#[stares daggers into his soul] do you like them

[jasvtsc]

dean winchester x angel!reader — family feud.

warnings! mentions of drugs, violence, abuse, bad parenting, neglect, john winchester, mary winchester, implied prostitution, fem!reader

word count! 1.5k

you didn’t hate.

sure, you disliked some things more than the others. but hate? that was a strong word.

however, when it came to john and mary winchester?

you fucking despised these two to the point it made you want to hurl.

and that’s a lot, coming from an angel. leaves some space to think about things, y’know?

anyway.

john and mary ‘the worst parents of the century’ winchester.

you could write the whole bible on their parental mistakes and how they both neglected their children, basically scarring them with lifelong traumas—especially dean.

of course, you didn’t want to belittle sam and his trauma, since he got the fair share of john’s bullshit himself. but dean was the one who had to step up and be both a father and a mother while only being a kid. and that’s not fair—for both of them.

dean was the one starving himself, so sammy had food, since john forgot about his kids or took too long on some hunt. he was the one who earned money in ways that were more shameful than one could’ve imagined. he was the one getting roofied and…

yeah, you were livid.

and you didn’t even get that from the brothers themselves. before coming to earth you got a solid debrief of what you were getting into. and that meant knowing about the shit they went through from a to z. that was probably the main reason why you were so nice to them instead of acting like a complete jackass like most of your feathery siblings.

you had compassion that some of them massively lacked. you were the literal example of an angel supposed to help humanity and heal troubled souls. you were the epitome of purity and goodness.

but to older winchesters? yeah, you were a little bitch.

ever since they came back to life—a family thing apparently—trying to redeem their mistakes and be this happy and loving family, there wouldn’t be a minute without you sending daggers with your glare or scoffing at every word that left their mouths.

not only did they break the rules of the living and undead (sam and dean didn’t count), but they acted as if they didn’t do anything wrong. as if they could make up for their mistakes. well, too fucking late for that.

you simply couldn’t watch them together nor could you understand why they forgave them so easily. why did dean forgive them. you were baffled, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like asking questions.

no, you were having too much pent-up anger that you began slowly turning into castiel. not that it was bad, but considering your usually bubbly and happy personality now so doom and stern? yeah, it was concerning. especially for dean.

but when he tried to confront you, you brushed it off and disappeared. just like cas. and you were disappearing more often, without telling anyone and god knows where. and dean began to think what had he done to upset you to the point where you couldn’t even stand being in the same room as he was. cause he was always ready to blame himself first.

he sighed, sitting in the library, sipping a beer while mindlessly staring at the wall. he was debating whether to start praying so you’d come, but then his father entered the room, startling him out of his thoughts. john put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump up in his seat and visibly tense up—a response that a true soldier should have. what a fucking bullshit, just another trauma response.

“come on, son. stop brooding over that angel. you know how they are. they don’t give a shit. we’re just humans for them. toys they can play with and then dispose of as soon as we’re old and cranky and without much use. they’re immortal. they’re getting bored quickly,” john sighed with a small chuckle, patting his son’s shoulder, which only made him flinch more.

“you don’t know her. she’s not like that,” dean muttered, rubbing his chin. you weren’t like that…right?

of course you weren’t. why did he even think that? you were his whole world, and he pretty much thought that he was yours. you weren’t like other angels—you were actually angelic and pure and all the other schmancy shit. but yeah, no, you weren’t like that, and his dad was fucking wrong.

“she’s an angel. a supernatural creature. that says enough. they shouldn’t be here anyway. their place is up there where they can be all high and mighty with those pretentious stares.”

“she’s not like that,” dean said more sternly this time, his voice strong and leaving no place for a discussion. you were his little birdie, and he wouldn’t let anyone badmouth you. not even his own father.

“you’re defending her now?” john scoffed in amusement, looking at his son in disbelief. “you’ve gotten soft,” he hummed.

“and? is it so bad now? i’m sorry to disappoint you. again,” dean stood up, ready to leave, when his father grabbed his arm and looked at him with those eyes that dean knew too well—those eyes that meant he was about to get his ass beat.

“don’t be a brat now. show your father some respect. i don’t think i taught you to run your mouth—" dean swallowed thickly, preparing himself to get a blow to his face or at least try to dodge it, perhaps.

however, before john could finish, suddenly his hand on dean’s arm was yanked away and painfully bent backwards as if it was going to break any moment, the angel blade pressed dangerously to an artery in his throat.

“touch him again and i’ll make sure to drag your ass to hell myself, you fucking deadbeat,” you hissed with so much venom and hatred in your voice that it honestly made dean speechless.

you had the deadliest expression dean had ever seen on your face. he felt goosebumps on the back of his neck, suddenly feeling as if he was frozen in place. to be honest, you looked pretty scary and intimidating for such a small and inconspicuous creature.

“oh, look who’s back from heaven,” john chuckled darkly, clearly pissed off by your presence. “tell her to back off,” he almost growled while shifting his eyes from you back to his son.

dean stood still. honestly? he didn’t want to help. he wanted to let you do your thing. he wanted you to protect him.

but it was his father. and he felt that he couldn’t just let him be treated by you like that.

“birdie, come on. drop it,” he sighed, coming closer and wrapping his arms around you, gently pulling you back. he knew you wouldn’t protest, and you knew that as well—you’d never hurt dean or even try to do something that would possibly hurt him. you’d probably cut your own wings off if he got even the smallest bruise because of you. “relax, okay. don’t do anything stupid, birdie,” he rubbed your arm, trying to calm you down.

with a huff, you turned around and looked at dean. “i don’t like him. and i don’t like your mother. these people are weird and had hurt you and i don’t trust them,” you hissed, keeping your voice a whisper so john wouldn’t hear as he tried to scramble himself up from the floor.

“birdie, they’re my parents. i—” but he cut off and raised his brow. “how do you even know what happened? i never tol—”

“angel stuff. doesn’t matter. i just don’t like it when you’re hurt and upset and feeling sad. and these two make you upset, sad and hurt!“ you tried to resonate. “i just want you to be happy. i can’t give you your childhood back nor i can undid every awful thing that happened to you. but i can try my best to make it better and give you what you missed out on. if you want to feel childish for a minute, we can do that together. i’m already considered to be one apparently,” you huffed with a small eye-roll.

and dean was speechless. he looked at you in disbelief, and all the other feelings that he couldn’t quite name. he felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, tears gathering up in his eyes. he tried to say something, to think of something, when john’s mocking chuckle echoed through the walls.

“are you kidding me? crying? what kind of soldier—” before he got a chance to finish, you sent him on the floor with a solid sucker punch to his face. john groaned and blinked hazily before losing consciousness.

you shook your hand with a small huff and then looked at wide-eyed dean.

“i’m not going to apologize for that,” you said in that direct and indifferent tone, pointing at john’s unresponsive body.

dean just blinked and then looked at you, his expression slowly softening. he smiled at you and pulled you closer.

“honestly? i don’t want you to. thanks birdie,” he hummed and kissed your temple, letting his lips stay on your skin for a moment, while you leaned into his invitingly warm touch. “i love you so much, my little angel.”

