d managed to save some Skin Changer Prince or something and were now due to be swept up in some wildly entertaining political drama. Or maybe he had come to thank you finally, after abandoning you so outright. To grovel and apologize for leaving the person who had so selflessly rescued him.

“Well, herbivore?” he huffed instead, crossing his arms irritably over his chest and rolling his eyes at you in a way that was far too familiar. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s wet out here.”

You smiled—perfectly, utterly, serene. And slammed the door in his face.

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Leona x Reader #Leona x Yuu #Skin-Changer Leona #Monster Mayhem Leona Part 1

[contentloadingandstuff]

Discovering Your Past - Eula & Keqing x Male!Reader

In which they find out you were abused by your ex.

CW: Mentions of past trauma - physical abuse and SA. Modern AU. A/N: My fics are getting longer recently. I wonder if you guys mind?

Injuries are a natural part of life. 

A scraped knee, a concussion, a sprained or broken limb - all creatures will have to endure these hardships one way or another. And, as the saying goes, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Each wound leaves a scar, each fight or accident is a lesson for the future on what to do or avoid. 

What about those on the other end? Most feel regret about hurting others, are forced to do it or are convinced of their actions' justified nature. Yet among those are some starkly different cases. People who enjoy causing pain, be it physical or mental. And, undoubtedly, she was one of them. 

Fate had it that your heart longed for her. She was a beauty, benign and friendly, whose charms worked on you without fail. She pushed, she pulled, slowly dragging you into her web. Your mind was too clouded with feelings to notice just how badly she trapped you. Like a spider she wrapped you in silky touches and words of affection like in a cocoon, and you were completely oblivious to your situation. And that she was - an apex predator, an effortless liar and natural manipulator. She stoked the flames of family conflicts, estranging you from your loved ones. Friends? She gave you a simple choice - it's me or them. You were coaxed into signing off your house under her name, as she encouraged you to do with many of your belongings, until you had nothing. Time and time again she pulled your strings through your heart, backing you into a corner. Alone. Unable to escape. Without anyone to turn to, anywhere to get away. 

When your eyes opened at last, nobody was there to hear you scream. 

Years. It took you two whole years to escape her clutches, two years of cruelty hidden behind a veil of love. With only the clothes on your back and some Mora in your pocket, you set off to another nation. There, you found a new home, and a new love. Sweet, caring and warm. 

But wounds of the past cannot be hidden forever. 

You push the door behind you, closing it with an accidently loud thud. Eula kicks off her high heels and enters the hall, placing down her bag and taking her jacket off. You put yours on the hanger and move to take hers, but she sends you a sharp look and walks past you, doing it herself. 

The silence is tense. You know what you did. 

“Honey, listen. I know I shouldn't have started that discussion-” You try to speak, but she turns around and cuts you off. 

“Yes, you shouldn't have.” 

Her eyes send daggers towards you. Your heart aches at the sight of your lover so full of anger, all because of you. Her family wasn't easy to interact with. Her choice of career made her the pariah of the line, but after she married you, the relations seemingly normalized enough to make them liveable. Seemingly. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have. I mustn't do that ever again. I promise I won't.” You raise your open hands, as if showing you're unarmed. What was supposed to calm her down just irritates her. 

She scoffs and approaches you. “I say you are an intelligent man, but times like these are when I doubt it. What's so hard to understand in ‘my family isn't normal and the less you interact with them the better’?”

She's right. Eula has told you time and time again that the opinions her father, mother, grandparents, uncles and aunts hold are final. Nothing will change them, they won't ever back down. They are egomaniacal with a tendency to bring those around them down to elevate themselves. And yet, there's something drawing you to them, something natural that tells you that they can be a source of warmth. 

Because that's how things are supposed to be. A family should love each other, be united and supportive instead of polarized and hateful. Something in your soul doesn't seem to understand that you can't find any support in her side of the family. 

“I know, Eula. I try to-”

“Then your ‘trying’ is not enough!” Her voice elevates further. There is something building in your chest. The pressure crawls from your heart up through your throat, rotting itself inside your neck. A choking feeling. 

“Y/N, you shouldn't talk to them! Never, ever. You know how it ends, don't you? They bring you down, they hurt and belittle you. And you know that, don't you?” 

Her eyes are narrowed. She speaks louder now, her words coming from a place of compassion and love rather than hostility. Your mind, however, is focused on something else. 

Something familiar. 

Her tone picks up, and so does your heartbeat. She's almost screaming now. 

“Sorry, dear, but are you masochistic? Or just stupid?! I will have vengeance!”

Your hyper focused eyes spot movement. Her hand goes upwards, your chest sinking. Body stiffening, you turn your head down and sideways, exposing your cheek. 

Just as she taught you. 

Fighting back was pointless. 

You deserve it. 

You hold your breath. 

Silence. 

The blow doesn't connect. You hear the sounds of a barefoot step. You crack your eyes open. You see Eula has taken a step back, her eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. She blinks a few times and pulls her hand back towards her body. 

“Not t-that kind of vengeance.” Eula barely mumbles the words out in pure confusion. She shakes her head in disbelief, her gaze leaving you and dropping to the floor. “Never. I w-would never-”

You spring back to life, as if a grave threat or danger just vanished. 

“No no no, it's alright, honey. I just got a little scared of you, haha. It's fine, really!” You smile sheepishly, shame crawling under your skin. On reflex or out of habit, you rub your cheek. “Maybe I really am stupid, for being scared and all, you know?”

She takes a slow step closer. Her voice is far quieter than mere seconds ago, now down from a scream to a whisper.

 “No. Don't call yourself that. My… My emotions got the better of me, honey. I’m sorry.” Eula’s voice composes, worry furrowing her brow as she stretches out her arm towards you, this time taking care to do it slowly. “May I…?”

You smile and nod, letting the palm of her hand connect to your cheek. Her touch is gentle, fingers tracing your skin with utmost care. 

Your skin is so soft, so smooth, familiar. Her heart clenches, her mind holding no doubt about your reaction. You are not someone easily scared, nor are you particularly fearful of harm. Something, somebody…

“Who was it?” Her hand trails down smoothly, coming to rest on your shoulder. “Who hurt you?”

You shake your head. “What? What do you mean? Nobody, I’m fine-”

“I said…” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “... who hurt you?” 

At an instant, the thoughts in your mind already form into a rebuttal, a measly attempt to cover the truth. But you know better than that. Eula isn't that stupid. 

You sigh, trying to figure out what to say. Seeing your hesitation, she places both of her arms on your shoulders, her eyes focusing on yours. Within her beautiful irises fading from deep purple to light yellow you find a steadiness worthy of a captain, but also a lover. 

“You don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable, honey.” She speaks softly, stroking your skin in calming circles. “I just need to know if justice has been served, or some additional, very particular and very severe vengeance needs to be added to my to-do list.”

“My ex-girlfriend is… She’s no longer a threat, alright?” You close the distance between you and Eula and embrace her. Your lover secures her arms around you right away, providing you with just the comfort you seek. “I just don’t want to go back to those days. They’re over and I just want to focus on you… On somebody that actually loves me. Somebody that doesn’t scream at me for no reason, belittles and insults me, and…”

Your voice trails off. Images and sensations rush through your memory. Every insult, every impact weighs on your voice, trapping it beneath the torrent of nightmarish memories. Eua squeezes you tighter. 

“Shh. Don’t think about it now, sweetie. You're here, safe in my arms. I promise to be your shield. However…”

Eula's characteristic pout forms on her face. 

“For not telling me about this, I will have vengeance.”

“That was a little shameful for me-” She cuts you off. 

“Silence. My retribution is nigh. For your transgression, I shall cuddle you and feed you ice cream while subjecting you to the terror of your favorite movie.” She narrows her eyes theatrically before gently, but firmly grabbing a hold of your wrist. “You cannot escape now.”

You smile in horror. 

The screen flashes with a jump scare as a curtain is moved aside. A disfigured monstrosity covered in black goo and rags opens its jaw to reveal a set of sharp, but surprisingly pristine teeth.

“Brains!” Its voice is clearly augmented in some way, deep and a little echoing. 

The punk screams at this sight but before he can do anything, the zombie grabs his head with its skeletal hands and bites down. The rest of the group squeals. The man's head is cracked open like an egg, filling the undead's mouth with fake blood and flesh-like props. 

“Oh my…” Keqing can't help but gasp a little, her arms tightening around your chest slightly. “That's a lot of jaw force…”

As the zombie digs into the man's brain, a joke comes to your mind. 

“He's not going to extract a lot of brain from him, is he?” 

In response, Keqing chuckles a little. “Yeah. But at least he is also quite brave. If not for him, that girl would have been the meal instead.”

