#smut reader insert

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you again,” His voice is flat, as if he’s uninterested in this interaction, like he has other, far more important places to be. Like this time spent here, with you, is cumbersome. A nuisance at best.

And not at all like he’s about to go toe to toe with the woman he’s had feelings for over the past six months.

If he didn’t know you, he’d have said you also looked indifferent, angry at best. Your jaw was set, top lip curled ever so slightly-disgust? Probably. You’d spat his name like the thought of it lingering on your tongue made you nauseas. It was nothing like the way you’d said it so many times before. No, you’d been sweet before. Dangerous, yes, he knew what you were capable of. But you’d been sweet, especially to him. Understanding of his circumstances, wanting more for him, wishing he’d been treated better despite his condition. You’d made him want to be more, to do more, to feel. But Dex was an animal and he accepted that now.

And it pained him to see that it looked like you were itching to put him down.

Your tongue slides over your canines, hands flexing into fists at your sides, brows low as you look him over. He can see the anger, the burning rage behind your e/c eyes, and he understands why people are fearful of you. You hunt your enemies like they’re prey, and you do a damned good job at it. Matt had kept you on a tight leash at times, worried you may take it too far one day, take a life. You’d always told him he worried too much.

Dex wondered if today was the day you’d finally cross that line, if it was his blood you’d spill in a way that could not be salvaged.

He didn’t like the way it made his chest ache.

“You lied to me,” Your words were clipped, and your nose wrinkled ever so slightly afterwards, the way it always did when you didn’t like something. Usually you only did that when Dex spoke with you about something someone else had done to him. He’d gotten so good at being…well, good.

But how long could wild animals stay house trained?

“Did I?” He shrugged as he spoke, watching you carefully as he took a step closer. The weight of his blade in his hand felt familiar, and yet it didn’t comfort him the way it usually did. Maybe the idea that he may have to bury it within you felt too heavy.

I don’t have a choice.

“Everyone has a choice,” You’d said all those months ago. God, you’d sounded just like Matt. It had made him want to strangle you. No wonder the Catholic prick enjoyed your company so much. But Dex had stayed silent, you didn’t need to know that he knew Matt. He wanted his private life to remain exactly that; private. He’d wanted to keep you to himself. You cared for one another, patched up wounds, exchanged stories, shared meals and ensured the other got home safely.

Was it really his fault that you’d assumed he was a vigilante? No, no, it was on you for not digging better. It was on you for assuming he was good, for looking for the best parts of him. He didn’t ask you to do that. You did it on your own. You were foolish, you were dumb, not him.

Right?

You eyes narrowed at him, and he could hear your voice before you even spoke: “Omitting the truth is a lie, Dex!”

The last time you’d said that, you’d laughed as you stitched his shoulder. Matt had caused the damage, though you didn’t need to know that.

Except you didn’t laugh as you said it this time. In fact, you didn’t say anything at all. And it bothered Dex. He was supposed to know you.

Maybe not knowing you would make this easier.

Your head tilts as you regard him, and he watches the way your hair shifts as you do, mask forgotten in this moment. He supposed neither of you needed them now that the truth was out.

He can feel your eyes on him, feel the way you’re watching the way he’s breathing, the way his hands are flexing, his stance, where his eyes drift, all of it. You’re hunting him in the same manner he’s hunting you. He’s impressed, turned on, and angry. Hurt too, if he looked too deeply, but he can’t afford to do that anymore. Can’t afford to force his jaw to unclench when the scent of your perfume shifts in the wind and invades his senses. Can’t afford to let his gaze shift over your curves, or the way your suit hugs the taut muscles of your thighs. Can’t afford to acknowledge the hurt that’s so painfully evident in your drawn brows or the way your eyes are boring into his because he betrayed you.

Dex betrayed you.

The one person who’d had faith in him.

Whatever.

Right?

“You gonna kill me now?” Dex grins as he says it, pressing the tip of his dagger into his pointer finger, relishing in the way it nearly pierces the glove. “It’d be an honor to be your first.”

“I may have to,” Your voice is flat as you say it, like you’re accepting the circumstances you’ve found yourself in. Dex only blinks at you, seemingly unfazed by your bold claim. “Or maybe I’ll maim you. I think being paralyzed might keep that ego of yours in check.”

His smile wavers for the briefest of moments, lip curling with rage at your threat. How bitchy of you.

He can see the way your nostrils are flaring to let more of his scent in, the way your nails are lengthening, lips curling back over canines that are just a little too large to be human.

Mutant. That’s what people called you guys now. Huh, didn’t think he’d ever get lumped in with that lot.

“Feral,” You’d teased. It felt like ages ago that he’d been sitting at your table, the warm glow of your kitchen light bathing his greying hair in a halo. How ironic. “That’s what they call me. Maybe it’s because they’re scared of me.”

“They should be,” He’d shrugged, two hands wrapped tightly around the blue mug of tea you’d poured for him. Something about the herbs in it would help him heal faster, you’d said. He never believed in that bullshit, but the honey you’d tossed into it had tasted good. It helped that you’d licked the spoon before you’d stirred his tea. “One of these days I’d like to see you in action.”

“I stay in control,” You’d lulled, leaning against your counter. “I’m no Wolverine.”

But now, with the city buzzing beneath the two of you, and the darkened space of the rooftop providing the barest of lighting, Dex wasn’t so sure he’d come out of this as unscathed as he’d hoped. He’d betrayed you, and that was the only thing you’d said made you angry enough to lose control.

“You’re a coward,” You snarled, face tipping forward. Your stance shifted-lower, coiled, ready. “I can smell you Dex-you’re scared.”

He swallowed. “Maybe. Maybe I’m excited,” He shrugged again, cocking his head at you. “Maybe I’ll finally get to see if you’re all talk. If the big bad Y/N is as terrible as she makes herself seem.” He moved as if to bow. “Or if she’s still living in DareDevil’s shadow.”

You grinned for a moment and Dex cursed himself for thinking about how beautiful you looked. “I’m going to gut you Ben Poindexter, and then I’m going to suck the marrow from your bones and eat your insides.”

Oh.

He feels his cock jump at your threat. Honestly, mainly because he knows you mean it. The threat behind your words is very real and backed by the kind of skill he’s rarely encountered.

God, how was he ever going to get into a healthy relationship if the women he was attracted to were like this?

There’s a moment of tense silence, sirens and traffic blaring below you, the wind whistling through the stone maze of Hell’s Kitchen below you, and then you’re moving.

You’re fast, unbelievably so, claws outstretched and teeth bared-

But Dex is too.