“i love you, too, deano.”

god, he was so glad to have you.

a/n: i’ll drop the drabble tomorrow cause i didn’t think i’d finish this shot faster lol😭

༄♡ tags: @frosttbitessam @beausling @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas @a1ecmcdowell @aileenunfiltered @figthoughts @fitxgrld @angelicp0etry @hrtsoldierboy @deansbite @artyandink @10ava01 @abellmunsonmovie

[satorusugurugurl]

Hiii :33 i literally read all ur works in one sitting omg ur amazing pookieee AND IT GOT ME THINKING-

What if reader and the JJK men had their bodies switched due to a curse??? Like- For example- Nanami Kentos body but readers mind/conscious and stuff like ykwim??? (same with readers body) Also i love how u write sukuna its so BEIFNSKFHKDD ARF👹👹 if u could add some smut and crack in it too pls🥹 tyty

(W/ nanamin toji sukuna n geto pls) ☺️☺️😚😚

JJK Men: Body Swap!!

Summary: Body swapping with your boyfriend? What could go wrong? 😃

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (Sorcerer AU), Geto Suguru, AFAB!Reader

Warnings: smut, a little crack, body swapping, creampies, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms

Word Count: 7,174

A/N: Hi Pookie!! hajsjjdjdthank-you so so much! I lo ove too! Modern Sukuna is one of my favorite boys to write for! I love him so much. (even though I know its OOC). Anyways thanks for being so patient with me. this last month has been insanely busy and I'm just now finding my creativity again!

Fushiguro Toji:

It was supposed to be a simple mission to take out a sorcerer. What you both didn’t know was that this sorcerer had a lot of curses to spirits protecting them. So when you both took him out, one of the spirits attacked you. And you weren't sure what happened. One second, you were standing back to back with your boyfriend. The next second, you were lying flat on your back, staring up at the sky.

While your head was spinning and you felt sick to your stomach, that meant you were alive and well, which was a success in your books. Sitting up, you grumbled out a groan as you blinked several spots away.

“Son of a fuckin’ bitch.” You said, but it wasn't you that said it? When your vision finally cleared, your eyes widened as you stared down at yourself. “I’m telling Shiu we need double the pay for that shit.” A string of vulgar words escaped your lips as you watched your body sit up.

“T-Toji?” You asked, finding your voice several octaves lower.

“Yeah, you good?” your head turned towards you, and that’s when your boyfriend finally seemed to notice something was wrong. Toji, I’ve been told you you were never good at hiding your facial reactions, and seeing a pure panic that crossed your features let you know he was right. “Oh, what the fuck?!”

“I-It’s me! I-I just—uhm—what the fuck happened?!”

After thoroughly researching the files you both refused to read, you discovered that this was one of the side effects of one of the curses you had taken out. It allowed the souls of its victims to switch with each other. The technique was only meant to last a few hours to a few days, which was a blessing, but your boyfriend didn’t seem to see it that way.

Although you both insisted that you could handle a few more jobs, Shiu couldn’t stand the way you were smiling sweetly at him with Toji’s face, and your face was glaring daggers at him from the rearview mirror. So he did the only logical thing he could think of. You were taking your asses back home until this side effect wore off.

Which was something you found yourself longing for. Because you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle being in the small confining space of the apartment with your boyfriend who is currently stuck in your body. You were trying to preoccupy your time, attempting to fix dinner with Toji’s sausage fingers, when you could hear your voice and make the most pitiful sounds in the living room.

“My fucking back hurts!” Toji yelled out, stretching his back out.

“Yeah?” you asked, “I told you I wasn’t fucking joking with you. Having breasts can weigh you down sometimes. Why the fuck do you think I ask for a back massage all the time?”

“Because you want my dick.”

“Hardy har asshole, now you know when I ask for a massage and being serious seventy-five percent of the time.”

You tried to focus on cutting onions but found it extremely difficult with the wines emanating from the living room. “Oww, babe, come give me a back massage. Your beautiful tits that I love are causing me immense pain.” Ignore him, you told yourself as you went back to cutting onions. If you just ignored his whining, everything would be okay. “Babe!” Your voice at you from across the apartment. “Baby!” Your fingers tightened around the handle of the knife you were holding, fighting the urge to use your newfound strength not to throw it at yourself. For just a moment, the tiniest millisecond, you thought maybe he had given up on calling you forward, allowing you to go back to cooking until you heard yourself cry out a wine that would make any toddler turn their head towards you.

“Oh my god!” You snapped, tossing the knife into the sink. “What?! What do you want me to do for you, Your Highness?!”

“Rub my back,” Toji grumbled as he shoved your face into the couch. “It hurts, and I know how good I am with my hands.”

With a sigh, you plopped down on the ground behind your body, using your boyfriend's hands to rub circles at the knots always in your back gently. Almost instantly, Toji let out a moan that was porn worthy. You could see him sink further into the couch; your fingers dug into the cushions as you continued to use Toji’s thumbs to rub circles into the sore muscles. Toji continued to whimper, squirming under your touch, pressing your thighs together as you worked your hands lower and lower.

And while it seemed like he was finding some relief in your touch, you found his pants a little too tight for comfort sounds that were resonating from your mouth.

“Fuuuck, that feels so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, babe, Fuuck.”

The sound of your moans seems to affect your boyfriend’s body. Allowing you to move on impulse, allowing his body to take the lead. “I bet I can make you feel better.” You whisper against the nape of your neck, relishing how your boyfriend recoiled back.

“Oh yeah~? And how do you plan on making me feel even better?”

Your way was fast and hard, much like the way Toji always gave it to you. You wasted no time, ripping your clothes off of your own body, slamming your lips against the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the skin as his hands reached around, groping your breasts, just the way you liked it. Despite being in different bodies, neither of you were at all clumsy. As soon as you started ripping your clothes off, he told you he was tugging his shirt off his own body, turning to face, allowing you to pin him below you.

The kisses you shared were messy teeth clashing against each other as you both worked at your bottoms. Toji pulled your shorts and your underwear to the side. While you yanked his cock out of his sweats. Even though you were in different bodies, sex wasn’t any different. Toji just needed to feel you against him despite being inside your body, and the same for you.

You spit into your hand, rubbing it over your boyfriend's cock before you press it against your entrance. Never once did you break that kiss, the kiss that was full of raw need as if you both were high on an aphrodisiac when, in reality, you were high off of each other. Toji moaned against your lips as you pushed yourself inside of the tight, wet heat. Your breathing hitched at the strange new sensations washing over both of you.

“Oh my fuck,” you grumbled, pressing your lips against Toji’s. “I-It’s so tight and wet, oh, fuck.”

Toji wanted to laugh to make some crude comment about making sure you didn’t come too fast, but that was hard when he was being split open by his cock. “I-I feel s-so full.” He whispered nearly breathlessly against your lips.

“Does it hurt? Do you need a second?”

“No, I’m okay. Keep going, it feels good.”