“True, true.”

The movie continues. The female lead escapes the locker she was trapped in moments ago as her friend is being devoured. Another character throws an empty bucket of paint at the creature, making it fall back, before raising up and exclaiming joyously: 

“More brains!”

The kids scream and run away. Keqing, as much as she finds the movie interesting, can't help but recall one scene in particular. 

A smirk settles on her delicate features. “So… How's the movie? Do you like it?”

You nod vigorously. “Of course! It's a classic that I wanted to watch for a long time now, but never got around to that. And I can confidently say that I regret not watching it earlier. It's a lot of fun.”

Keqing hums in understanding. Her fingers, one of them brandishing a beautiful and intricate golden ring, slowly move up onto your leg. 

“Did you enjoy any scene in particular, honey?” Your eyes follow her hand as it moves up, each finger making a slow, deliberate step. 

Just a glance at her slight blush and sly smirk is enough to make you catch on, making your cheeks heat up as well. You gulp. 

“Well…” You start, but Keqing places a finger on your lips, silencing you. 

“Aw, sweetie~ I know full well how you were eyeing that girl. Your thoughts were betrayed by much more than just your stare.”

Her hands move up, sliding underneath your shirt and caressing your exposed chest. You feel her desire through her movements, careful, seductive, yet impatient at the same time. A little shiver of excitement crawls through your body. 

“Honestly, Y/N, I can't blame you. That redhead was quite a beauty, after all. ”

Her hands clench over your body as she rolls to sit on your lap, her eyes, twinkling with desire, pointed right at you. Keqing sends you a wink. Your hands settle on her buttocks. 

“But you see, my dear, you got me just a little too jealous to resist showing this handsome guy which girl his attention should be on~” Her hands shift to meet yours, fingers wrapping around your wrists. “So relax and let me have the spotlight~”

Your eyes widen as she hoists your arms off her and pins them to the wall above your head. You try to struggle away, but her grip is iron thanks to the additional strength provided by her Vision. An attempt to release your body from underneath hers fails as well. You're nervous - this never happened before. 

“Keqing, you're-” You start to say, but are interrupted by her right hand locking onto your throat. 

Your hands clench, eyes growing wide. You choke, any words of protest dying in your restricted windpipe. You look at Keqing, who smiles mischievously, completely oblivious to your discomfort. 

“What did I say? Bad boy!” She uses her other hand to pry yours off her choking arm. You relent, shocked and increasingly scared at her sudden roughness. “Now stay still, or you'll regret it~”

Tears form in your eyes as she leans and begins kissing and licking your cheek, adding small bites here and there. You close your eyes, not wanting to see what happens next. The feeling of her genuine affection recalls different images in your mind. The past and the present melt into one in your mind. 

As you lay helpless, Keqing continues loving you until her tongue hits an unusual note of salt on your skin. She pulls back and, upon seeing you crying, lets go of you right away. Her hands go to cover her mouth in an expression of pure horror. 

“I’m sorry! I’m… Oh Gods, I didn't mean to-!” 

You squirm away and, in response, Keqing jumps off of you. She reaches towards you, but ultimately stops herself. Shame, guilt and sadness light up her face, hidden behind her small hands. 

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve. By now your senses have returned. Her reaction brought you back at an instant. You get up and approach her. 

“Keqing, I'm sorry, nothing-” 

You're interrupted as she dashes past you. You can only call out to her as she runs to the bathroom and slams the door behind her. The sound of a lock turning halts your movements. 

You sigh and drop back down on the couch. The movie is still playing. Your ears pick up the sounds of soft sobbing from behind the bathroom doors. The heart tells you to get up, to talk to her, to knock down the door if need be, but the brain speaks with reason. She needs time, and you know it. It's better to let her calm down on her own. If you were to approach her now, she likely wouldn't speak to you, let alone open the door. 

Tears return to the corners of your eyes. Your heart aches at the sound of her pain. You can tell what she's thinking. That she's awful, dangerous, creepy, abusive. That it's all her fault. 

But the truth? She's not the problem. You are. 

The TV's noise irritates you. You turn it off and throw the remote across the room. Your head falls into your hands. 

How could you have done this to her? 

Why can't you just let go? 

Why are you so weak? 

A shaky sentence manages to make its way out of your lips. 

“It's all my fault.”

—

Deafening silence was all that filled the following hour when her crying died down. You went through every possibility of what would happen when the bathroom door would open. You planned what to tell her and how, you anticipated all of her possible reactions. You knew you couldn't fail again. You couldn't leave her in the dark and risk another incident like this. 

She shouldn't suffer because of me, you thought. It was your obligation to be transparent with your wife. Not like you weren't dying to apologize, to comfort her, to let her know it isn't her fault. But you were patient. 

When the door finally opened, Keqing looked abysmal. Her make-up was completely gone, first made running with tears, then washed away along with them. Her hair was a mess, not a trace of her usual prim and proper style left. Her eyes were red and barely open. 

You spoke gently. You hugged her, asking for a chance to explain yourself. She nodded wordlessly and you sat with her by the table. There, you told her everything. You told Keqing about your previous partner and about exactly what you suffered at her hands. Your wife was very quiet, but still nodded every now and then. From the shakiness of her voice when she spoke the few words in your conversation, you could tell she was stopping herself from bursting into tears again. Nonetheless, you continued until the story was told. 

“As such, Keqing, my wife, my love, the sun to my moon, none of what happened is your fault.” You continue, following the script you prepared in your mind. “It was my weakness and my inability to move on that caused all of this in the first place. For that, I’m… sorry. I truly am.”

She nods. Her eyes are focused on her hands, fingers fiddling with each other. Keqing slowly lifts her eyes to meet yours. You spot tears gathering on her features. 

“Why… I don't understand…” She starts, but upon realizing her instability, she sniffles and swallows the sadness weighing on her chest. “Why would you ever say that you're weak?” 

You sigh. “I should have moved on by now, but instead, I kept it with myself and now it hurt you as well. It is my pain and thus my responsibility to handle it.”

“No, n-no that's… How… How could someone such as you be weak?” She shakes her head. “You survived so much. So much pain, so much fear, so much hurt… And yet here you are, Y/N. Not only trusting another woman, a woman whom you not only married, but also allowed into your bed. I can't imagine myself doing something like that so quickly. You've moved on, honey. You regained the strength to trust and to love again. How can this be called anything but strong?”

You open your mouth to challenge her on this, but she acts first. 

Keqing breaches the gap between you and falls into your arms. Her body wraps around yours, holding onto you tightly. One of her hands travels to your cheek. 

“Y/N, you're strong. For having endured it, for having moved on, trusted again.” 

You drop your gaze. Perhaps she is right. Keqing gently lifts your cheek to direct your attention back at her. She smiles, her tearful eyes shining with boundless affection. 

“You're the strongest man I've ever known.”

Thanks for reading!

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #angst #genshin hurt/comfort #genshin impact hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #genshin impact eula #genshin impact eula lawrence #eula lawrence #eula #genshin eula #eula x reader #eula x male reader #eula x you #eula x y/n #eula angst #eula hurt/comfort #genshin impact keqing #genshin keqing #keqing #keqing x reader #keqing x male reader #keqing x you #keqing x y/n

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Don't You Worry Your Pretty Little Mind

Summary: With his lover bedridden after a battle gone awry, Astarion finds himself acting as her nurse, comforting her as best as he can, giving in to many of her whims. And despite all his theatrics, there is no one she wants by her side more than him.

Pairing: Astarion x Tav

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, mostly comfort, fluff, some suggestive mentions, mild description of acid-based/burning wound, references to pain (nothing graphic)

Taglist<3: @spacebarbarianweird

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The sharp smell of medicinal herbs burned in her nose, wafting over her as the pillows beneath her head and neck were readjusted once more. Pain followed fast on its heels, a phantom compared to what she’d felt earlier, before she’d blacked out entirely.

“How’s that, darling?” Astarion’s nimble fingers prodded at the pillows, fluffing them as best as he could without disturbing her. He drew her from her memories, from the blinding pain that had sent her into unconsciousness.

She whined, wrinkling her nose as another wave of smell hit her, the ointments smeared across her wounds seeping through the bandages wrapped around them. It burned as she breathed it in, daggers piercing the inside of her nose and scratching at the back of her throat. Pain radiated up her side and she shifted, nearly gagging as the smell grew stronger.

“Hurts,” was all she could manage, her voice cracking from the effort.

He huffed, crossing his arms and stepping back to examine his work. “I think that’s the best you’re going to get, my love. As much as I wish to, I cannot turn the bed into clouds.”