He’s got his knife between his fingers before you’ve taken half a step and it’s whistling through the air.

He almost hopes he misses.

But he doesn’t, he’s Dex.

The difference? It doesn’t slow you. It’s sinks into the meat of your bicep with a sickening shlunk and you only roar in frustration. Dex barely has time to curse or pivot before you’re tearing into the flesh of his shoulder.

Ow.

He cries out, grunting, thick hand wrapping around your other wrist before you can land another blow. Fuck, he may actually have to hurt you.

As if on cue, you snap at him, teeth missing his chin by an inch or so before he’s recoiling and taking you with him. Fuck sakes, you’re strong.

“Don’t go easy on me now, Dex,” You spit, teeth grinding as you struggle to twist out of his grip.

He only grins again, eyes ablaze. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The fight that ensues is exhausting. Ben Poindexter has been trained in hand to hand combat for years, and despite that, both you and that god forsaken man in red seem to be level or even one step ahead of him.

He’s gasping for air, hurling whatever he can get his hands on at you, landing hit after hit, a kick to the ribs, even had your hair in his fist at one point and yet despite all of it?

You’re kicking his ass.

He’s never seen anyone so angry. You’d put even Fisk to shame with the way you were tearing into him. Blood, either his or your own, stretched across your face, and you’d torn through his suit and flesh in more places than he’d care to admit. You were hurt too, limping if he paid too much attention to you. He’d hit your knee in a way that would require medical attention but despite that, you were still standing, still clawing your way through him.

Benjamin Poindexter realized you may actually kill him on this rooftop.

He also realized you’d have to because he didn’t think he’d be able to kill you.

It was a second long pause, maybe even less than that, but it was enough. He’d cracked, hell maybe even broken, a few of your ribs and you were wheezing. Barely, but he could hear it. If he could sink a knife between your ribs you’d go down, he could win-

He didn’t mean to take note of the way your eyes were glassy. He didn’t mean to notice the way your mouth had turned down. He didn’t mean to notice that you were nearly crying despite the fact that your claws were extended while you launched at him.

He did, however, take note of the resounding crack that rang out when his skull connected with the rooftop. A dull, low ache ebbed out from the base of his skull and he groaned, eyes fluttering shut.

Fuck.

It hurt.

It ached.

“You bitch,” He managed to drawl, the heel of his boot scuffing along the gravel beneath him as he tried to pull himself back onto his elbows. His vision was swimming, heartbeat evident as the dull pulse in his head intensified. He could only grunt when he felt you straddle him, eyes rolling back in his skull when he felt a long, sharp claw drag along his pulse on his exposed throat.

Goosebumps ripple across his skin.

“I should kill you,” Your voice is low, he can hear you trying to catch your breath. You’re struggling to breathe, the beating he delivered evident in the wheeze you can’t seem to shake. “Men like you deserve to be put down.”

Dex doesn’t even bother to open his eyes, smiling at your threat. He would have laughed if his ribs didn’t hurt so damn much, teeth pink from the blood pooling on his tongue. “Yeah? Do it then.”

His eyes remain closed as he shifts, hands shifting to rest on your thighs, the one’s pressing on either side of his damaged torso. He swallows thickly, ignoring the sickly sweet taste of his own blood, as he taps a gentle rhythm on your suit.

When he does manage to look up at you, he almost feels guilty at the way you’re staring down at him. Your hand is raised, claws flexed like you might actually sink them into his throat, like you may actually kill him.

It may not have been the worst way to go out. Pretty girl on his torso, angry, possibly tearing his throat out. Could be worse.

Right?

Except you look anguished. If his head wasn’t swimming, Dex would have been able to see that your hand was shaking.

“You lied to me,” Your voice is hoarse, breathing laboured, eyes wild. There’s blood running down your jaw and throat, lip split by Dex’s fist, uniform torn and bloodied by his knives. “I trusted you. Believed in you. Wanted more for you. And you lied!”

Dex can only release a breathy laugh, choking on his own bloodied saliva as he does. He turns his face to the side and spits, tongue flicking out over the torn flesh of his lip. He could have spat on you, splattered the front of your ridiculous costume in more of his blood, but he decides he should be nice despite the circumstances, despite the fact that he wants to spit on you, watch the way it’ll trail down your chest, see if maybe a touch of it will catch on your lip-

You roar above him and Dex is reminded of how incredibly dangerous you are. It’s as captivating as it is terrifying.

He stretches his legs, boots scraping on the bloodied concrete of the roof you’ve got him pinned to. He lets his hands settle on your thighs, thumbs sweeping over the curved muscle, before he’s smoothing up the expanse of them.

“That I did, sweetheart,” He tuts, as if he’s disappointed in himself. Maybe he is. He’d enjoyed you. “So what are you going to do about it?”

You lean forward, nose nearly touching his, claws still extended, threatening. “Maybe I should finally, finally, put the Benjamin Poindexter down. Let this city rest.” Your words are clipped, a near hiss as you spit at him. He can smell his own blood on your breath, see the way it’s turned your pretty teeth pink, see his own reflection staring back at him in your near blackened eyes. It’s haunting, the way he’s staring death in the face and yet he’s thankful it’s you who may finally deliver him.

Dex tilts his head, regarding you for a moment, before he’s reaching up, oh so slowly, to gently wrap his gloved hand around your wrist. He’s soft despite the circumstances, even going so far as to let his thumb rub a gentle circle over your pulse point, before guiding your claws to his throat.

“So,” It’s a hushed whisper, eyes half lidded as he gazes up at you, blonde brows drawing together. “Do it.”

Your pupils dilate, ever so slightly, lips parting as you make sense of what the criminal below you has challenged you with. Dex can see the confusion, the hurt, the pain that flashes across your features, before a calm resolution seems to take place.

His breath catches when he feels the pointed tip of your thumb drag over his Adam’s apple, your pointer finger trailing down his neck while you grin above him.

“Me,” Your voice is low, sultry. “Y/N, the one to take down Bullseye.” Your clawed thumb stops below his bobbing Adam’s apple, pressing into his skin. His breath stutters when he feels you pierce the skin, a small rivulet of blood collecting at the very tip of your claw.

Dex can feel his heart begin to pump a little faster, feels his chest constrict, like he’s suddenly high. His head feels like it could burst, tongue dry as his hazel eyes flick across your sharpened E/C ones.

Fuck.