Not needing to be told twice, you found yourself pulling out slowly before pushing back inside of your tight, wet walls. You both cried out, your head falling forward while Toji arched his back off the ground. You aren’t sure how long you could last like this. Hell, you weren’t even sure how Toji lasted as long as he did when he was inside of you. The man who was like a crazed sex god going for hours upon hours. While your boyfriend was wondering how the fuck you were able to take his cock like this every other night.

The pace you both set was messy and entirely out of rhythm. But despite not having any rhythm you were used to, it didn’t mean it didn’t feel good. Being able to lose control and lose yourself in the passion and sensations of just feeling good was hot. It was so hot that it had you both biting and sucking and clawing at each other. Your fingers dug into your hips while his nails scratched down your back as you both lost yourselves in the sensation of being with each other in a way you had never experienced before.

Being with each other in such a raw, more personal way allows you both, in a sense, to know how it feels for the other to know what to do, how to kiss, how to touch, and how to move against each other. This might come in handy for future sexual sessions for you. You knew that when you dug his nails into your upper back, your body trembled with pleasure. And Toji realized that when you angle your hips, a sure way to brush over your g-spot and cervix made your walls clench down so hard. He was afraid he was going to squirt all over you. Neither of you had ever expected it to happen, but both of you were excited that it had. Even if it meant neither of you was going to last very long.

“Oph fuck!” Toji cried out in your voice, his back arching. “B-Baby, I feel weird, like I need to pee!” Your boyfriend stared up at his face, which smirked sinisterly down at him.

“Yeah~? You gonna cum on my cock?” You asked, your voice deep and ragged. “Be good and cum for me.” You growled against his neck, smirking as you released your grip on his hip, rubbing circles over the swollen, sensitive clit.

“Ah! Fuck! Oooh fuck yes, gonna cum!”

“Cum for me, Toji~ come on!”

Toji screamed as he came so hard he squirted all over you, his legs shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm. As he screamed and squirmed underneath you, you lost yourself in the way your walls tightened around your boyfriend‘s cock. Hugging him, milking him, trying to get him to come inside. Which, fortunately, was far too easy to do. You collapsed forward, fingers digging into your hips so hard you were pretty sure you were going to leave bruises much, much darker than your boyfriend ever left on you. It was just too much, tightening the screaming, the pleasure. There was no way you could’ve stopped yourself.

“C-Cumming! Ooh fuck!”

“Yeah~! Give it to me!”

You thrust fast and hard, pumping your pussy full of your boyfriend's cum. Not stopping until the head of his cock was oversensitive, and you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself up any longer. You grumbled, somehow collapsing onto your side as your boyfriend giggled, curling up against you.

“Fuck, I understand why you don’t like pulling out now.”

Toji, your nails down his chest. “Yeah, it feels really good, doesn’t it?” You hummed, wrapping your boyfriend's arms around your more petite frame, not entirely used to the size difference. “God, I gotta give it to ya’ you take my dick like a fucking champ. Don’t know how you do it.”

You smirked, pressing a quick kiss against his forehead. “I’m lucky enough to have a boyfriend to make sure I’m more than ready for his monster of a cock.” He snickered, pulling back to look at me. “And I know I already failed at foreplay, but I couldn’t help myself when you’re making such pretty sounds. I needed to hear more.”

“Yeah, remember that the next time you bitch that I don’t prep you enough after giving you a massage.”

“Toji, I fully understand what you mean, and it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Good, now— are you ready for round two?”

“Round two? Already?”

Toji swang your body over his hips, rocking gently over your oversensitive cock. “Oh yeah, I thought you were fucking with me, but your sex drive is insatiable; hurry up, I’m ready to go.” Maybe this whole body swap thing did have its downsides.

Nanami Kento:

It took five seconds for Nanami to turn away from the curse you were fighting. The curse shot out a green goop that coated you and Nanami in that span. It took five more seconds for your husband to act, blinking away the goop before jumping back into action. It was only when he went to swing his blunt blade that he realized something was wrong. Instead of swinging his typical weapon, he tossed a talisman paper instead.

In that momentary confusion, you and Kento took out the curse before looking at each other. Imagine his surprise when he didn’t find your pretty face looking up at him but his own, looking down at him. The initial shock turned into panic as he watched a look of pure terror and confusion cross his face.

“My love, it’s all right.” The calm manner of speaking sounded so strange coming out of your mouth. “We have to remain calm.”

“Oh my God, oh my God!” Nanami sighed, running a hand down your face. “What are we gonna do? This is terrible.”

Your husband wasn’t sure if you consider this terrible. Both of you were safe, so that’s all that truly mattered. However, he also found himself strangely intrigued by the predicament. He found yourself then. Seeing the expressions on his face, the cute little corpse you had, like picking at your nails, nipping up your bottom, lip, or weighing, looked strange to him, but it also left him longing to see what other reactions he could drop out from you.

Unaware of your husband’s intentions, you try to remain calm. You continued gently rubbing your hands together as Shoko and Nanami looked over your body he was in.

“Any pain or discomfort?” You watched in horny silence as Nanami moved your shoulder again.

“A little pain in my, well, my wife’s shoulder.”

“Let’s get that taken care of.”

You slipped your top over your head alone, you to see your body. The blue lace bra you wore was on display as Shoko's eyes flowed through her hands over your shoulder. Staring at your skin shouldn’t have any effect on you. It was your body. You had seen yourself naked one million times, but Nanami’s body reacted differently. Its bare skin and breasts had his pants feeling much too tight.

“How’s that?” Shoko asked as she stepped away, watching Nanami rotate your shoulder with a sigh of approval.

“Much better, thank you, Shoko.”

“And you?”

When Shoko turned her attention to you, your hands immediately went to cover your crotch. An action that seem to go unnoticed by your best friend but was clearly noticed by your husband. Nanami hummed cocking an eyebrow in your direction, his eyes focusing on his crotch, seeing how the fabric of his cream-colored suit pants with straining.

You cleared your throat, looking away, “I-I’m fine! Totally fine, just eager to get home and wait this out!” You wanted to get away from her and her praying eyes because how embarrassing would that be for you to be popping a boner in your boyfriend’s body at the sight of your tits?

“Alright, sounds good to me. If you need me, I’m just a call away; go home and rest.”

You have never been more happy to hear the words go home and get some rest in your entire life. You held your boyfriend’s hands in front of his crotch before taking his suit jacket to keep it over the prominent tent in his pants. This was perfect. You would be able to get home without anyone noticing. There, you could take a cold shower and sleep this off.

But your boyfriend had another plan.

Before you both could make it down the hall, Nanami grabbed your wrist, tugging you into one of the spare classrooms. “Kento?” You asked, the unsure tone of your husband’s voice sounded foreign. “What are you—nngh!” Your body jolted forward as he slipped his hand down, rubbing at the throbbing erection straining in his pants.

“Shh, let’s make this quick. I can’t have you walking around with an erection like some teenage boy.”

“W-Wait h-here?! If we get caught, that would be worse! At least I can hide a boner with your jacket!?”

At that moment, your husband was undoing the zipper of his pants, allowing you to see the hunger in your own eyes. It was a look that spoke volumes, and you suddenly realized why your husband had told you several times in the past to control your facial reactions. It was a look you only gave him when you were unbearably horny.