“Thank you for trying,” she murmured, barely stifling a groan as she shifted. 

She kept trying to find a comfortable position and yet she could find none. No matter how she lay she could not take the pressure off of all her wounds, and the pure frustration of it all made her eyes burn, angry tears pooling in the creases of her eyes. It painted the world in quicksilver and moonbeams, and yet she could find no comfort in the facsimile of the calm of the night.

“Don’t cry, please.” Astarion’s voice quivered, his brow drawing together. Somehow his skin grew paler, blanching at the sight of her tears. “Please, darling. You’re scaring me.”

She sniffled, reaching up to wipe her tears away, hissing in pain as her body grew taut, muscles and skin tight from the burns she’d sustained. Her bottom lip quivered, a sob caught in her throat, too weak to even wail.

“Oh my darling,” Astarion cooed, voice soft as feather-down. His hands hovered above her, as if hesitant to touch her. “You’re going to be okay.”

She whimpered. Was she? Was she truly going to be okay? She wanted to reach for him, but useless as she was, she could not even raise her hands to wipe her face, let alone hold him.

She watched as he seemed to come to some sort of resolution, his fingers delicately lowering to brush the tears from her eyes. Her vision cleared for the barest of moments before more tears trekked down her cheeks, the salt stinging where it seeped into her bandages.

“You’re going to get through this.” He brushed back loose strands of hair that had fallen across her cheek, caught in the ointment smeared on her skin. “You’re strong, my love. You were strong enough to survive such powerful magic. You’ll survive this.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. Although she’d survived the initial attack, she didn’t know if she was going to make it through the after-effects.

She hadn’t been thinking when it had all happened, shoving a child out of the way of their assailant, only to be swathed in burning pain. There had been no thoughts of putting up a shield, of casting a spell to push the attacker back. There had only been the thread of panic that had burst in her mind, her body moving before her mind could catch up.

When it had first washed over her she’d thought it fire, but then it had become worse. So terribly worse.

She’d learned, once she’d awoke, covered in the stinking ointment and bandaged, that it had been acid. A horrible homemade concoction that had very nearly killed her from its potency.

But she could not find it in herself to regret it, not really. She had managed to survive, but that child would not have. And her stepping in the way of the attack had been enough of a distraction for Astarion to make a killing blow.

Although she doubted she would make it through the consequences of her actions. Namely the reeking ointment and the near-unbearable pain.

As if reading her thoughts, Astarion clicked his tongue. “Don’t be so dramatic. You can survive anything, darling. Even a little homemade potion.”

She huffed, looking away. It hurt to speak, and yet she couldn’t help herself as she snapped back at him. “It’s a lot more than a homemade potion.”

“Well, it was homemade. He was a master artificer and wizard. I don’t think he bought it from a market.”

Groaning, she squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would staunch the flow of tears. “It hurts so much, Astarion.”

When he responded his voice was quieter, softer. “I know, darling.”

“I feel like I’m being burned alive.”

He didn’t answer this time, not at first. Silence descended, heavy, uncomfortable as her bandages.

It was more unbearable than the lingering sting of the acid, and she opened her eyes, the world limned in silver once more, searching for her beloved in the little room.

His eyes were wide, the crimson of his irises stark against the pallor of his skin. She could see the shimmering silver caught in the alabaster of his lashes, the gold of the firelight catching in his own tears.

“You’re going to be okay.” He spoke fiercely, each word as strong as a blow as he clenched his jaw. She wouldn’t have heard the quiver in his voice if she didn’t know him so well, didn’t know when he was trying to keep something hidden. “You’re going to get through this, and then we’re going on a long vacation.”

Her heart twisted, clenched in the grip of sorrow. “Astarion. My love, I’m so sorry, I-”

He shook his head, his hand delicately cupping her cheek. His own tears streaked down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away. “Don’t apologise. Just get through this, got it?”

“Okay. Okay, I will.” Her heart squeezed all the tighter, aching, struggling to beat. 

She tried to reach up, tried to hold his face, but she’d hardly raised her hand more than an inch before a ripple of pain made her gasp, fingers trembling like the branches of a sapling in a storm.

Astarion chuckled, lowering his head until the tips of her fingers brushed against his cheek. “Is this what you were hoping for, darling?”

“Thank you.” Her bottom lip was quivering again, her heart in her throat. Sadness was a vice that held her tight, nameless, all-consuming, drowning out even the smell of the ointment. She hurt so much, and she had hurt him. In her callousness she had hurt her most beloved and she didn’t know how to fix it, how to make him smile.

With a sigh Astarion lifted his head. His lips twitched, one brow arching. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just… I…” She couldn’t find the words, couldn’t figure out how to say it.

She felt like she was crumpling, formless and weak.

He shushed her gently, brushing the pads of his fingers against her cheeks. “Hush. It’s okay, my love. It’s okay.” Another twitch of his lips. “Wait to thank me until after I’ve changed your bandages.”

Shuddering, she looked away, feeling worse than helpless. “I look horrible, don’t I?”

“No you don’t.” A pause, his eyes searching hers. “It doesn’t look good, but you could never look horrible.”

An entire new wave of misery washed over her, and she wished she could still be unconscious, unaware of this pain and the knowledge that she looked horrible.

“Be honest,” she sniffed. “I look like something from a child’s nightmare.”

“Oh please.” He rolled his eyes. “Now you really are being dramatic.”

She whimpered, scowling as best as she could.

Sighing, Astarion perched on the edge of the bed, toying with the blankets, readjusting them over and over. Even so, his eyes never left hers, earnest and bright. “You’re hurt. You don’t look horrible, you look like someone who’s injured. You look like someone who needs to be taken care of until you’re better.”

Fangs flashing in the light, he gave her a half-moon smile. “And luckily for you, you’ve been blessed with someone as devoted as me, who will be here until you’re all better. Even though you’re being very vain.”

She frowned. “If I could throw a pillow at you, I would.”

“Well thank the gods you don’t have the strength right now.”

He leaned closer, fixing her pillows again. “Beneath all those bandages is the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” He paused, smirking. “Well, second most beautiful. After me of course.”

“Oh of course.”

“You’re no child’s nightmare, darling.” The corners of his lips hiked higher. “In fact, I’d wager you’re a child’s hero now.”

She snorted. “Oh, I’m so sure.”

He poked her shoulder gently, beaming. “I am. I bet that kid’s already off telling all her friends.”

“She’s probably forgotten by now.”

“Oh no.” he gave a theatrical shake of his head. “No, certainly not. Rumour has probably spread that there’s a new hero on the sword coast.”

The corners of her lips tipped up, tugged by laughter bubbling in her throat. “Oh please.”

“The blade of frontiers had better move over,” he continued, mischief twinkling in his eyes like entire galaxies of stars. “There’s a new hero protecting Faerûn now.”

She giggled, shaking her head as best as she could. “I’m no hero! Besides, what would I even be called?”

Astarion tapped his cheek, eyes skyward as he hummed thoughtfully. “Now that’s a good question.”

“See? You can’t be a hero without a cool name.”

“How about ‘protector of the most beautiful vampire spawn?’ Or ‘the prettiest saviour of children from acid?’” He brushed the back of his index finger over her brow, smirking a little too broadly. His fangs flashed before disappearing again as he spoke, mischief in his words. “Or, and I think this one is the best, ‘the fool of faerûn.’”

She gaped at him, mouth falling open.

“You know, since you ran into an acid attack.” He shrugged. “You got the kid out of the way, but you didn’t get yourself out of the way in time.”

She wrinkled her nose as she answered, equal parts annoyed and amused. “You are so lucky, Astarion.”

“To have you by my side?” He stroked her hair, smirking. He knew perfectly well that was not what she was referring to. “I most certainly am lucky, darling.”

“You’re lucky I can barely raise my arms, or else you’d have a pillow in your face.”

“Yes well, you did kind of deserve that.” He tapped the top of her head, his expression growing more serious. “You had me terrified. I thought I’d lost you.”

His words were sobering, and she no longer felt the glimmer of mirth she had before. She sank into the pillows, dropping her gaze. “Astarion, I-”

“It’s already happened.” He cut her off before she could finish her apology, his brows drawing low as he continued. “I want you to focus on healing, on getting better. That’s the only apology I’m willing to accept.”

She swallowed, finding his gaze. “Okay.”

“And just as I said, once you are better, we’re going on vacation.”

It was so mundane, to talk of going on a vacation. A trip meant for relaxation, for having fun, where the highest stakes were finding delicious new food in an unfamiliar place. The sudden segue felt like something out of a dream, surreal when compared to her most recent memory, the wall of blackness in her mind after the rush of burning pain.