He can feel your heartbeat on your wrist despite the gloves, can feel the way it’s picked up, the way your temperature has spiked. Is it the blood? His blood? The sight of it? Does the thought of killing him give you the same rush? You were an animal after all. Had Matt really suppressed your instincts? Maybe it was within you to want to kill. Maybe-

Dex’s mind is silenced when you suddenly lean forward, nose just barely brushing his. You’ve never been this close before. Despite all the nights shared together, countless conversations, stories, stitches, you’d never actually moved beyond a few inches of distance. Nothing had ever been…said, addressed. There had been tension, sure, but you’d also seemed hellbent on maintaining distance. It seemed like no matter how many lingering glances Dex lent your way, you remained firm.

Nobody could get too close.

Not romantically.

You couldn’t afford to lose focus.

He couldn’t either.

Right?

Except you were his only focus when he was fucking his own hand, desperately clinging to the lingering scent of your perfume on his clothes. You were his only thought when he was whimpering your name, imagining your mouth against his ear, murmuring his name. Maybe you’d be tough on him, mean even. Maybe you’d use that incredible strength of yours and pin him-

Dex can feel his cock hardening beneath you and he knows you can feel it. You’re straddling his hips, leaning over him, and you’ve got your claws against his throat-can you blame him?

Your face twists in surprise, eyes snapping down to your clothed core, the one currently pressed against his hardening dick, before you’re looking back up at Dex. Dex, who tosses you a wicked grin before his grip on your wrist was tightening and he was yanking you forward.

You almost yelped in surprise, but it’s cut short when his other hand is suddenly wrapped around your throat and the grip is bruising. A choked sound escapes you, eyes swimming with tears as Dex drags your face to his.

“Should have taken the shot,” He whispers, and he revels in the way his lips brush past your ear and God-did you just shiver?

It doesn’t take much to maneuver you, especially when you’re already exhausted and he’s managed to take you by surprise. It’s practiced, fast, clean-a leg hooked over your own, your momentum used against you and suddenly: Dex has got you pinned, gloved hand wrapped tightly around your throat, knife pointed just below your ear.

You’re groaning, lashes fluttering, hands instinctively coming up to grasp, weakly, at Dex’s arms. Hm, your claws had retracted.

Dex huffs out a long breath, sucking his teeth as he looks you over. Your skin’s started to bruise from where he’s struck you, hair matted-maybe you hadn’t had time to secure it-and your breathing is shaky at best. You’re exhausted, bloodied, battered.

Perfect.

“Too slow,” He croons, watching the way your face twists at the realization that Dex has the upper hand once more. He can see your pulse jumping beneath your skin, hand squeezing your throat. He’s delighted, giddy even, with the turn of events. The two of you have finally fought, shown one another what you’re capable of. No matter banter, no more toeing this ridiculous line with you, pretending to be something he’s not-something good, something worthy of you, of your time. He pulls back to look at you, really take in the situation the two of you have found yourselves in when he feels sudden tightness in his throat.

He can’t kill you.

Lying beneath him like this, lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed and lips bloodied, his own blood dirtying your hands, he realizes he cannot kill you.

He also realizes he’d never had any intention of it.

But the knowledge that he’d driven you so close to killing him had him feeling…delighted.

“What’re you waiting for, Dex?” It’s nearly a drawl, you’re obviously exhausted as you half heartedly shift in his grip. “Isn’t this what you do? Kill people? Even the one’s closest to you?”

Your eyes meet his when you say the last part, as if you’re challenging him, urging him to disagree with you. It was as if you wanted Dex to prove to you that he was exactly what everyone thought he was: heartless. He cocks his head at you, the corner of his lip lifting into a grin as he drags the edge of his blade along your jaw.

“Don’t you have any questions?” He taunts, thumb dragging across the middle of your throat. “Don’t you want to know why I lied? Why I hid who I was?”

His gaze slides across your pretty face, lingers on your mouth, before his eyes are boring into yours once more. He wasn’t anticipating such an emotionless return.

“No.”

His jaw ticks.

“Your explanation means nothing.”

Dex’s lip curls, eyes widening with surprise, and fury, at your words. He almost missed the way your lip shifted into the barest of grins.

“Why would I give a fuck about why some low life criminal hung around?” You scoff. “I can see why you have no friends, now,” You’re laughing as you continue, “Had to lie to me to get me to give you an ounce of attention.” You push your face closer to Dex’s, ignoring the way his knife presses dangerously against your throat. “You’re a loser Benjamin Poindexter. You mean nothing to anyone.”

Dex’s jaw is clenched, lips pulled into a thin line, rage coiling like a snake behind his ribs at your words. He knew you were only being bitchy and cruel to him in an effort to have him lose control. But why the fuck did you want that? To what? Prove a point? Have him kill you? Matt was already after him, hated him for what he’d done, so why not add another friend to that list?

“I kept you around like a pet,” You laugh, tongue sliding out over your top lip as you mock the man above you. “Because I felt bad for you. ‘This poor, lonely, loser of a man. Maybe it’s my duty to help him, to save him-’”

“Who in the hell do you think needs saving, huh?” Dex hisses, thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat. You nearly choke, hands flying up to his biceps as you struggle to breathe past his unrelenting grip. He pushes the corner of his knife into the skin behind your ear, grinning when you try to choke out a cry. It’s only the faintest of pressure, but it’s enough to pierce the skin. “Who do you think is going to find you up here?” He laughs. It’s cold, and cruel. “Matt? Where is he? Huh? You need help and where is he?”

Dex’s rage is beginning to boil over. The biting sting of your words has left him feeling betrayed and angry. He understood being enemies, that was something he’d grown accustomed to. But pitying him? Letting him stick around because you felt guilty?!

He felt betrayal and rage begin to gnaw at his gut, the biting teeth of the beast gnawing at his rib cage, begging to be set free, to wreak havoc-

You’re grinning. It’s subtle, the tiniest lift of the corner of your lip, bloodshot eyes welling with tears as you glance his way. Understanding washes over Dex as he looks you over.

“You’re trying to provoke me.” His tone is flat, cold, dry. Your lips split into a shit eating grin, and Dex marvels at the way his cock instantly hardens in his pants.

Fuck.

“Fuck you, Poindexter,” You spit, and he grimaces when it lands directly on his mouth. A dry laugh escapes Dex before he’s slamming his fist into the ground beside your head, knife gripped tightly in hand.

“You fucking brat,” he growls, hand slipping from around your throat to grip your jaw. It’s rough, aggressive as he forces your mouth open, eyes alight with fury. You’re laughing in his fucking face and he could kill you. Dex’s eyes scour your face for a few moments, watching the way you’ve lit up with laughter, before he’s suddenly pressing the flat part of his blade against your tongue. You startle, eyes widening as you regard the roughened blonde atop you. You make a noise, as if struggling to say his name before Dex is grinning down at you. “Not so loud now, eh?”