“Oh my god, that’s it. That’s the look you always talk about.”

“Mhm,”

“You’re horny?!”

Instead of answering your question with words, he took your hand and slowly slipped it under the waistband of your pants. There, you could feel the wet slick that you were familiar with. Not skipping a beat, your muscle memory kicked in as your fingers began to trace circles over your clit, knowing just how you like to be touched.

“I saw how hard you were and couldn’t help myself. Your body is screaming you need me. I’m so wet, and I’m throbbing; I need you.”

Hearing those words leave your mouth made you realize how your husband felt when he was in your position. When you talk like that in public, it is hard to control yourself at that moment. You had no clue how Nanami managed to do it because you lost your composure the second he opened his mouth.

You slammed your lips against his as you lifted him, pinning him against the wall, his hands worked at the button of his trousers while you slid your panties to the side. Luckily, both of you were so aroused that there was no need for foreplay. Lips moved against each other as you pressed the head of your husband’s cock against your entrance, pushing inside without a second thought. You couldn’t care less if the door wasn’t locked, and you seriously doubted anyone would enter from the moans resonating from both of you.

All that mattered was fucking each other's brains out. Whether it was a factor from the curse or your undying love for each other, you allow yourselves to lose sight of your control. You needed him just as bad as he needed you. And you gave it to him. It’s hard and fast as he gave it to you after he had been pent up from work all day.

Nanami screamed, head rocking back against the wall as you thrust forward, slamming the head of his cock against your cervix over and over, making sure to go as deep as you possibly could. You wanted him to know how good he always left you feeling after a rough session. Your fingers dug into the fat of your hips as you nipped and sucked at your neck, drawing out more moans from him.

You were giving it, your all fucking your husband as hard as he did; Nanami was gripping onto his biceps, staring into your eyes as he took it all in. Every thrust that led to immense pleasure, every kiss, he took in everything you were doing to him. Because the second he was back in his own body, he would make sure he made you feel as good as you made him feel.

And that was a promise he intended to keep.

“Oh, my fuck—” You cried out softly, feeling your orgasm already approaching you. “You feel too good—”

“Yeah, I know that’s how you make me feel every time. But it’s—nngh! It’s—haaah!”

“Hard to not cum?” You answered for him, feeling your walls tightening around your husband’s cock. “Fuck—oooh fuck.”

“C-Cummi—oh m-my god!”

There was no warning, no further words expressed. All that you managed to do was lose yourselves in your orgasms. Nanami cried out tears, picking your eyes as your walls constricted and convulsed around his cock, drawing out your orgasm. You roared a moan loudly into Nanami’s ear as you came inside, fucking his come further inside of you, doing exactly what he did to you every night.

The classroom felt stuffy and hot and reeked of sex. But neither of you cared as you slowly slid to the ground, holding Nanami flush against your chest. You kissed each other deeply, only breaking apart to take a deep breath as all the air escaped your lungs.

“I didn’t think it was possible—” Nanami whispered in your voice, “but I fell deeper in love with you right now.”

“Ken—I love you so much.”

You never made it home that night. Instead, you went to one of the spare dorms and ravished each other all night. Both of you took notes on how exactly your body reacted to certain touches and kisses because the second you were back in your own bodies, you planned on using this newfound information to spice up your marriage even more.

Ryomen Sukuna (JJK Sorcerer AU):

“I hate this!” Sukuna barked out, pacing the floor back and forth. “Ugh!”

“Calm down.” You said from the couch, rubbing your hands down your face. “You’re acting like it’s the end of the world.”

When Sukuna turned to give you the dirtiest look in the world, you weren’t met with his tattooed face, but your own instead. “Have you stopped to look at what happened? I am in your body.” That was true. Your boyfriend was in your body, and you were currently inhabiting his body.

“So it’s not like you’ve never been inside me.” You waggled your eyebrows at him, only to win it go to hell look in return. “Okay, shit, sorry for joking, but you heard Shoko. The effects of this curse will only last a few hours.”

“A few hours too many.”

You weren’t sure if it was the testosterone right now feeling in your blood or the very common annoyance you had with your arrogant boyfriend at times. But for some ungodly reason, watching him, he back-and-forth with a scale on your face was irritating, ever-loving fuck out of you. He was acting like a brat over something neither of you could control.

It wasn’t even just the whole situation itself. Shit like this happened when you were a sorcerer. You got hit with different curses, injured, and usually were expected to live not that long of a life. You knew there was always a chance you wouldn’t come home from a mission. You both were hit by a curse, and you manage walked away with minor injuries and a mild side effect. That was something he should be happy about. But for some damn reason, this whole situation only made him angrier than usual.

“This is bullshit; if only my reverse technique worked shit like this.”

“Kuna! Seriously, what is your problem?”

He growled at you, which would usually put you back in your place when you’re back talking to him, but it seems that growl wasn’t as effective when it came from your body. Meaning you were pretty much unaffected by his tactic of intimidating you.

“I feel weak, okay?!”

“Weak?” You asked with a scoff. “You’re seriously calling me weak?”

“N-No! Fuck I mean, I don’t feel as strong as I normally do.” The more he tried to defend himself, the deeper the hole he dug. “I don’t have the power or technique I have mastered through the years. Instead, I am unfamiliar with your technique, and all I have to defend myself with are these stupid papers.” He scoffed, digging into one of the pouches attached to your belt and pulling out one of your talisman papers. “I mean, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this fold origami?”

“You could shove it up your ass when you get back in your own body, and I hope you get a papercut when doing so.”

“No, I—you know how I see you.” He sighed, plopping down on the couch next to you. “You’re strong, and you’ve mastered your technique. But I don’t know how to do anything you do. I feel useless, and I’m not saying that you can’t hold your own in a fight you kick ass. I feel weak because I’m unaware of how to use your technique.”

There was a paying of understanding deep inside your chest. You knew what he meant because you felt the same way. There was an immense amount of power coursing through your veins, which could easily be used for evil instead of good. Having such a plethora of cursed energy made you feel as though you were a ticking time bomb, like if you were to sneeze, you would blow up a building.

So, instead of lecturing or giving him even more of a hard time, you draped a tattooed arm over your shoulder, pulling your boyfriend close to your side. “I get it, I guess.” You whispered, tilting your head back and staring up at the ceiling. “Being in your body makes me feel as though I’m destined to destroy things.” Sukuna snickered, turning to look up at you. “But just because I don’t have the same amount of cursed energy doesn’t mean I’m weak. I’m still strong in my ways.”

“Yeah? In what ways?”

“When I’m riding your cock. I feel all-powerful like nothing can stop me. Especially when you’re groaning, grabbing my hips, encouraging me to move faster.”

At that moment, you regretted the words that came from your mouth. Because all you heard was your boyfriend's understanding hum. A hum that led to his hands working at your pants.

“W-whoa, easy there, Kuna. What are you doing?”

“Taking control, to see just how powerful I’ll feel.”

There was no room for protest; once your boyfriend set his mind to something, he made sure to get it done. Even if that means stripping down, straddling your hips, and lowering himself awkwardly on his cock. Watching his wish contort with pleasure left you feeling as though you might be able to take the reins on this. It wasn’t as though your boyfriend would be able to take control, to ride cock like a pro.