A giggle bubbled from her lips, earning a bemused look from Astarion. “What’s so funny? You think me incapable of a vacation?”

“No, that’s not it at all.” In fact it was all too easy to imagine him lounging around all day, the picture of indolence as he languidly sauntered down unfamiliar streets, as he stretched out on some sumptuous bed in a rented room.

“Well don’t keep me in suspense, darling.” He laid on his side, propping his head up in his hand. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

She giggled again, feeling ridiculous. “It’s nothing, really. It just feels strange to be talking of going on vacation, especially when I’m here covered in this gross ointment.”

He clicked his tongue. “That ‘gross ointment’ is going to help speed along your recovery.” He sniffed, nose wrinkling. “Although it is not exactly a pleasant smell.”

“I want a bath,” she whined. “I want to feel clean and smell pretty.”

“Once you are well enough, my love.” He gave her an indulgent smile. “I will give you the most luxurious bath you can dream of.”

Sighing, she imagined it in her mind. Warm water and flower petals and bath oils perfuming the air, helping her feel alive once again. “Do you think you could do that when we go on vacation, too?”

A chuckle, a darkening of his eyes. “There is plenty I plan to do, once you’re better.”

“Including a bath?” She ignored the somersault of her belly, the heat suddenly blooming at the apex of her thighs. Now really was not the time, not when she could barely stand the blankets that were draped over her.

“Yes,” he drawled. “The most splendid of baths every day for you, my dear.”

She relaxed as best she could against the pillows, daydreaming once more of such a thing. Of feeling the warm heat of the water seeping into her bones, of fingers massaging her scalp, trailing lovingly down her back.

“We can do whatever you wish,” he murmured, his gaze softening. “So long as you get better. You have to promise me you’ll get better.”

“I promise. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Astarion sighed, toying with her hair. Just the sight of him was stronger than any balm or medicine. The slight curve of his lips as he smiled, relief stitching itself into his expression, more a comfort than any sleeping potion.

He was still speaking, not that she heard even a word of it. Her mind couldn’t keep itself steady, flitting like hummingbird wings as the pain ebbed and flowed through her. Astarion had to pinch her cheek once, twice, before she could focus her thoughts, like trying to coax the ocean through the eye of a needle.

“Have I lost you, darling?” He chuckled, smoothing his hand over the sting where he’d pinched her. “I would have thought you would listen raptly as I spoke.”

She managed a roll of her eyes, knowing he was doing little more than teasing her. Distracting her, perhaps, to take the edge off of the unrelenting burn of her body.

“Forgive me, my love,” she rasped, batting her lashes as swiftly as she could in the moment. “It’s just hard to focus, even on your limitless charm.”

His brows knit together, lips pursing. She caught a flash in his eyes, worry quickly masked before she could begin to pick at it.

“You should rest, darling,” he murmured. “You’ll feel a little better once you wake.”

Astarion made to stand, the bed shifting as his weight vanished, and a ripple of pain went through her side, her chest. Not only her body screaming from the movement, little more than a jostle and yet enough to irritate the weeping wounds beneath her bandages, but her heart screaming too. Pain lancing in her chest, her heartbeat turning to the quiver of a loosed bowstring.

What would she do without him? How could she stand the anger of the poison that had flayed her skin? How could she try to brave the darkness of her unconsciousness? All without him?

A whimper fled from her lips, drawing Astarion’s gaze. The lines in his brow only deepened, and he sank back into the bed. A question hung on his lips, his hands reaching towards her, hovering, hesitancy making his face look wan.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Please.”

The anxiety in his face fell away, like the last of a stone wall crumbling to ruin. Relief, and no small amount of mischief, remained, shining like light through stained glass, refracting rainbows across the ceiling and walls.

“I’m honoured that you want me close, love, but I’m not going far.” There was laughter in his voice, making it lilt like the opening of a song. “I’ll be back in less than a moment.”

With a swiftness that sometimes scared her, Astarion moved across the room, the sound of glass clicking as he sorted through little bottles and vials on their dresser. There were perfumes, lotions, oils, a pretty pink nail polish he’d presented to her only a few days before the attack.

She wanted to ask what he was doing, but in another moment he was back, wiggling a bottle no thicker than her pinky, filled with an oily-looking, iridescent liquid.

“To help you sleep,” he said before she could ask. “It’s supposed to numb some of the pain so you can rest.”

She tried to sit up, only to cry out as a thousand daggers stabbed at her, as her skin drew taut beneath her bandages. She collapsed back, wincing at the red stains blooming on some of her bandages.

“Darling, I fear that is the exact opposite of trying to get better.” Astarion tsked softly, sliding one hand behind her head, flicking the cap of the bottle open with the other.

“I was going to take the medicine.” She had to draw in lungfuls of air to push past the stabbing throb across her body, steadying the sudden surge of nausea in her belly.

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. The arch of his brow and the quirk of his mouth made it seem like she’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, and it made her want to pout.

“You’re so impatient,” he chided, bringing the bottle to her lips. “Obviously I was going to help you with it. The more you move the harder it is for you to heal.”

She could say nothing as she drank the potion, fighting not to gag as the oily substance slid down her throat. It tasted bitter, and it coated the inside of her mouth like grease.

Setting the empty bottle to the side, Astarion grinned. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He patted her head, not yet done teasing her. “Imagine how much easier it would have been if you’d just waited for me the first time.”

“Are you saying you’ll take care of me? You’re going to nurse me back to health?”

He chuckled. “Of course, darling. I’m terribly keen to play as your doctor.”

“Oh Astarion, don’t tease me so much,” she whined. “I can hardly think of a clever response right now.”

“I don’t mind.” He tapped the tip of her nose, unscathed from the attack. “That pretty blush of yours is all I need.”

“Astarion.”

He lifted his hands quickly, palms out in surrender. “Alright, alright, that’s enough for now. I’ll leave you to your rest.”

Panic seized her and she gasped. “My love, wait. Wait!”

She reached her arms out as far as she could, making a grabbing motion with her hands. Astarion’s brows rose, the corner of his lips quirking up. “Oh? And what’s this?”

Whining, she stretched her arms out a little further. “I want you.”

“So needy.” His tone was chiding, but his smile only grew. “Do you need me to continue comforting you, darling?”

“Astarion, please.” She couldn’t spar with him now, and so she was at the mercy of his teasing. She pushed out her bottom lip, pouting as best she could, giving him her biggest doe eyes. “I need you.”

“And how do you need me?”

If she could have ground her teeth she would have. But as it stood she could not, so she settled for a wrinkle of her nose, her cheeks burning from the heat he’d coaxed into them. He was smiling far too broadly, his eyes full of mirth.

With a sigh she said, “I need you to stay with me. I need you to hold me, my beloved. Please.”

“Oh my.” She could see the faintest touch of colour in his cheeks, like the first hint of the blushing dawn in the dove-grey of the morning sky. “Well how could I ever say no to such a request?”

Happiness softened the edges of her ire as Astarion tugged at the blankets, carefully slipping into the bed beside her. She sank to the side, his body beckoning her close, wincing only barely as he pressed against her side. He draped an arm loosely over her stomach, no heavier than another blanket, and yet she felt safer because of it, warmer than any blanket could make her feel.

“How is this?” He murmured softly against her ear, his breath tangling in her unbound hair. “Better?”

“This is very nice,” she said, just as quietly. “Thank you, my love.”

“Do you think you can sleep?” His voice wobbled, revealing the fear that had been hiding beneath his joking tone. “It will help with your healing.”

“But I only just got comfy,” she whined, not caring how pitiful she sounded.

A snort, cool fingers brushing back her hair. His breath gathered against her skin as he lowered his head, sighing. “That is so you can sleep, darling.”

“I don’t know if I can sleep.”

“If I’m distracting you, it may be better if I go-”

“No!” It would have been a shriek if she’d been able to shriek right now. As it was it sounded like a garbled rasp, and Astarion had to press his face to her neck to muffle his laughter.

“Don’t go. Please love, I want you to stay.” She didn’t feel right without him close, felt like she was on the verge of dying. She wanted to cling to him, to hold fast, finding comfort in the acid of his comments and the bergamot clinging to his skin.

“I’ll stay.” He laid a gentle kiss to her neck, a stark difference to the teasing laughter from only seconds ago. “See? I have no plan to move.”

“Really?”

“Why would I, when such a beautiful, needy little thing is in my arms.”

She turned her head away so he could not see the crimson staining her cheeks. She had no response, no clever rejoinder. She was terribly needy for his closeness, but he didn’t have to say it like that.

“You really must rest, though,” he continued, pressing another kiss to her throat. “How else will you get better so we can take a vacation?”