He watches you, enraptured, as you slowly bite down on the blade, teeth flashing, pupils dilating as you meet his gaze. Your words are muffled by the sharp, cool piece of metal that pushing your tongue flat but you try anyway, looking downright feral as you do; “Bite me.”

Dex feels his chest tighten, breath caught in his throat as he stares down at you. He feels like a starved man, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he shifts his stance over top of you.

You, in all your animalistic glory, were trapped beneath him with his knife in your pretty teeth.

“I think…” He started slowly, blinking as he watched the way your breath fogged the metal. “You like this.”

Your brows dip, eyes widening a fraction at his bold claim. Your grip on his arm tightens as he leans closer to you, nose nearly touching yours.

“I think,” He continued to drawl. “You like that finally, finally, someone can beat you at your own game.”

Sure, Matt would train with you, and he was good. He fought well and hard, In fact, he’d kicked Dex’s ass a few times now. But Matt was…tame. He kept himself, and others, on a tight leash. Everything was always accounted for, in check. And the odd time Matt did lose his temper, his Catholic guilt immediately followed suit and flooded his system. He had a moral compass and strict code that he urged everyone around him to follow. Honestly, Dex found it to be fucking annoying at times. Honestly, was he really a hero if the people he let free kept killing others?

But you, you, were something else entirely. You were a live wire, a caged beast. Dex could see that. He’d felt it that first night you’d found him bloodied and stumbling up the fire escape to his apartment. You’d assumed he was another vigilante, something akin to you and your Matthew, and he’d never denied it. But he’d seen how you moved, the way you consistently fought the urge to give into your instincts. What was it that kept you so in line? You weren’t religious, you broke the law, you’d cursed men and broken bones with ease and yet…through and through he found you there: at Matt’s side, taking the high road, the ‘right way’, playing the hero.

“I think you like that you have to try a little harder,” Dex was smiling out of the side of his mouth as he spoke. “With me.”

He huffed a dry laugh before he was licking his teeth, eyes narrowing as he dropped even closer to you, one hand planted firmly beside your head for balance, the other keeping the blade in your mouth as he lowered himself so that his chest was against yours, thighs encasing your own.

Your eyes widened, gaze wild as you frantically sought his, looking for an explanation.

“I think,” Dex’s voice had dropped, dangerously low as he looked you over, blonde lashes fluttering ever so slightly. “You like this.” His hips shifted as if to accentuate his point and he heard the way your breath caught when his semi hard cock pressed against your crotch. The thick material of your jumpsuits made it difficult to feel all too much, but there was no denying Dex’s arousal or the way his hips settled so nicely between yours thighs.

“Come on, Y/N,” Dex whispered, winking. “You’re never this quiet.”

If he didn’t know you, he’d have said you were scared. Pupils were so wide your eyes were nearly black, breath escaping you in short bursts, hands flexing like you couldn’t decide on how to hurt him to ensure your escape.

And survival.

But Dex did know you, and you were rarely scared.

So when Dex let his free gently brush your hair from your face and your eyes lit with rage, he wanted to laugh. Yeah, he’d always hoped you’d end up in this type of situation but he’d never actually allowed himself to want for it. You were on opposing sides of the existential war. A hero and the villain? Fucking? Your morals were too in tact.

But his weren’t.

Dex tuts quietly under his breath as he gently takes the knife from your mouth, frowning at you when you move to speak.

“For once, just stay quiet-” The handle is tapped against your lips. “For me.”

Your face twists in disgust, but Dex is no fool. He’s spent enough time with you to know you’re intrigued.

He shifts his weight onto his right forearm, the one still planted by your head, as he begins to let the sharpened tip of his blade run down the front of your body. It’s slow, almost cruel, as he lets the metal drag down the front of your throat. It catches for a brief moment on the collar of your jumpsuit before its descent down your body continues. His eyes are almost half lidded as he watches it slowly trail over the swell of your chest, over the curve of your breasts and down to your rib cage. He pauses for a moment when he sees your breath catch, the blade hovering just above your belly button.

“Nervous?” He almost grins as he says it, and he nearly laughs when he sees the way your mouth presses into a hard line. Always so frustrated with him.

Dex’s eyes flick back down to your navel, watching the way his knife smooths over the kevlar of your suit. It’s not long before it’s ghosting over your pubic bone. Dex stops, letting his eyes drag up your body before he’s meeting your burning gaze.

There’s a beat of silence, the sound of the city kicking up around you on the abandoned rooftop, before Dex is tap tap tapping the flat of his blade against your pussy.

You wince, nearly growling in frustration? Disgust? Anger? Possibly all three? He isn’t sure. Dex is quick, the blade leaving his hand for a second or so as he tosses it, now gently gripping the blade in his gloved palm. His eyes are focused oh so carefully on you, taking in every breath, every bead of sweat on your brow, the way your teeth are glinting as you struggle to even out your breath.

He grins.

You stiffen when Dex presses the dull handle of the blade against your core. It’s soft, but…demanding, as he gently prods where your clit would be.

“Shit-” It escapes you in a hiss and you nearly curse yourself, thighs tensing and eyes snapping shut as Dex begins to gently move the handle in circles against you.

“You fucking-” You start, eyes flying open but you startle when you meet Dex’s gaze. His eyes are half lidded, pupils blown so wide the hazel frame surrounding them is nearly lost, teeth barely showing in his lopsided grin.

“Stay still,” His voice is almost gravelly when he speaks. Soft, low, slow. Your claws extend, instincts maybe, but you actually fucking listen to him for once. Your breathing has picked up, and Dex watches you while your tongue glides out over your lower lip, teeth pink with smeared blood, but you’re still. He can feel the barely there movements in your hips as your muscles tense.

He knows you.

Knows you like this.

Knows you in a way no one ever has.

Because, just like him: you’re an animal.

And how often are you subdued? How often are you bested at your own game? Controlled, pinned, beaten?

The answer is never.

Except for now.

And Dex knows, knows deep within his bones, that you’ve craved this.

Maybe that’s why you liked Matt so much.

Maybe Matt could tame you. But could he match your wild frenzy the way that Dex could?

Never.