But you seem to forget that this was your boyfriend, one of the strongest sorcerers of the modern age, just as strong as Gojo, if not more robust. The man was smart, and despite the facial tattoos and the muscles, he knew how to get shit done.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out as he slammed himself down onto his cock with a satisfied growl. “K-Kuna baby! P-Please slow down!”

His hand clamped firmly over your mouth, silencing your protests. “Shut up, I’m in control.” your voice sounded so dark and sultry, god it was so hot! “Just be good and sit still for me; let me use you.” you couldn’t argue with that, and with the way he slowly lifted himself off his cock, before slamming your body back down onto it, leaving you feeling pussy drunk.

“Fuck!”

You cried out, shaking as Sukuna rode you like there was no fucking tomorrow. “Oh fuck, fuuuuck!”

“Yeah~ I suddenly see why you like to be on top of a lot.” he dug your manicured nails into his shoulders, dragging them down over his chest. “From this position, I can do whatever I want to.” You couldn’t even ask what he planned on doing to you before his hips were rolling in circles and you were seeing stars. “Are You paying attention? This is how I want you to ride my cock from now on.”

“K-Kuna—Kuna!”

“I feel so powerful; seeing that pitiful look on my face should piss me off. But instead, it’s making me wanna draw out more.”

It was a combination of everything that was going on that sent you coming first. It was the way Sukuna was purring in your ear, so how he rolled your hips around his shaft, to the stinging burn left of your nails over his skin. It happens so fast, and your boyfriend's cock twitched inside of your walls as you came first. And it was unusual. Usually, you were the first to finish, but it never happened like this before. Your boyfriend being the first to fill you up rather than you soaking him with your release.

Sukuna wasn’t even upset about it. He swelled with a certain sense of pride at getting you off first and with a body he was unfamiliar with. That left him feeling so satisfied he could feel his ego swelling. Before he could brag over the fact that he was better than you, his head began to pound as his vision blurred. His grip on his own shoulders tightened. Sukuna thought he might black out for a moment before he was blinking the black spots out of his vision. When it cleared, he was no longer towering above you but underneath you.

Much to his relief, he looked up at your beautiful face instead of down at his own.

You barely had a second to process what was going on and how it happened before Sukuna’s strong hands and your hips were holding them tightly. Open your mouth to speak, but before any words had the chance to leave your mouth, your boyfriend was pulling you up the link of his cock before slamming you back down on him. You nearly came again just from that action in itself.

“N-Nngh! K-Kuna w-wa—ahh!”

He holds you up and back back down on his cock again and again and again. “I thought I told you to pay attention while riding you.” His hips thrust up into your dripping wet pussy. “I want you to do exactly what I did. Don’t keep me waiting; show me how strong you are, Kitten.”

Geto Suguru:

“So let me get this straight?” Satoru questioned while sitting across from you and your boyfriend. “You both took out the special-grade curse?”

“Yep.”

“Suguru turned it into a ball and gulped it down as he does.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then everything went black, and you both woke up like this?”

He motioned towards the bodies of his two friends, lifting his blindfold to watch as you knotted your head, which was your boyfriend’s head. Satoru got the story right; it was a simple mission, simple enough for both of you to handle. You could take out the curse with no issues, but when Suguru absorbed it, everything took a turn. Everything went dark, and the next second, you were sitting up in your boyfriend’s body with the most unpleasant taste in your mouth after swallowing the curse.

It was a shock initially, but weird things happened whenever your boyfriend absorbed a curse. That just came with the territory of a curse manipulator. Cursed spirits sometimes had different effects on his body and sometimes the body of those near him. Fortunately, you had been near him on this mission. Geto would have hated to be in Gojo’s body, so this was a win-win scenario.

“Yep, for the time being, we’re stuck like this.”

Gojo sat back in his chair, wincing at the situation, you both found yourselves in. “Shit, sorry about that, guys.” Suguru shook his head, stretching your arms above you.

“Eh, it could have been a lot worse.”

“ that’s true, but are you guys gonna—ya’ know?” Satoru jester to the two of you with his hands. “Use the opportunity to your advantage?”

Suguru and you looked at the white-haired man, blinking in confusion. “Advantage? Satoru, what are you even talking about?” you asked, running your fingers through your boyfriend's black hair.

“You know, I’ll get down and dirty?”

“What?!”

“Satoru~” Your voice purred out as Suegro shook her head. “Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Hey, it’s a genuine question. I’m just curious.”

Your boyfriend, who was irritated from the throbbing vein in your forehead. Having sex like this in his body hadn’t crossed your mind. When it initially happened, neither of you had been more concerned with making sure both you and Suguru were okay than about what happened. Besides that, sex wasn’t the only thing on your mind! The thought of doing it like this even occurred to you, and it wouldn’t have even crossed your mind, but thanks to manifest. It was out in the open, sticking out like a sore thumb.

You shifted, trying to listen to your boyfriend bickering back and forth with his best friend. Suddenly, you were aware of the throbbing inside your boyfriend, thankfully baggy pants. And you had the sudden urge to go home because the only thing you bring could focus on was how your boyfriend‘s dick was swelling. The last thing you wanted to do was pop a Boner in front of your mutual friend after he had just suggested hooking up with each other while in the opposite body.

If he found out how you felt, you wouldn't hear the end of his arrogant comments and encouragement.

Yeah, it was best to keep him out of your bedroom life. Especially when you weren’t sure if you wanted to take it that far. There was a burning desire deep in your stomach, one that had you itching to touch your body, to kiss your boyfriend, to succumb to the lust that was burning like a fire deep down inside of you. Was this how Suguru felt around you all the time? Or was it just part of the curse?

“Hey,” you looked up from the bed, watching as Suguru brushed your damp hair. “I think I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

Suguru stopped turning his focus on you. “Why would you do that?” What could you even say? You were hard as a rock and wouldn't be able to control yourself? That you wanted him, but you didn't want to gross him out or make things even weirder?

“Well—I uhm—I—have a bit of a situation.”

“I know. You’re hard; you've been hard since we left campus.”

Your hands almost instinctively died towards the crotch, trying to cover the erection that was still throbbing angrily within the confines of the boxers. “H-How did you know?” Your boyfriend let out a giggle that sounded so strange coming out of your mouth.

“My pants may be baggy, but they aren’t that baggy.”

You felt yourself turn fifty shades of red as you groaned, covering your face in your hands. “Oh my god, you could tell?! Why didn't you say anything?” Another sweet laugh came across the room as you resisted the urge to summon Rainbow Dragon to eat you.

“I didn't want to embarrass you.”

“Yeah, well, I think I'm more embarrassed now. Can I manipulate your curses to eat me? To put me out of this misery?”

“Oh, stop, you're fine. I was only able to notice because I know my body.”

“That doesn't make me feel any better.”

“Well, it should be because you looked so fucking hot. Seeing you fight against those primal urges has your body reacting just as strongly.”