“You seem very set on the idea of this vacation,” she mused. Already she could feel the medicine working, the pain beginning to ebb, dulling breath by breath. “What do you even want to do?”

“What don’t I want to do, darling?” He sighed, stroking her hair. “I want to lounge and sleep in late. And perhaps we can visit a spa; we both need it after this.”

“A spa sounds nice.” She imagined it, sleeping the morning away, skilled hands massaging the knots from her back and arms, floral-scented serums and creams and oils pressed to her face, bringing her skin to life.

“And shopping,” he continued, just as lost in his daydreams as she. “So much shopping. We must refresh our wardrobes, darling. It’s all very…” She could picture the wrinkle of his nose without even looking at him. “Last season. We must be ahead of all the rest.”

“I’ll put my trust in you, then,” she murmured. “I’m sure you know what is best.”

She wouldn’t mind some new gowns, if she were honest. She would need something to make her feel pretty again after she was healed.

Astarion hummed, combing fingers through her hair. “Have you fallen asleep already?”

“No,” she answered, not feeling tired in the least. Now that the pain was fading she felt wide awake, energized.

“Well you should,” he admonished. “It will certainly put me at ease knowing you’re resting.”

“But I’m not tired, my love.”

He sighed, undoubtedly rolling his eyes. “What can I do to help?”

She hummed, wracking her mind for something that could help, that would lull her into the gentle darkness of unconsciousness.

Before she had met him, she would sometimes fall asleep to the faint sounds of music beyond her windows, or she would hum her favourite melodies until she could not hum them any longer.

“Could you…” She licked her lips, twisting as far away from his gaze as she could as a new wave of heat washed over her. “Could you sing for me?”

The silence that fell from her question stretched long, and she feared he would laugh, or tell her that no he could not. But then, soft as a caress, Astarion asked “you wish for me to sing?”

She swallowed, her flushing cheeks be damned. She wanted to meet his gaze as she again made her shameless request, a small comfort that had helped her in the years before she’d met him.

“Will you please sing for me?” He was close enough now for her to take his free hand, even as tremors still quivered through hers. “Please, my love? It really would help me sleep.”

For a moment he searched her gaze, his expression serious. Soft light gilded his features, twinning in the strands of his hair, painting the lines of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. His eyes seemed to glow, and she had the strangest feeling that she was being observed by a deity, a powerful, celestial being not of this world.

Her heart ached, and she held his hand tighter, reminding herself that he was not an ethereal being of light and dreams. He was real, he was here with her, he was not going anywhere.

Astarion’s eyes flicked down, to their intertwined hands, seeming to come to some sort of resolution.

“You are so terribly lucky I find you so wonderful,” he sighed, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he closed his eyes. “I wouldn’t sing for just anyone, you know.”

She gingerly brought his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I think I would hate it if you did. I want you to sing for only me.”

His eyes opened, his expression tender despite how he had bemoaned such a task. “Any requests, my dear?”

“A lullaby, please.” She held fast to his hand, clutching it as surely as a child clutched a beloved doll. “Any lullaby, whatever your favourites are.”

He mulled it over, stroking her hair absently. “Alright, I have a few in mind.”

His voice quivered at first, uncertainty staining his voice. The words tremulous, quiet, yet as he continued, seeming to realize this was not an elaborate ruse to tease him, he grew louder, more confident. The faintest touch of colour stained his cheeks, but it could have been the burning red of the sky at sunset for how it ignited warmth in her own heart.

At first she felt nothing, energy still buzzing like static along her nerves and sizzling in her veins. But the wispy tendrils of fatigue slowly crept over her, Astarion’s words coming in and out of focus, blurring together. She was certain he was switching to Elven every now and again, the songs he was singing old, excavated from a corner of his memory draped in cobwebs and dust.

She yawned, her eyelids growing heavy. It became harder to keep them open, and eventually she just gave in, sighing in response to Astarion’s teasing laughter as his fingertips skipped across her brow.

“Are you asleep yet?”

“Not yet,” she grumbled, scrunching her nose.

“I guess I have no choice, but to keep going.”

She hummed in approval, earning another quiet huff of laughter before he continued, beginning a new song she did not recognize.

She wouldn’t have said he was the very best, and although she didn’t recognize every song he chose, she could tell some of it was off-key, the notes too sharp or flat. But she didn’t care, finding comfort in the off-tune lilt of his voice. It was a melody just for her, carrying her like white-capped waves towards sleep.

Her fingers found their way to his shirt, twisting into the cream coloured fabric, snagging on the ties that held it closed. She could not move enough to tuck herself beneath his chin the way she liked best, but she could hold onto him like this at least. She could anchor herself, no longer lost to the pain of her wounds.

Astarion’s voice blurred, words melting into each other until she could not recognize a single one, her mind muddled as a turbid river. All her thoughts turned to nonsense, but for one, shining bright as a star, holding fast in the cloudiness of her mind.

That she would get better. That she had to get better. She couldn’t let him sing her lullabies for nothing. She had to make up for the worry she was causing him.

She might have said the thoughts aloud, she really wasn’t sure. Her body was growing fuzzy, the world around her melting in and out of focus.

What she was sure of was that Astarion paused for the briefest of moments, brought his lips to her brow. He murmured against her skin, that he was holding her to that promise. That he would need her to get better so she could help him come up with a name for her new heroic persona while on their languid holiday.

She wanted to promise that she would, if only because she loved him so much she couldn’t bear upsetting him. But Astarion started singing again, and his voice suddenly sounded very, very far away, like an echo behind glass.

And then she was gone, lost to sleep, one step closer to healing, just as she had promised.

#astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #honey the sweeter the sun

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 19th

Uniform, Phantom x Cardinal Reader

Masterlist ⛧ The Cardinal Masterlist

Words: 6.3k

Warnings: Uniform; sub!Phantom; Cardinal!Reader; dom!Reader; male masturbation; brat!Phantom; power play; abuse of power; praise kink; degradation kink; cock stepping; heel kink; begging; edging; ruined orgasm; worship; hand job; unprotected sex; piv sex; dacrophilia; cunnilingus; cum eating; marking/hickeys; this basically feels like torture porn; I was in a man-eating mood and Phantom was the victim, I would apologise but I enjoyed this too much;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost

This is another favourite... I had so much fun writing this.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You had always been a dedicated and hardworking member of the Satanic Church, from the time you arrived in your early teens to now. For years, you had toiled tirelessly, demonstrating your commitment to your job and your faith. And though some days it felt like it did, your efforts had not gone unnoticed, and upon the ascension of the previous Cardinal Copia to Papacy, you too, were lifted from your previous life and placed in a position of higher standing. They were, of course, in need of a new Cardinal now that Copia was no longer filling the position.

Your robes were majestic to say the least - designed specifically to you: your body, your youth, the image you wanted to portray when wearing the uniform. The only non-negotiables were: it had to be black or red, you must wear the Grucifix at all times, you had to wear a zucchetto, and you had to adorn the traditional Cardinal make up when in public. The cut of your robes and everything else to do with it was down to your tastes and preferences. You chose something that made you feel like you wielded the power you were given.

Your robes were split into two parts and made of a beautiful, rich, red, satin material combined with accents of white lace in three places: the bottom of the sleeves, the tip of the bodice, and the top of the neck. The dress itself was designed in a fishtail style, with thick straps at the shoulders to keep everything in place - and the bodice being boned and laced like a corset to keep you secured inside. Those straps were hidden underneath a bolero made of matching material, with added drama.

The sleeves were bell-style, with extra material to give a lap-over effect at the elbows. The sleeves’ openings were long enough to reach your knees when you had clasped your hands together at your waist and were pointed at the end. Your forearms, however, were encased in a beautiful white lace that was clasped together with the red satin making it an optional feature. Square shoulders gave you a more formal look, while the bolero’s collar added an extra layer of extravagance. It was in a turtleneck shape with white lace at the top and an ascot-like finish at the bottom, which could be clasped into the bodice of your dress as it reached that far down. When the collar was in its correct place, the red front resembled the Gothic archways of the Ministry’s architecture, while the sharp, pointed features made you look much more intimidating than you anticipated, but very much enjoyed.

The whole ensemble was bookended by a red zuchetto (Copia’s zuchetto which he gifted to you along with the Grucifix you wore upon your ascension) and a pair of Cesare Paciotti dagger heels that you asked a dear Sibling over in the tailoring wing to recreate for you given that you couldn’t afford genuine ones.