Dex sucks in a breath, the corner of his lip tugging into a smirk as he gently runs the handle of his blade up and down the seam of your suit, right where your pretty little cunt is, and sees the way your throat bobs as you swallow. He can see the way your nose keeps scrunching ever so slightly, the way your brows dip for the briefest of moments before you’re forcing your face back to one that indicates this hasn’t affected you. No, it couldn’t, right? Not Dex, not the handsome vigilante you’d been helping, not with the way his sweat and cologne were invading your senses, or the way his hair was hanging over his brow as he remained poised over you, or the way his pupils had grown so large the black nearly swallowed the hazel rings entirely.

No, not Dex.

Dex was smiling, a shit eating grin now as he watched your lashes flutter. It was only a moment, a barely there reaction, before you were steeling yourself again but Dex caught it.

“Aw,” It was a whispered coo, his eyes narrowing. “That feel good, princess?”

Before you could respond, your eyes snapping open, teeth bared, Dex had flipped the blade in his hand again. This time, the tip of steel was pressing gently against your upper thigh. Panic flashed in your eyes as Dex’s grin turned into something predatory and your ears pricked at the sound of your suit being torn. The tip of the blade was caught in a tear that must have happened earlier during your battle with Dex. You snapped your gaze downwards, watching in horror, and fascination, as Dex continued to drag the blade down the length of your inner thigh. It was quick, a simple tug of his wrist, but that left you exponentially more exposed. You felt the city’s air rush along your skin, the 6” tear leaving your inner thigh painfully exposed.

“Dex-” You barked, moving to reach for his hand but he only tutted in response, the tip of the blade now pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh. Anger flared through you, but you gritted your teeth despite it.

“Now now Y/N,” his tone was condescending as he continued to smile down at you. “Stay still and behave for me. We wouldn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself, would we?”

When you swallowed it was audible, and Dex nodded at the sound of it, as if he was pleased with your cooperation. “That’s it.”

Dex was slow, methodical in his movements as he gently pushed the fabric away from your skin. The knife was carefully pinned between his thumb and palm as he let his hand ghost along the edge of the tear on your suit. He let his gaze slide along the length of your pretty neck and down your torso as his gloved fingers finally slid along the flesh of your upper thigh. Goose bumps had rippled across your skin, and he smiled lazily to himself when he felt you tense beneath him.

He finally let his gaze flick back up to yours, hazel eyes locked on your e/c ones when his hand finally slid under the fabric of your suit, fingers pressing flat against your hip. The blade was pinned between your skin and his fingers and you shifted as the cool metal pressed against your warm skin. His thumb was tucked in the crook between your thigh and cunt, the rough material of his suit pulling a shiver from you as he began to trace slow, slow, slow circles.

“Now,” Dex’s voice was just above a whisper. “You tell me; if I touch you, is my glove going to come back clean?”

His words surprise even him, and you, as he says them. He can’t remember the last time he’d been this bold, but there’s something about the way you’re pinned beneath him, and the way he can’t tell if it’s lust or rage clouding your eyes.

The possibility of it being both has his dick pulsing in his pants.

Your only response is the grinding sound of your teeth as you clench your jaw.

Dex grins again.

His hand shifts lower, palm still flat against your skin, fingers splayed, the blade pinned between your warm skin and his gloved hand, as his thumb glides under your suit and-

You hiss, eyes snapping shut when the rough pad of it drags upward, pressing through your folds and presses firmly against your flit. Your hips jerk upwards, head pressing back into the concrete as you involuntarily react.

Dex can’t tear his eyes away from your trembling form. You’re so desperate to control your reaction, to not even react at all, but he can’t help but watch you. He’s barely even touched you, has barely torn your suit to get to your pretty cunt, and he’s only got his thumb pressed oh so sweetly against your clit, and already he’s watching you bare your teeth at him.

Oh he can’t wait to watch you cum for him.

“Now now,” It’s a drawl, and he stills his hand, letting you catch your breath. God, you look so angry.

He loves it.

“Let’s see if my glove’s clean,” He’s still smiling as he speaks to you. “Because you shouldn’t want this, right?” He tips his head forward ever so slightly, tongue flicking out and dragging along his teeth. “Because I’m the bad guy, right?”

He presses his thumb against your clit once more when you’re silent. “Right? Answer me.”

You speak through gritted teeth, “Right.”

He nods, once, like he’s pleased with your response before he’s slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulling his hand free from your suit. The blade comes with him and you watch, in horror and embarrassment, as he raises his hand to examine it.

Despite the dark city sky, and the way he’s holding it so damn close to your faces, you see it; the wet sheen coating his thumb. In fact, the way it’s completely soaked the fabric.

Dex watches the way your face contorts.

You’ve been caught and you both know it.

His grin turns wolfish.

“Seems you enjoy me after all,” He taunts, peeling his eyes away from his hand so he can meet your own.

You open your mouth as if to deny it, to deny him, but Dex is moving before you can.

RIIIIIP!!

You gasp as the greying blond hooks his blade in your suit and tears along the fabric, completely exposing your cunt to the night air.

“Poindexter!” You snarl, but it’s cut off when he suddenly shifts, the hand that was once placed firmly beside your head now hooking into your hair. He’s still braced on his elbow, but the grip on your hair is painful as he forces your head to the side. He pushes himself higher onto his knees, forcing your thighs apart before he’s settling beneath them again. Your hands fly up to grip his shoulders, claws extended and pressing into his flesh when suddenly-

Dex watches you gasp at the contact, eyes snapping open to meet his.

He’s pushed two gloved fingers into you, his palm snug against your cunt, the pad of his thumb pressing into your clit.

His eyes flick across your face, feeling somewhat drunk as he takes in your reaction. Your mouth falls open, brows drawing together, a soft gasp escaping you as realization dawns on you. It feels good, he knows it fucking feels good because you’ve been soaked since he started teasing you, and he can feel your cunt fluttering around his fingers as you try to adjust to him.

And he knows you fucking like it.

Dex knows you; your pride would never allow you to willingly give in to him. The rights and wrongs of heroes and villains and blah blah blah. But if he took it? If he pushed you over the edge? What then? You couldn’t feel guilty.

And he’d been watching you hope he’d push you over the edge since he’d met you. You couldn’t allow yourself to want, no no no-you were too busy. Too busy for a man, for sex, for anything with feelings. What if they got caught in the crossfire? What if they were used as bait? Heroes and their martyrdom. Didn’t you guys ever get tired of your own bullshit?

“That’s it,” It’s a whisper, a soft coo, as Dex feels your thighs flex around him, like you were trying to draw them together despite his knees keeping you spread open. He’d cut along the seam of your suit and left you completely exposed, and fuck he should have taken his god damn glove off so he could actually feel you, but your nails were digging into his shoulders despite his suit and he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. “Take it, just like that.”