You perked up, watching as Suguru swayed your hips as he slowly approached you. “Is that so?” Suguru nodded, pulling your sleep shirt over your head and tossing it to the floor.

“Even though we're in different bodies, my soul is crying to be near yours.” He slipped your shorts down next, kicking them off to the side.

You slowly ran a hand down your boyfriend's stomach, grabbing his hard cock through his pants. "Fuck guess I got caught. But can you blame me? This is weird." Your hands slowly stoked his hard cock. "But also strangely arousing at the same time."

Seeing your hand stroking his cock had Geto’s eyes widening as he looked over his body before he was overtaken with the sudden urge to shove you down on the bed, immediately straddling his hips. "Don't mind if I do~"

You moaned, blushing up at Geto as he hummed softly. "O-Oh, holy fuck." You said, grabbing his hips. "Fuck is this what I look like to you?" you were in awe of your body. The curves, softness of your skin, and fuck, the fact your pussy was nearly touching his cock. Making it even harder, which seemed impossible.

“Mhm~” Suguru nodded; he rolled your bare hips as he ran his fingers over your hair. "It's really hot, isn't it?"

"Fuck yes, fuck look at my boobs." You said, reaching up and squeezing them. "The way they bounce, it’s so hypnotic."

Your boyfriend giggled, rocking your hips harder before reaching behind him, pulling his own cock from his pants with a moan. "Holy shit.”

"I know it's really hard," You whispered. "I-I holy fucking shit." His cock was so hard Suguru knew it had to be painful.

"I knew I was big, but Fuuck, this put it in a different perspective. Fuck, I'm going to put it inside of your pussy, Princess.” He hummed as he rolled your hips up and down your cock like you had done countless times before.

"Oh, you are?" You asked, licking your lips. "Nah, I don't think so; it’s time I give you a taste of your own medicine.” You growled out while flipping him over onto his side. "I'm going to put it in your pussy." You ground your hips against drenched folds with a snarl.

Suguru gasped, moaning as he felt the head of his cock rubbed against your pussy. Being the one to do it felt much different than being on the receiving end. But it still felt good regardless. He suddenly knew why you begged so pretty; he longed for more than teasing touches. He was about to start praying for more when his whole body seized up as you pressed the head against the tight ring of muscles of the entrance, fighting the need to shove it all in.

“Baby, please—!”

“Oooh, who's a needy slut?”

"Fuck, I am! I want you to fucking destroy me, please.” Suguru moaned, his head slowly rolling back against the pillows.

You smirked, running your tongue over your bottom lip. "Oooh, begging for me already, that’s so cute.” You slammed inside Suguru’s tight pussy. "Fuck—you're so tight~!!"

Suguru gasped before screaming out a moan while you thrust in and out. "F-Fuck yeah!! Just like that, oh god!!~ Princess!!” Hearing such pretty sounds only filled your desire, making you eager to move, to make him feel as good as he did for you.

"Fuck yeah~ what are you always saying? ‘You like me fucking your cunt slut?’”

“Yeah, I see why, fuck you feel so fucking good!!" Suguru cried out, his eyes rolling back. "Fuck! Princess!! Fuck, I'm your slut, god I want your cum so bad!!"

"Cum for me then~!" You commanded, reaching around and rubbing your clit in fast circles just as you knew your body liked it. "Cum all over my cock." Your thrusts were becoming erratic as you felt your balls tighten.

Suguru cried out, his head thrown back as he clenched hard on your cock. "Yesyes-Yes! Fuck, Princess!! Fuckfuckfuck-!!"

You followed immediately behind Suguru; your hips stuttered as you came hard, cum filling your pussy with thick white cum. "O-Oh fuck~!"

"H-Holy shit!!”

"Fuck, oh fuck." You panted roughly, looking down at Suguru, who was still trapped in your body. "That felt s-ao good."

"Holy hell, the cum feels so fucking good—"

“Yeah~ it makes you feel all nice and warm afterward.”

Your boyfriend moaned softly. "You know what feels even better? Fucking you with my cum~ I promise it feels fucking amazing give it a try."

You perked up at that, turning red, but you couldn't just take his word for it. You needed to feel it for yourself. So you slowly started thrusting back inside, moaning loudly.

"Oh god, you're fucking right, feels good.”

“I N-Nngh told you!”

You kissed Suguru eagerly, thrusting faster. Your boyfriend smiled softly, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing you deeply as he moaned into your mouth. You kissed back just as eagerly, stroking Suguru’s cheek. Your nails dug into his hips as you moved faster than you could think.

"F-Fuck, can't stop—! God, you feel too fucking good!"

Suguru moaned softly, smiling up at you. "F-Fuck~ I love you too, Princess, so cum in me again!”

You groaned, sucking his neck, leaving a trail of hickeys. "I will." You growled, nipping her earlobe. "I'm gonna keep cumming inside your pussy." your hip bucked, slamming against her cervix as spurts of hot cum filled Suguru, the sensation enough to throw him over the edge with you.

“Y-Yeah! Oooh fuck!” He cried out a moan, clawing at your back as he felt himself cum around your cock when you slammed deep into him. "C-Cumming!! Cumming Princess!!"

You gritted your teeth as you came inside your boyfriend again. That’s how you both were. You were just in sync with each other. Despite the fact, you were in each other’s bodies. You knew how to make the other field good; you wanted to keep going because you weren’t sure how long this side effect would last. But your lack of experience having a dick and poor stamina said otherwise.

"M’ sorry baby, I-I do-don't think I can go anymore. I can’t take it.” You feebly cried out before collapsing on top of your own body, winning a satisfied sigh from Suguru, who was underneath you.

“Honestly, I’m okay with that,” he said as he gulped air. “Fuck you’re probably gonna be sore in the morning. And I don’t wanna hear you complaining about it because this was your own doing.”

Your mind felt fuzzy as you just nodded your head nuzzling your boyfriend‘s face into the crook of your neck because you took in the afterglow and the rash of being near him in such an intimate way. Suguru hummed happily, running his fingers through your hair. He was honestly surprised you were able to go two rounds.

“Sleepy?” he asked softly, only receiving a hum in return. “Ooh—my sweet girl. Lay down for a minute, and let's cuddle before we take a shower.”

“Okay.” you finally could form coherent words as you lay down on your side, cupping your boyfriend's cheek. “Can I—”

“Yes, you can be the little spoon.” You weren’t sure how long the curse's effect would last, but as long as you were with each other, it didn’t matter. All that you cared about was coming home safely with Suguru and sleeping soundly in his arms, which made your dangerous job worth it.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

[cry4mina]

Jealousy

(Sana x fem!reader)

Word Count: 6.7k

Smut/Play angst/Fluff

Summary: You have a friend from college that is coming to visit and is very affectionate with you. Sana doesn't like that and retaliates before taking this "issue" into her own hands.

TW: THIS IS JUST FUCKING WITH A HINT OF BACK STORY. drinking, food, eating, sex, oral, strap ons, jealousy, degrading, top sanaaaaaaaaa, choking, hand cuffs, just a whole brain rot moment. Let me know if I missed anything.