As is customary for a Cardinal, you were given two new members of your team - an assistant (a newly ordained Sibling of Sin), and a Ghoul in training. Your Ghoul wouldn’t be a permanent fixture, sadly, given that when Papa needed a new one he would graduate them from their training and take them from a Cardinal now that they were completely experienced. After putting in a special request, you’d asked for your dear friend, Phantom, to work alongside you, knowing that you’d be much happier with him by your side for as long as possible.

When he saw you for the first time, his jaw dropped. His eyes widened beneath his silver metallic, Venetian-inspired trainee mask. Because the trainee mask arched at the base, the tip of his nose and his mouth were completely exposed to you, though painted black, allowing you to see his full reaction. He had arrived at the tailor’s wing to come and escort you to your new office, and was in awe of what he was seeing.

“What do you think?” You asked him pulling at your dress a little like a teenage girl showing her date her prom dress for the first time. Your two-toned lips were curved upwards into a little smile, evidently enthralled at your new uniform and the magic the tailor Sibling had conjured with their own two hands.

“You look incredible, Sister!” Phantom said quickly, a little too loud for even his own liking.

You stood up straight and clasped your hands together at your stomach. You lifted your chin proudly and said, “I’m not sister anymore, Ghoul. I’m Cardinal now, and you shall address me as such.” Your smile was now playful and mischievous, and you were putting on more airs and graces than you usually would just because it was fun. It was fun to remind him of your new title, it was fun to hear people refer to you as Cardinal now.

Phantom gave a nod and a nervous gulp before reciprocating your smile, clearly somewhere deep inside his own head. Once he had grounded himself, he gave you a deep bow, like a commoner would to a princess, playing along with your little game. “My apologies, Cardinal. As your Ghoul, I am to escort you to your new office and chambers.”

You nodded. “Very good, Ghoul. Lead on.”

He stood and opened the door to the tailor’s shop for you to step out and lingered behind you as you walked down the corridors towards the Cardinal’s wing. Usually Phantom would walk beside you, given that you both were friends, but even as Cardinal and Ghoul, he would still be beside you as an equal. Despite the Ministry having a clear heirarchy, none were treated as lesser than. Papa and his Ghouls and assistants walked side-by-side as did everyone else. It was strange walking in silence down a long corridor with your best friend and not have him beside you.

You turned your head to look over your shoulder to see what the matter was. Phantom was, indeed, still behind you. He was now carrying a suitcase full of your extra uniforms, but instead of looking ahead of him, he was looking at you, focussing extra hard on you. You had seen enough men do that to know exactly what it was he was looking at. His eyes were laser focussed on your backside. The cut of the dress meant that all of your lumps, bumps and curves were accentuated flawlessly, certainly giving you a sexier appearance than your old Sibling habit did, and though you felt good and looked good in it, nothing compared to your new Cardinal robes. And apparently, Phantom agreed.

He’d never looked at you before like he was looking at you now. He’d never been in total awe of your overall appearance, or even been speechless in your presence. And he’d certainly never purposefully hung back to walk behind you so he could perv on you. He’d seen your body numerous times before, given that this is the Satanic church that enjoys a good orgy here and there that you both have partaken in. Hell, he’d even been inside you once or twice before. But the way he was looking at you now was different. Like he was seeing you, truly seeing you for the first time.

“How are you supposed to guide me to my new rooms when you’re behind me, Phantom?”

His eyes sharply rose from your backside to your face, and a flicker of shame darted in them. It was barely there, but you caught it. “Right, shit! Sorry!” He ran to catch up with you, and from there on out made sure he was only one step ahead.

The coming weeks were nightmarish for Phantom, truly. You were simply regal in your new uniform, and it had affected your personality too. You were never not confident, but the Cardinal robes had amplified what you already had to now you being damn near untouchable. He noticed that people would move out of the way for you when you walked down the endless Ministry hallways, with him and your Sibling assistant trailing behind you. When you walked into the room, conversations would dwindle and all eyes would be on you. People didn’t fear you quite as much as they were a little intimidated by you, but you were just simply impressive. And the confidence you exuded made you ten times more attractive than you ever had been.

You were also no stranger and no enemy to giving orders and jobs to people when they needed it. Organising events, overseeing renovations, initiating newcomers - whatever your schedule looked like you were on it and had no qualms taking charge, and doing so in your Cardinal robes? Phantom could barely cope. He would set himself on fire if you were cold and he’d thank you for it. He’d worship the ground you walked on like you were Lucifer himself if given half the chance. And the things he thought about when he was alone in his room? When darkness cloaked him and all he could think about was sinning with you, being defiled by you. He would submit to you willingly; do anything you asked him to with a “yes, Cardinal” and “right away, Cardinal”, “anything for you, Cardinal”.

With his hand around his cock, he thought about what it would be like to grip onto your hips with you straddling his lap. He thought about burying his face in your cleavage and kissing at the exposed flesh below the red, Gothic arches you wore. He envisioned you hiking up that dress so you could straddle his face and he could pleasure you, the way his makeup would be stained and smeared all over your thighs and pussy. How your juices would gather in the engravings on his mask while he held you down on his face and worshipped you as you deserved. Or even how your breasts would bounce under the bodice of your dress as he railed you, as he speared you on his cock and fucked into you relentlessly. He remembered how good your cries were the last time he fucked you - and he hated himself for not savouring the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around his aching cock. Every night after work, he would throw himself onto his bed and stroke himself to orgasm. Orgasm after orgasm until it got to the point he was surprised he had anything left to give. He wanted you so fucking badly, but he had no idea if he was even allowed to have you anymore.

Every day you would do something, or act in a certain way that made life a little more difficult for him. And the worst part about all of it was you didn’t even know - because in reality, you weren’t doing anything wrong. He was just becoming so painfully attracted to you that it was hurting him, and he didn’t know what to do.

You started noticing the little slip ups three weeks into your job. The way the small things would always go wrong, the way he’d relay the wrong messages to people, the way he’d do something and not do it correctly. But you realised something needed to be done about it when one of Papa’s Ghouls, Swiss, came to you with a very angry note from Papa letting you know that Phantom had colossally fucked up, and he’d relayed the wrong message and because of that the Ministry’s power was down for an hour while the maintenance guys tried to find the problem that didn’t actually exist. Papa couldn’t rehearse with his Ghouls which meant he was even more stressed about the upcoming tour.

You found Phantom in the kitchens nursing a tub of Häagen-Dazs strawberry ice cream and the rest of the kitchen staff moving around him frustratedly while they were trying to prepare for the dinner rush.

“Good evening, Cardinal ___.”

The rest of the Siblings echoed the greeting and you responded with a polite bow of your head. That was when Phantom looked up at you and sighed. He grabbed the tub and went to stand, making an attempt to run away, but you were too fast and stopped him from disappearing. “Please just let me wallow.” He said, his voice filled with irritation.

“No. We’re going to talk about this and we’re going to figure out a solution.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care. We have to.”

“Um, Cardinal,” your attention was drawn to a middle-aged Sibling who was looking more and more exasperated by the second, “with all due respect we need this space to be free for the staff.”

“Of course, we’re just leaving. Thank you for being patient.”

The walk back to your office was long and silent; incredibly awkward. Phantom was trudging along behind you, still very clearly troubled and in fact, now he was much more anxious. Reaching your office was no better either, because trying to get the problem out of him was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. He sat there in silence for a while, as if you were a cop trying to get information out of him. There was a brief moment when you thought he’d ask to call his lawyer.

“Phantom,” you pleaded for what felt like the eighteenth time, “I can’t help you unless you tell me what the problem is.”

“What if I don’t want help?” He said, petulantly.

“That’s tough shit, unfortunately. You caused a big stink today. You’re going to have help whether you like it or not. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“No.”

“Phantom.” Your voice became deep and warning. It made him falter, but he didn’t budge.

“No!”

“Satan’s taint, Phantom! The way you’re acting I have half a mind to take you over my knee and spank you until you behave yourself.” His eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed. That caught your attention. “Unless you want that.”

“Of course I don’t.”

You stood up and walked to the other side of your desk, leaning against it. As Phantom was sat down still, you towered over him. As you walked, your dagger heels clunked on the wooden floor below you. The atmosphere had shifted, and what had become a friend trying to help another had quickly turned into a game of power where your closest friend was on the verge of submitting to you. “I think you do.”

“You’re wrong.” Phantom was always a little shit, that was why you loved having him around. The man was the very definition of cheeky - naughty but was so cute he could get away with it, especially with you. You’d had to reign him in before, but you didn’t realise this would be how you’d have to do it for the foreseeable future.