He’s slow to move at first, watching the way your face contorts as he slowly draws his fingers out of you, before gently pushing them back in. His thumb stays pressed against your clit, ensuring he’s gently grinding his palm against you when he pushes his fingers back into you. You’re fucking soaking already, he can feel it through the material of his gloves, and he lets out a shakey breath because of it.

“D-Dex,” Your eyes flutter shut and the corner of Dex’s lip lifts at how broken your voice sounds. Yeah, he fuckin’ knew it. Knew you wanted him. Knew you were his.

“Yeah, that’s it,” He murmurs, letting his face drop closer to yours. His skin ripples with goosebumps as the tip of his nose ghosts along yours. He’d never been this close to you before. He could smell your sweat, your perfume, even your blood. His blood too, he realized, as he continued to finger you. “Just like that.”

Your face was contorting in pleasure, and Dex just about creamed his pants when you finally, finally, let a soft moan slip past your lips. Your hands were still on his shoulders, claws extended, and he grit his teeth as they continued to bite into his skin. He didn’t care though, didn’t care the way they’d likely scar his skin, especially since they were sinking into him because of he was making you feel good.

“Dex,” This time it was a sigh and he felt you lift your hips, meeting his gentle movements as he continued to work you open. He could feel your breath ghosting along his lips, his brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on your expression. Your eyes were screwed shut, brow scrunched, cheeks flushed-he had to make sure you felt good, that this was good, that this was perfect-

It had to be perfect.

He had to be perfect.

For you.

Dex’s grip in your hair tightened just a fraction, gently forcing your head back, exposing your throat. He watched your face contort in pleasure, mouth falling open once more, canines peeking past your lips.

Fuck.

His dick was straining against his pants, hips lifted above yours and aching for friction as he continued to touch you. He was still pumping his two middle fingers into you at a slower pace, gently curling them upwards and letting them drag along your walls as he pulled them out again, the fabric of his gloves proving to be an aid in your pleasure.

He needed to feel you. Fuck, he had to feel your fuckin’ cum on his hands, now.

Dex pulled himself from you for a moment, cursing himself when you mewled at the loss of contact, eyes flying open in confusion.

“W-wait,” You started, seemingly pulled from your reverie as Dex reached up to bite the fingers of his cum soaked gloves. He tore it from his hand with his teeth, letting it drop onto your chest before he was reaching back down between your thighs.

Still, it was like the trance had been broken.

“Wait, Dex-” Your voice was firmer this time, coherent, as your hands lifted from his shoulders. He was almost sad when your claws pulled away from the tender muscle. “This isn’t-”

You’d reached between the two of you to wrap your hands around his wrist, as if to stop him from touching you, but Dex’s bare hand was now smoothing up your thigh, his fingers gently smoothing along the seam of your pussy.

He heard the way your breath caught, felt the way your thighs tensed, and he hummed as he looked down at you. You looked fucked out and he’d barely even started.

“Isn’t what?” There was an edge to his voice as he spoke. He paused, pointer finger tapping lightly against your sensitive skin.

You were silent, eyes searching his, as if you were desperate to come up with anything. He saw your expression harden, saw the way your jaw set, recognized the defiant and fucking stubborn expression you always wore started to come back into play. Oh fuck no, not now, not when he finally had you. Not when he finally had you making real noises, unlike all those other guys.

He leaned forward until his nose was against yours, eyes half lidded as he stared down at you.

“Tell me this isn’t right,” He murmured, and you nearly shivered when his hair fell against your forehead as he spoke. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Defiance and anger rose within you like untamed beasts, but you couldn’t help the way the terrible, awful ache in your gut and the wet, desperation in your cunt seemed to overrule everything within you.

Dex smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

He was pushing two, thick fingers back into you then, pride and hunger surging within him as he felt you gasp beneath him. The difference in texture as his bare fingers pumped in and out of you was euphoric, even more so for him. He could actually, finally, fucking feel your pussy and how wet you were as he continued to touch you, feel how tight and warm you were, and how your cum was soaking his palm.

Dex’s hand tightened in your hair as he forced your head back, exposing your neck to him as he pushed himself deeper. He kept the heel of his palm pressed snugly against your aching cunt, grinding it into you as he curled his fingers inside you. Your reaction was instant, a loud cry escaping you as your hands flew to his arms for grip. Dex hissed when your claws sank into his biceps, canines dragging along your throat as he began to work you towards your first orgasm.

“Look at you,” He sounded wrecked atop you. “Pretending you don’t want me. That you don’t need me.”

You were a mess beneath him now, thighs trembling, hips stuttering at his relentless pace continued, the onslaught of pleasure proving to be too much because no man had ever been able to touch you so well and so accurately. Soft, broken cries continued to escape you, pitiful whimpers, and fuck, his name sounded so good-

“Say it,” Dex’s face was suddenly above yours, his fingers curling, pushing, pulling. “Tell me you need me.”

Your brows drew together in confusion, cheeks flushed as you met his gaze. He looked borderline delirious, like a caged animal.

His thumb was suddenly pushing mean circles against your clit, grip tightening to a painful degree in your hair.

“Say it!” He snarled, and you felt hot, wet tears pool in your eyes at the overwhelming sensation.

“I-I need you!” It was broken, pathetic as you cried out. You were shaking, your impending orgasm creeping up within you in a way you’d never experienced before.

“Say my name when you say it,” Dex snapped and you cried out, tears spilling over your cheeks.

“Fuck, I need you, Dex! Dex, I need you, I need you, I need you-” You were delirious beneath him, crying out when you suddenly came all over his fingers. A long, low wail was pulled from you as Dex continued to work you through your orgasm, his pace brutal despite the way you were shaking beneath him.

Dex continued to pump his fingers into your fluttering cunt, only slowing when he realized you couldn’t handle it anymore. You were flushed, cheeks tear stained, and shaking beneath him. Dex couldn’t tear his eyes from your face, watching every shift and movement as you slowly came to. He still had two fingers tucked neatly into your soaking wet cunt, gently pulling his other hand free from your hair so he could run a thumb along your cheekbone.

You were slow to open your eyes, blinking softly up at him, warm despite the city air on the rooftop. Dex was staring down at you, pupils so wide it was startling, jaw working as he looked you over.