AN: Hey hi hellooooo! (I BARELY PROOF READ THIS PLS FORGIVE) I feel so out of practice with writing! I had the brain rot and needed to do the thing. I hope you all enjoy this! Thank you to @ghostykapi for always helping me get plot points down like girl what would I do without you and for @psylocke142 and @sscieloz because the three of you constantly keep me sane while I'm losing it when brain does not work LMAO

Please enjoy and drink some water today! Ask are always open and feedback is always welcome! :)🖤

“You don’t need to be nervous, babe. She’s going to love you!” reassuring your wife sitting next to you in the booth of your favorite cafe.

Nayeon, your best friend from college/roommate at the time was in town and wanted to visit and catch up with you - and meet your wife, Sana. You couldn’t be more excited for them to finally make acquaintance after years of talking both of them up to each other.

“I know, I know but I just know how much she means to you and I want to make a good impression, you know?” puppy dog eyes looking up at you, melting you as always.

Sana looked stunning today, wearing a lavender cardigan and a white tank top underneath with some light washed oversized jeans paired with white sneakers. Her hair is long and framing her face so perfectly, with a lavender bow in her hair.

Looking so sweet and kind, glowing in her seat while making eye contact with you. You’re so in love with her, a masterpiece come to life - moving ethereally and making beautiful waves that crash happiness and warmth into the depths of your soul.

Submerging you completely into Minatozaki Sana.

“And you will, my love.” slipping your hand into hers, toying with the ring that was the product of the love built between the two of you.

“You’re sure?” looking down at your hands intertwined, watching as your hands fiddle with the gold band and then back up at your eyes that were filled with pure admiration.

“Never been more sure about anything.” beamed back at her.

It was true, asking her to marry you was the best decision you had ever made and you would do it a million times over, in every single life.

Sana’s cheeks flush red, bringing the hand that wasn’t intertwined with yours under the table up to cover her own smile, sheepishly trying to not get flustered with the way you still flirted with her, even after years of being together.

“Hello! My name is Michael. Can I start you off with some drinks?” the waiter must have snuck up to the table while you were wrapped in each other.

“I’ll have a sweet tea, please.” looking over to Sana who is still trying to compose herself.

“And she will have a hot green tea with honey, thank you.”

“Ma’am?” looking over to Sana.

The waiter seems to be completely ignoring what you said your wife wants…Cocking your head and furrowing your brows, you tilt your head up to look at him.

“I’d like what she said I wanted, thanks.” confusion laces her voice as the waiter sighs with a smile at the sound of her voice and walks to gather your drinks.

“What the fuck is that about?” back tensing in anger, staring daggers at the man who just flirted with your wife.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” a cold finger catches your chin and leads you to look right into her eyes, inching her face closer and closer to you.

“Nothing to worry about, baby.” voice squeaking with pure happiness at your jealousy as she places her lips on yours, sending you into a whirl wind.

“I’m all yours…forever, remember?” lifting her hand out of yours to flash you the ring and wink.

It takes everything in you to not sink to the floor, you never should’ve taught her how to wink. It’s going to be the death of you and you’re already so weak to her touch that a wink on top of it could send you into a spiral of thoughts of love, and some others that are lust driven.

“Y/n?!” shouted from the front of the cafe, the voice is familiar that can only mean one thing.

“Oop! There she is!” standing up to spot her.

Seeing her and trying to catch Nayeon’s attention and wave her to the table.

Nayeon was wearing a very small crop top, showing off her stomach, and a very small pair of shorts. Very revealing, which doesn’t surprise you. She was always comfortable in her s

“You’re late!” is how you decided to her her attention.

Squealing at the sight of you, you open your arms for Nayeon to practically tackle you to the floor.

“I missed you so much Y/nnie! Look at you! You’re glowing. Ugh I just know that Sana is taking SUCH good care of you. And this, is your color.” grabbing your face and kissing your cheeks obnoxiously with a loud smack to each side, before tugging on the royal blue sweater you were currently wearing and pointing down to the shoes that matched it.

“I miss you too, Nay! I promise you she is and thank you!” bringing her in for another tight hug before letting go, Nayeon’s hand trailed down your arm and stopped in your hand, linking your fingers together.

Head turning start your introductions to one another and you realize that you might’ve forgotten to tell Sana that Nayeon is very physically affectionate…and that it meant nothing…oops.

Your wife’s jaw is on the floor, eyes wide and you can see the annoyance simmering underneath the shocked expression on her face.

“Nayeon! This is my wife, Sana.” throwing the word “wife” in, hoping that it would calm Sana enough to get through lunch so you could explain yourself later.

Already knowing that this was going to be a big conversation tonight.

“Oh my goodness! You’re stunning!” Nayeon let go of your hand and brought them up to grab Sana’s, pulling her out of her chair.

“It’s so so so lovely to meet you! I’ve heard so many wonderful things!” Joyfully offered to your wife as Nayeon wrapped her arms around her.

“Likewise!” Sana’s voice is chipper but the glare she’s giving you from over Nayeon’s shoulder is the exact opposite.

“Shit.” stated under your breath, as Nayeon and Sana part ways to create more small talk between the two of them, everyone taking their seats to get brunch started.

Sana and you take your place on the side of the table you were already on, Nayeon sitting across from you in the booth as your wife and bestfriend slip from small talk into questions about each other.

Both of them seem comfortable, this is great.

A jealous Sana was sexy, the way anger flared behind her eyes never failed to get you wet, even though it was usually not the time for it. Not willing to let this become a situation of jealousy because it’s Nayeon…if it was a stranger, sure but you want these two to get along.

Maybe Sana would get to know Nayeon and realize that the affection wasn’t something that meant anything at all.

Maybe she’s already forgotten.

The waiter walks back over and places your drinks down on the table, only addressing Sana in the process.

“Here you are, Ma’am.” his hands are slightly shaky as he placed the drink down.

“Thank you, sweet heart.” winking at him seductively.

…she had not forgotten…

You were regretting teaching her to wink even more so, as watched as the waiter’s thoughts leave his mind, swearing you could see his heart beat in his neck.

“uh…uhm...N-no p-p-problem, m-ma’am.” tugging at his collar to relieve some of the pressure Sana just placed on him.

Nudging her with your elbow, the look you’re giving her sliced through all the tension of this and was now turning into something she saw as a game.

Pawn move, your turn.

Nayeon is taking all of this in, without interrupting the show unfolding, leaning back in her seat and cocking an eyebrow. Does she realize what’s actually happening here or does she think that Sana is insane?

“I’ll take an iced americano, thank you.” to the panicked man, giving him the exit he seemed to crave so desperately.

“Right away, ma’am!” rushing off behind the doors to the kitchen, you swear you can hear his sigh of relief when he steps out of sight.

“So how is Jeongyeon? How are things?” inquiring so you can distract for what she was witnessing.

“She’s great! She’s back home with Dahyun. They just opened a coffee shop so they’ve been busy bodies with that.” smiling in pride of what her wife and best friend were doing.

“No way! After all these years of wanting to? I’m so happy to hear they’ve finally done it!” returning the sentiment back to her with excitement.

“And Dahyun is still rooming with you both, I assume?”