“You’ve been harbouring some feelings towards someone, haven’t you?” Phantom didn’t want to reply at first, which told you everything you needed to know. He continued looking at the ground and avoiding eye contact, and this just wouldn’t do. You placed your index finger and thumb on his chin and moved his head, forcing him to look at you. “Haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

You hummed. “That someone is me, yes?” He nodded but of course that wasn’t good enough for your ego. “Ah, ah. Use your words.”

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”

Phantom released a sharp breath at the praise, shaky with the nerves he was feeling.

“Tell me about it.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can, my little prince. Tell me everything and I’ll give you a reward.”

He began recounting everything to you, the words spilling out of him with no end in sight. He poured his entire brain on the floor for you to rifle through at your leisure, sparing none of the more intricate or delicate parts of his torment. He detailed how he touched himself at the thought of you, how he spilled onto his stomach at the very idea that you would give him a scrap of attention, and how the whole thing had been eating away at him. All the while, you maintained eye contact with him, jerking his head back towards you every time his shame made him look away. When he finished, he breathed a sigh of relief, though he was still just as nervous as he was when he started talking.

“Such a good boy for me. Obedience deserves a reward, doesn’t it. What shall it be?” Your eyes glanced down at his growing bulge. “Do you want me to touch you?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes, Cardinal.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. Cardinal? Oh. He conveniently left out your promotion in his story. That changed things a bit. Oh yes, this could be very fun. That same hand that was holding his head in place began moving downwards, across the clothed expanse of his chest, down passed his tummy, until eventually your fingers danced over his clothed (now very hard) cock. You didn’t immediately grab him, instead opting to just run light fingers over the material and watch his eyes turn from wanting to pleading.

“Although, you have been holding out on me for weeks. And Papa is very displeased. You’re my responsibility now. You got me into a lot of trouble with Papa.” You groped his whole cock now and released a low chuckle when he gasped.

“I’m s-sorry.”

“You will be.” You cut all physical contact with him and stepped back, leaning up against your desk again. “Kneel on the floor.” You told him.

He obeyed immediately, getting on his knees and looking up at you with wide, expectant eyes. But when you moved, he became distracted by it. You lifted your dress just enough for your heels and ankles to be revealed and raised your dominant foot to rest on his thick thigh. You let the toes of your pumps slide up his jeans towards his crotch, and watched as his breathing became heavier and heavier in anticipation for what was to come. At any point, he could have stopped you. Your previous sexual exploits have already established bedroom rules which allowed you both to just plough ahead and wait for the withdrawal of consent - which never came. What did come, however, was Phantom’s gasp when the red sole of your pump arrived at his cock, and applied just a little pressure. Enough to make his hands rush up to your bare calf and grip hold of the flesh. He let out a groan.

“Papa sent one of his very angry Ghouls earlier today to tell me about your fuck up.” You began. You moved your sole up and down a little, teasing him more as his mind became increasingly more and more blank. “I have to report to him later on this afternoon and tell him what happened and what I plan on doing with you. What do you think I should tell him? Should I tell him that my Ghoul was too horny to function? Should I tell him that my Ghoul is now dry humping my stilettos in desperation like a dog?”

Phantom didn’t even realise his hips were moving until you brought it up. His eyes had been shut tight at the feel of you, and how every so often, your heel would scrape against his clothed testicles.

You continued chastising him. “I should have recorded that for Papa to see. Show him what I’m dealing with.” You started rubbing his length in a rhythmic motion, mostly putting pressure on him and releasing it again.

Phantom let go of his inhibitions for just a second and allowed himself to enjoy the feeling, eyes closed and hips rocking against you, meeting your own movements perfectly. All the while, desperate whimpers were falling from his lips, strained little grunts that filled the room exquisitely. He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t stop the noises that stumbled out of him. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this; he knew that this was supposed to be his punishment. But it just felt so good. He couldn’t help himself.

“Are you enjoying this, my little prince?” You asked him, a condescending tone decorating your low voice, looking down at him desperately humping your heel. He truly looked pathetic.

“F-feels good.”

“Oh, does it? Is my needy little prince enjoying his punishment a little too much?”

“I’m sorry…” His voice was tight, like he was about to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It feels so good. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so needy. I’m sorry I’m enjoying this. I’m sorry!” Everything that tumbled from his lips happened in the span of one breath. His hand moved from your calf down to the top of your foot, pushing you down onto him so he could gain more pleasure from your body without permission.

“My once good boy is acting like a bit of a slut, huh?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Let me hear you say it. What are you?”

“A slut! I’m a slut. I’m such a little slut.”

“Whose slut?”

“Your slut! I’m your slut. I’m a slut for my Cardinal. I’m gonna cum.”

“No, you’re not. Not without permission.”

“Can I cum, please?”

“No.”

“Please, please, please, Cardinal, please! I need to cum. I need to cum so badly. Please, Cardinal! I’m begging you, please let me cum, please!”

By the quickness of his hips you could tell that he was close. You hung on a little more before you pulled your foot away from him. His eyes widened in terror as the orgasm he was on the precipice of having began ebbing away from him, and fading back into nothingness being replaced by his painful hardness of his cock. “No!” He screamed. The noise itself was primal and full of devastation, like he’d just watched something he love get destroyed. This wasn’t the cool, calm and collected Phantom you knew. This wasn’t the mischievous little devil you had the pleasure of being friends with for all these years. This was a desperate, wounded animal on the floor begging for mercy.

You dropped your dress back onto the floor and began to walk away from him, your hand on the door handle. “I’ll go and tell Papa you’ve been adequately punished for your actions.” You had no intention of opening the door, but you did jiggle the handle to get his reaction.

He dove forward, landing on his stomach and resting his head on the floor, fully bowing to you like a worshipper would their deity. “Please forgive me! Please don’t leave me like this. Please let me cum! Please, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything, please! I’ll be a good boy, I promise!”

“Yeah? You’ll be a good boy?”

“Yes, Cardinal!”

“You’ll start listening to your Cardinal when she gives instructions?”

“Yes, Cardinal!”

“And you’ll start behaving yourself and you’ll come to your Cardinal when you have a problem?”

“Yes, Cardinal!”

You walked back to your desk and sat on it this time. “On your feet, precious boy.” Phantom stood immediately. You dragged your dress up over your knees, revealing your thighs to him and then eventually your panties. After shuffling around a little, you pulled them off revealing your slick-soaked cunt to his hungry eyes. He wanted to dive straight in, to lap up everything he could see, and he moved forward as if he were going to. But you placed your heel on his stomach and held him at a distance. “No. I have other plans.” You removed your foot again. “Strip. I want no item of clothing left on you… except that mask.”

The mask stripped away his identity. He wasn’t even supposed to have a name, but he’d chose it for the other Ghouls to use. You planned on using him tonight, as he apparently wanted, and the mask would strip him of his humanity. Make him just a toy to play with and nothing more.

He fought with his clothes, his clouded brain struggling to perform the basic task he usually did daily. But eventually he stood there, completely naked, his cock red, swollen and painfully hard, standing fully to attention and waiting for your next touch. You beckoned him closer with your index finger and as soon as he was in reach, you spat on and then wrapped your hand around his cock and began to stroke.

You wanted to torture him a little more, dragging more pained whimpers out of him but there was something so delectable about the whimpers that came out of him when you overstimulated him. How when you stroked him and focussed on his sensitive head, he did everything he could to squirm out of your grasp, but failed every time. “Oh fuck!” He screamed, white knuckling the desk below you as your hand worked him. “Please, please, please. I’m so desperate.”

“You are?”

“Yes!”

“Oh poor baby. Just wants to cum doesn’t he?”

“Please! I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you. Please.” Your hand tightened around the head of his cock. “Cardinal, it’s too much! It’s too much. Wait. Fuck! It’s way too sensitive. Please, please, please, please.” You watched his chest rise and fall erratically as he struggled to breathe through the stimulation. Drool had begun to form at the corner of his mouth the faster you moved. “N-not on the tip, please! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Your brain decided to do something even crueller. You let go of him one more time but this time you spread your legs wider allowing him to get closer to your core. “Really!?” He asked, his eyes wide and ready to bury himself inside.

“Of course, baby boy.”

He lined himself up and entered you, but he moaned in despair when he felt your hands on his abdomen stopping him from burying himself in further. You only allowed his tip to enter you, and that was as far as he could go. “Cardinal, no! Please! Please don’t do this! Please let me go all the way in, please!”

“It’s this or nothing, my prince. What do you want?”

Weighing up his options he began shallowly thrusting into you, his eyes roaming over your entire body and taking in your collected appearance. He was a sweaty, red mess underneath his mask and paints. But you, not a single hair was out of place. Your robes were still pristine and perfect, no sweat staining the satin. He protested and complained but even if it was just the tip inside you, he still felt incredible. He watched as his movements barely made you blink.