“What-what’re you-” Your voice was broken, exhausted as he slowly pulled his fingers free from you. You winced at the loss of contact, still feeling bleary and somewhat delirious as he gently dragged the soaking digits across your cheek bone. When he lifted his fingers up towards his face to inspect them in the dim light, they were pink with the mix of blood and cum. Dex regarded them for a moment before he was pressing them against his tongue. His eyes fell shut and he moaned softly, tongue swirling slowly, sinfully, around his thick fingers.

You swallowed loudly at the motion, pussy clenching softly despite having cum only moments before.

When Dex finally looked down at you again, it was predatory and dark.

But he’s promised to someone else. Padmé Amidala, princess from a neighboring kingdom, was his betrothed and had been since he’d turned nine. It was a political alliance, but at age nine, Anakin had only registered the angelic glow of his fiancee and the fact that she was supposed to be his. She, however, had only seen him as a child, and years later, he realized he couldn’t blame her. Things between the two of them had waxed and waned, instability woven into the very foundations of their relationship. She was sweet, true, but there was something off. Padme wasn’t the type to call out Anakin when he desperately needed it, and couldn’t balance him.

That’s where you differed. You were like any other knight he’d been protected by before, because you simply didn’t let him get away with anything. And you did all of it with the quietest demeanor he’d seen. He thought often of that first night that you’d guarded him; he was convinced that he’d tricked you into thinking he was asleep, and had scaled down the walls of the tower in the dead of the night to go see Padme. But instead, you’d been waiting at the base of the tower, his cloak in your hand.

“My prince,” was all you said when he stared at you, mouth agape in his confusion. “Lady Amidala awaits you, does she not?” You had outsmarted him, and it haunted him for the rest of that night.

And the morning after that, when he was certain that you would’ve reported his illicit actions to King Obi-Wan, but the only surprise that had come forth was you waiting by his bedside the next morning with his breakfast laid out on the table behind you. At first, he’d tried to throw a tantrum; shouted at you, sent every other servant running from his room, all while you stood calmly at his side, unbudging in the face of his glowering. Your unpredictability was what scared him. He didn’t understand you, and it angered him.

“Will you just tell me what you want?” He had caved, finally, as the sun rose to high noon. And you had smiled and placed your palms on the table in his chambers, leaning your weight onto it so your face was mere inches away from his own.

“I’m tasked with protecting you, my Prince. That’s not something I take lightly. But I also can see that nobody’s done the job right. I want you to be honest with me, my Lord, I am not your enemy.”

Anakin hadn’t been the same since.

~~~

“Anakin, we can’t,” Padmé gasps. Her skin is plush and soft as Anakin presses his lips against it, hips grinding against hers. She’s under him on a picnic blanket, covered by the shade of a large oak tree by the banks of the river that borders their two kingdoms.

“And why not, Princess?” He mouths against her skin, delirious from pleasure.

“Your- your guard is right there!” She giggles, rolling her hips upwards to match his movements. He’s caught in between the pendulum of recklessness and sensibility, losing himself to recklessness more and more as his hand trails her inner thighs. The summer heat makes a thin sheen of sweat on her body but she’s sweet nonetheless, pliable to his touch.

“They won’t notice,” he growls into her hair, nipping at her neck before he steals a glance at you. You’re still mounted on your horse, hand toying with the handle of your sword as you gaze over the scene. No, you’re too busy keeping him safe. You’re a damn good guard. “Let me make you feel good.”

~~~

The clip-clop of horsehooves against the road is peaceful, and the presence of you next to him is more intoxicating than the rays of sun on his skin. Anakin looks over at you, transfixed by your brown skin soaking the warm golden light as it caresses your face gently. It doesn’t make sense to him. He should want Padmé, and he does, but you’re… altogether different, and he wants you even more. Even when he was lost in the throes of passion with her moments before, it was you who he imagined when he closed his eyes.

“Is there something the matter, my lord?” You ask him coolly, gaze still trained on the road. He learned long ago that that this wasn’t some sort of tactic to offend him, but rather that you were surveilling each blade of grass with careful, suspect eyes.

Anakin hesitates. Can he even voice what he’s feeling? Part of him doesn’t want to. Part of him can’t stop himself and the words fall out of his mouth like they’ve been burning his tongue to be kept in so long.

“You’re intoxicating,” he blurts. It fazes you, your concentration broken from the surroundings as you turn to face him instead. And you remain characteristically silent, studying his face for any hint of a joke. It makes his stomach churn, even if it’s normal for you, because he just wants you to say something. Anything. But you just stare at him, a frown twisting the corners of your lips downwards, before you return your focus to the road as if he said nothing.

“D-didn’t you hear me?” He asks, confused. You nod sharply, refusing to look at him now. “Well then, won’t you respond?” A sigh flutters past your lips, but nothing else. He feels irritation and anger creep into his fingertips, crawling their way up into his heart so that it beats faster.

“As your Prince, I demand that you respond to me.” Anakin regrets the statement as soon as it leaves his lips, the haughty demand that demeans you and all that you’ve done for him. And for the first time, he sees that stoic mask of yours crack and it’s anger that he sees, anger that he never thought he’d be on the recieving end of.

“How dare you, my liege?” The honorific is tacked on with fury, but the venom you spit is unfinished. “You have the audacity to fuck the Princess in front of me, thinking I won’t notice? And then, moments later, you toy with me such, as if I cannot still see her lip rouge smeared on your lips. It astounds me, your majesty, that you’d think to do this to me. I know not of the arrangement you have with the Princess. But know this, Anakin Skywalker, you will keep me out of—“

You’re interrupted by the hollers and screams that spring from the sides of the roads. Men in loose cotton— bandits— jump out and brandish their swords.

“Fuck,” you curse, swinging your legs off of your horse as you sweep your sword out of its sheathe. Anakin’s quick to join you, metal clanging against metal as they fight the bandits; but they outnumber the two of you, and Anakin’s concentration is wavering from the fury of your rejection. It takes just one wrong step, and suddenly his sword is knocked to the ground with steel kissing the thin skin of his neck.

“You! Drop it if you want him to live!” His captor hollers out, and Anakin feels real fear, sees it in your eyes too as you swallow your emotions and drop your sword to surrender. His knees buckle from his captor kicking them and he falls to the ground with an oof, his wrists tightly bound with cloth as he watches you receive the same treatment.

“Pretty thing, this one,” one of them sneers, brutishly grabbing your chin. Anakin’s grateful that it doesn’t go further that; instead, the two of you are tossed into the back of a cart rather unceremoniously before being dragged away.

“What do you want with us?” You call out to the bandits. There’s not a sign of struggle in your body, and it arouses suspicion in Anakin. What are you planning?

“There’s a bounty on your head. Both of yours,” he answers back, clearly uncaring about the orchestrated kidnapping so long as he gets his coin.

“What are you planning to do to us?” You ask.

The bandit turns back and shoots a look that Anakin almost doesn’t recognize. A look that he’s never been on the recieving end of.

Pity.

~~~

The cell that the both of you are dropped into is dingy and damp, and Anakin can hear the mice scurrying about in the corners. You grunt softly from the force of the stone against your frame, struggling to get yourself upright in the darkness.

“This is my fault,” Anakin bemoans, bringing his head to his knees with his hands still tied tightly behind his back. “If I hadn’t distracted you, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Stop your whining. There’s something much bigger at play, Prince Anakin. And you know it.” Your words unsettle him, and he sits with it for a second.

“A bounty on both of your heads. That’s what he said. They want me and you, but why? It has to be some sort of threat to the kingdom. Eliminate us both and pin it on the Kingdom of Naboo?”

“Possible. Eliminate us both, leaves no survivors and the last witness would be the princess.”

The quiet clatter of a knife falling to the ground makes Anakin’s head shoot up, facing him with the sight of you rolling your sore wrists and wincing.

“You could’ve killed them this whole time,” Anakin realizes. You nod, then collect the knife to work on his restraints. Once he’s freed he still can’t bring himself to stand up, still frozen in his position. You rest your head on the plane of his back, placing a soft hand on his arm as you reassure him silently.

“Milord, what happened earlier… it wasn’t your fault. I apologize for losing my composure. It was unacceptable and I know that I asked for your honesty. But your majesty, you must understand my perspective,” you whisper, caressing his arm softly before you place a kiss on the nape of his neck.

You’ve never shown him such affection.

“I do not wish to be treated as your toy, your majesty. And what I wish for I could not possibly dare to say.” The words are still hushed from your fear.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Anakin Skywalker. To rule my heart as you will these lands someday. I want you selfishly, my lord, I wish to fall at your feet and to be the only devotee there.”

Anakin twists his back to face you, holding your face between his palms as he kisses you for the first time. A kiss that feels like breathing for the first time even as you steal his breath and leave him delirious. You feel more right than existing and it’s now that he realizes he’s been craving you, just you, for all his life.

“I’ll make you mine,” he whispers, bruising your lips with his own as he draws you into him, closer to him, frantically pawing at your body as he grinds you against his bulge. He leaves bite marks on your exposed neckline, marking you as his in that possessive, poisonous way that he’s been burning to do for so long. His. You’re his.

“I’ll burn the world down for you,” he promises, sliding your trousers down and leaving you just in your tunic for easy access. Anakin sinks two fingers into your heat, massaging circles into your wall as he mirrors the action with his thumb on your clit. A woozy pleasure begins to envelop him as you wrap your hand around his neck and squeeze ever so slightly, riding his fingers as you near your climax.

“Did you use this on her?” You hiss, kissing him and biting his bottom lip sharp enough to draw blood. “You’re all mine, Skywalker. Mine.”

“Yours,” Anakin gasps as you let go of his neck, undoing his trousers and pumping his shaft. You align his shaft with your dripping hole, ripping out his fingers and replacing it with his length. You’re messy and quick as you fuck him, spreading your arousal over his thighs and your own as you bounce and grind your hips, bucking furiously as you tangle your fingers in his hair. Your tongue is sloppy and flat against his own, as desperate for him as he is for you.

His thumb plays against your clit as you grind, your bones pressing against his base. You’re desperate in your chase for your pleasure, uncaring of him and it drives him mad, blood coursing to his cock as he watches you. He snakes his hands under your tunic as you fuck him, thumbing your nipples and plucking at the sensitive buds. The moan that you elicit in response makes him buck his hips up. You pull him close to you as your walls begin to flutter around him and your legs convulse, finally reaching your peak.

“I’m close,” he gasps, watching your face contort in pleasure. You’re quick to pull yourself off of him, replacing yourself with your hand and working his length until he spills onto the hay in the cell with a grunt. You pull him in for one last sloppy kiss before you pull your trousers up, pulling your daggers out of their sheathes. As Anakin pulls himself together, you pick the lock of the cell with a rather slender-looking tool. You sneak out quickly and quietly, any sound of yours covered by the rambunctious party going on elsewhere in the castle.

The sound of blood splattering on the stone walls makes him run out, where you stand above the assigned guard, crimson dripping off of your daggers. You wipe them on the dead man’s cheek, anger storming in your eyes as you look at Anakin. He recognizes that look. The lover he’d been in minutes earlier had gone, replaced with a machine of fury and steel that serves at his command.

“We’ve likely got, at most, a few minutes before they come to find us. We were probably their dinner party entertainment, so we must make it out of here. Quick,” he murmurs, signaling to move forward as he takes the sword from the guard. The two of you are quick and quiet as you make your way up the stairwell, plastered to the stone walls.

“Hey!” A man shouts, but you’re quicker than he is, silencing him with a dagger flying clean into his throat. You leave a trail of bodies and blood in your wake, making it to the great hall unscathed and silently. The two of you are molded to the shadows, power in your movements as you watch and wait for the leader to make his move.

You’re rewarded when a hooded figure stands up amidst the celebration, a silence settling on the audience as he removes his hood.

“Chancellor Palpatine,” Anakin realizes in horror, rage flushing his body with heat as the betrayal of one of the kingdom’s allies sinks in. He looks around quietly, a plan formulating as he internalizes the betrayal. He signals for you to follow him to the stables, stealing two horses and mounting them before riding them through the castle. By the time you return, the hushed confusion of the crowd indicates their awareness of your disappearance.

“Search the castle!” Palpatine bellows, the resounding crash of metal echoing in the face of his anger.

“No need, Palpatine. I’m right here,” Anakin shouts out from the entrance of the hall, kicking the sides of the horse to race through the hall and onto the table. You follow behind him, daggers flying as you kill anyone that gets in his way. Anakin’s sword quickly decapitates Palpatine, the dead Chancellor’s head dripping blood on the food of Anakin’s enemies.

“Let this be a warning,” Anakin shouts, “lest any of you get the idea that the Kingdom of Coruscant will tolerate the disrespect of its Prince or of the Prince’s Guard— if I get word of there being a bounty or so much as a wish to hurt a hair on their body, I will not rest until the earth is stained red with your blood, and the blood of your sons and daughters.”

~~~

“Do you think they’ll come after Coruscant?” You ask on the way back, the clip-clop of the horses puncturing the silence of the night. Anakin doesn’t respond, reaching out to squeeze your hand.