You moved one of your hands up to play with one of his nipples, causing him to cry out and thrust a little further in than he intended. But this one little movement made him - “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum! Can I please cum? Please, please, please, Cardinal, please! Please I’m begging you let me cum please.”

“Pull out.”

“No please! Please don’t make me.”

You reached round to the back of his head and pulled on his hair. “Pull out.”

Reluctantly he did as you asked and took the smallest step back, the head of his cock touching your clit still needing to be touched. You wrapped your hand around him again and began stroking, focussing on the tip again and earning a whine from him. “Thank you! Thank you!”

“I didn’t say you could cum yet.”

“Please can I cum? Please, please, please!” You could see his eyes were welling up with tears threatening to spill out at a moments notice.

“Aw, look at you. Whining and rutting into my hand like a pathetic little slut. Does the little slut need to cum, hm?”

“Yes!”

“Does he wanna cum so hard for his Cardinal?”

“Yes, Cardinal.”

“Cum for me.”

It didn’t take much more than that for him to thrust one more time to near completion. “Thank you! Thank you, Cardinal! This little slut’s cumming! I’m cumming for you. I’m cu- No!” Just as white began to spill out of him, you released him from your grip and held tightly onto both of his wrists, preventing him from stimulating himself as he came. The orgasm that was building to be one of the most powerful he’d had in a while was now nothing more than a tiny tingle while his cum oozed out of him and gathered on your bare cunt. Tears spilled out of his eyes finally after all the time he’d kept them contained for as long as he possibly could. You watched with evil delight as they ran down his filigree embossed mask, dripping down and around the engravings. He whimpered, both from the emotion and from the sensitivity of his dick.

His cum pooled on the desk below you as it oozed off your folds and slopped onto the wood. “You’ve got me all dirty now.” You told him. Your tone was just as condescending as it had been before, but this time exuded a hint of anger. Fake, of course, it was all just for show after all. But even so, you were having too much fun with this. “Be a good boy and clean it up.”

“Yes, Cardinal.”

You looked down your nose at him, observing as he dropped so his knees. His gentle, yet calloused hands gripped onto your knees and spread them apart to give him better access to his filth. His tongue darted out in anticipation of touching your folds and once your hands tangled in his hair and pushed him forward, he got the message, diving in immediately. His tongue gathered as much of himself off the desk as he possibly could, swallowing himself down as if it were some kind of drug before turning his attention to your waiting and dripping cunt. His black lips, though now some pink was peeking through from the amount of lip biting and sweating he’d done during this whole ordeal, suctioned against your clit and sucked, tongue coming to play as he worked to bring you to orgasm as quickly as you could.

Your back arched as he sucked particularly hard, making your hole clench around nothing desperately. His brown hair was becoming messier and messier the harder you tugged, keeping him there to stop him from ruining your own oncoming orgasm - because you knew that was something that had crossed his mind. He was a little shit after all.

“Is this making you feel better, hm?” You asked, head thrown back and voice strangled. “Knowing that you’re being useful today after everything you did?” You gripped hold of one of his hands with your free one and put it on your thigh, extending both of your legs so they rested on his shoulders. You dug your stiletto into his back just a little - enough to cause a pleasurable pain that had him grunting. “Answer me!”

His response was a simple grunt.

You watched his hips move, humping the air and begging to release more of the tension that had built in the time it took him to eat you out. His anguish was palpable enough to drive him to his animalistic preset. Humans don’t hump the air in search of pleasure, humans don’t whimper profusely into their meal, humans don’t allow themselves to be driven mad by arousal. He was still the wounded animal that was begging you earlier to make him cum. “Is the little slut hard again?”

Another grunt in confirmation.

“Well, if you do a good job and make your Cardinal cum, I’ll let you fuck me properly.”

He sucked on your cunt more fervently than before, his neediness for your approval, and by extension, your cunt urging him to work even harder to get you off. He needed your orgasm just as much as you did. The sadistic voice in your head was reeling at this, getting off on his patheticness and the little whimpers and noises he was making below you. The sound of his mouth and saliva working over your insanely wet core, not to mention the tiny moans. His fingers were grabbing onto your thigh tightly as he pressed his face deeper. You were sure he was struggling to breathe but it wouldn’t last long - you were driving head first into an earth-shattering orgasm within moments of announcing your intentions.

You kept him against you, riding his face and bucking your hips, using his tongue to finish. When your breath came back to you, you released him from your grip and sighed. “Come on then, little prince. A promise is a promise.”

He wasted no time, standing immediately and lining himself up but not pushing in. He looked at you, wide, teary eyes begging you silently to grant him permission to enter you again… this time fully. “Take your pleasure, sweetheart.”

He bottomed out right away, the pleasure overwhelming him instantly and manifesting in the sob of a broken man, now burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Th-thank you!” He grunted in between sobs and now needy thrusts as he took what he could from you, as quickly as he could, before you changed your mind and told him to stop. He didn’t know that this was it, that you’d let him cum inside you when he was ready, and this made him savour every feeling of his cock dragging against your salacious walls, every time his tip kissed your cervix roughly. “Thank you. Thank you! Thank you!”

“Does it feel good?”

“It feels so good, Cardinal. Thank you! You’re so tight. I can’t breathe. I - fuck!”

His mouth needed to do something as he let your cunt whip him into a frenzy. His lips began kissing every part of exposed flesh he could touch, the cold metal of his mask biting against your skin and adding a layer of pleasure to your sensitive spots. You felt him hone in one the exposed skin of your chest between the Gothic arches of your uniform, licking and sucking the spot there to help him expel some of that overwhelming emotion he was feeling, tears still falling from his eyes. One of his hands clutched onto your robes, holding you as tightly as he possibly could as if you were going to walk away from him and not let him cum. When he lifted his head to look at you, a string of saliva snapped from between your bodies and you saw the purple bruise he left behind… so very obvious to the rest of the Ministry what your most recent activity had been. You wanted to be mad at him, but the idea that everyone would know what you’d been up to had you tightening around his pistoning cock and pulling another groan from him.

“Cum- cumming! Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

“I got you, baby. Cum inside me. That’s it. That’s a good boy.”

He couldn’t wait for your permission. Both of his hands gripped your hips to desperately prevent you from wriggling away and he buried himself as deep as he could, hitting your cervix and completely emptying his load into you.

You continued your praise all while you hand came back to his hair and stroked him comfortingly. “So fucking good for me. Give me everything you have. There we go. Good job, baby boy.”

His toes curled, his fingers dug into your flesh, and he screamed at the sensation, that once powerful orgasm that was ruined now coming back threefold . His tears stopped for a mere moment while he fought to regain his breath, but once his orgasm subsided, he collapsed onto you, leaning against the desk and burying his head in your neck again. He wept, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this moment of overwhelm, and still clutching onto you. Sub-drop didn’t usually hit immediately, but it did with him, especially given the mood he was in before this all began.

You didn’t urge him to pull out, or move anywhere, instead you wrapped him up in your arms and let him cry as he needed to. “It’s okay, Phantom. I got you. You’re safe. I got you.”

“I’m s-sorry.”

You hushed him. “Listen to me, you have nothing to apologise for, okay? I should be the one saying sorry. I didn’t let you feel like you could come to me. I made you suffer for so long. Today included. I’m so sorry.” You reached up and undid the clasps around his head holding his mask in place, and softly removed it. He kept his face hidden for a while, not for anonymity or because it was expected of a Ghoul to completely hide their identity, but because he couldn’t bear to let you see his red, blotchy, tear-stained face - not right away at least.

When he had calmed down significantly, you felt him stand and let him, though you still kept your arms around him in a hug. You wiped the tears from his eyes, and peppered soft kisses around his face. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble with Papa.”

“You didn’t… well, you did but he’ll get over it. He was just lashing out at Swiss because he’s stressed, who then lashed out at me also because he’s stressed. In reality it had nothing to do with you.” For the first time, perhaps ever, you leaned forward and kissed his lips softly, trying to help him calm down. “Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“Promise me something: promise me you won’t keep anything bottled up anymore. Promise me that no matter how awkward it is, you’ll come and talk to me.”

He nodded again.

“No, baby, I need to hear you say it. Promise me.”

“I p-promise.” He said, tears beginning to fall again.

You held him in your arms for as long as he needed you, and spent the rest of the day comforting and loving him as much as he wanted. You made sure you cancelled any meetings to give him your attention, and kept him as top priority. This sweet, soft and sensitive boy eventually came back to life, turning into his insufferably cheeky self by the end of the day… except this time he was much clingier and hornier than before. Especially for you.

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