“Our perfect third wheel!” both of you burst into a giggle, Sana watches how close the two of you are.

You can feel her energy shift into possessive and jealous, more tense by the second as you continue on with brunch.

Nayeon reaches her hand over the table to grab yours, genuinely smiling at you as she prepares to say something.

Sana is seething next to you and you can already tell what she’s going to do about it.

“It’s truly so great to see you, I’m so happy they called a meeting here so we could get together and I could meet Sana too!” the warmth and friendship radiating off the sentence went right over Sana’s head as she laid her hand on your thigh, digging her nails right into the denim of your black jeans.

The waiter, Michael, comes back over with Nayeon’s iced americano and places it on the table.

“Do you need some more time to look over the menu? Or have any questions?” the poor boy is shaken to his core, and it’s about to get so much worse.

“What’s your favorite thing on the menu, honey?” Sana says without looking up at him.

“Oh, you know I love the ba-” you start.

“Not you.” putting her hand up to halt you, mid sentence.

“Michael.” looking up at him with those puppy dog eyes and a smile.

You swear you can physically see his knees turn to jelly.

“Uhm…well I r-really like the pancakes, ma’am.”

Rolling your eyes in disbelief, you wait for her response, making eye contact with Nayeon and communicating with her silently as all of this transpired.

“Pancakes it is then.” putting on her sweetest voice possible before handing him the menu and intentionally touching his hand.

“Wow, your hands are so strong…” caressing the top of one of them before pulling back.

“I wonder how useful those could be…”

“Sana! Enough!” the rage set in with you snapping at her, she had pushed this too far and she knows it.

“Oh, come on. It’s all in good fun, right?” kissing your cheek and then winking at him again.

“Right, Sweet heart?” referring to Michael again.

Staring at her in disbelief, your jaw tightens as you look back at Nayeon who is holding in her laughter, flushing red from the suppression.

“And no laughing out of you!” pointing to her across the table, her arms shoot up to claim her innocence.

“I’m just here to visit a friend! I swear!” chuckling through the sentence and bringing an ease to the table.

“A friend…right…” Sana seems to not believe but laughs along anyway.

Nayeon managed to cut the tension like she always did with a silly moment and for that you were grateful.

—

Over the course of this brunch, you had lovely conversations that everyone was involved in. Nayeon and Sana got along really well, despite the introduction, enjoying a lot of the same things and having lengthy conversations about many different topics.

“How long are you in town for?” Sana asked before taking a sip of her drink.

“I fly home tomorrow night, unfortunately.” sighing and knowing that the visit would be short lived.

“That’s too soon.” quipped back with a frown.

A sudden sparkle behind her eyes and the twitch of her brow shows you that she’s up to something.

“Where are you staying?” expeditiously inquired through a new tone of excitement.

“Well, this trip was very last minute so I’m hoping I can get a hotel down town by the airport. If anything, I can just sleep in the rental car and head to the airport tomorrow afternoon.”

“Nonsense! You’ll stay with us!” This surprised both you and Nayeon.

Sana offering Nayeon to stay at your home was a very big deal. You both really liked your privacy and for her to extend that invitation was...not like her.

“I wouldn’t want to impose!” Nayeon is dismissive of the thought, looking over to you for some hint that this would be okay.

Nodding to her very softly, you agree.

“I insist, Nayeon! I can’t have my wife’s best friend sleeping in discomfort when we have a perfectly good guest room for you to stay in.” Sana’s hand reaches out over the table to grab Nayeon’s, reassuring her that all was well.

“Alright, I’ll stay.”

“Great! I’ll get the check.”

The waiter must’ve been listening as he was immediately when he heard Sana wanted something. Nayeon let out a belly laugh when she saw how quickly he was present, and you rolled your eyes.

Reaching out to hold your hand, Nayeon decides to move a pawn on the gameboard.

“Y/nnie, did you ever tell Sana about what we used to do?” the flirtatious tone perks up Sana’s ears, the scowl on her face already gently forming around her squinted eyes.

“Nayeon, what are you talking about?” trying to brush off what Nayeon was hinting at so Sana wouldn’t get upset.

“What did you guys used to do?” attempting to keep cool about the new information that just dropped onto the table like an anvil.

“If Y/nnie doesn’t remember, I don’t think I should say, besides…I don’t know if you’d be too excited about hearing it anyways. Just a very fond memory to live in my mind then.”

Nayeon winks at Sana and then stands up.

“See you at your house!” swiftly walking out of the cafe.

—

The walk to the car was silent.

Only the sounds of your shoes against the concrete.

Walking around to the passenger seat, you open the door for Sana and wait for her to get inside. She’s just standing by the car and clenching her jaw, you can see the muscles flexing causing you to swallow harshly - nerves tingling as you walk around to the driver’s side door.

Sana suddenly slams the door closed without getting inside before promptly opening it again, for herself, and gets into her seat, closing the door behind her.

Blinking a few times at how petty that actually was, you slip into the drivers seat and start the car.

The first 5 minutes of driving are just as quiet as the walk to the car, Sana’s stewing in her jealousy next to you and you’re just waiting for her to say something.

Slowing down and stopping at a red light, you look at the road in front of you until you feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

“What did you guys used to do?” sneered at you in disgust.

“We used to smoke weed and sit on a couch, babe. A few concerts, a couple parties but nothing that warrants this reaction.” trying to reassure her that there was no threat from Nayeon.

“Sounds like there might be more. Tell me.” her stern tone rattles you to your core…causing that flash of heat under your skin that screams in desire.

“I mean we hooked up once a long long time ago. But it was one time, and it never happened again.”

“You WHAT!?”

Uh oh.

“You guys had sex?!”

“Baby, we were 18 and young. Probably drunk. It only happened one time. I didn’t think it was that important.” trying to explain but she did not want to hear it.

At. All.

“No wonders she’s so fucking affectionate with you! She probably still wants to fuck you. What the fuck, why wouldn’t you tell me this?!” through clenched teeth and she crosses her arms and shifts away from you.

“Sana, it meant nothing then and it means even less now. I love you. I want to be with you. This was a long time ago, okay?”

Silence.

“Sana.”

More silence.

“Sana!” rising in volume to get her attention.

“Okay, fine. Whatever.” waving her hand at you, the weak signal that she would be fine about this.

“Sana, Nayeon is my best friend…okay? That’s all. You are my wife. I married YOU. Not her.” reassurance making it’s way to her as you try and defuse.

“I trust you. She’s your best friend…I’ll be on my best behavior.” rolling her eyes and sighing next to you.

A fight given up a little too easily…knowing her, she was planning something else.

This was going to be a long night, wasn’t it?

—

Dinner came and went as quickly as brunch did. Spending the night lounging around the house and watching movies with Nayeon and Sana was such a good way to spend the evening - despite the argument in the car earlier.

It seems like they’re getting along very well, giggling with each other and nonstop chatting. It seems Sana is getting comfortable and actually trying to get to know your best friend.

That warms your heart more than anything. She was really willing to put her jealousy aside for you…it’s impossible to not love her more and more every single day.

Nayeon and Sana decided they wanted to watch a movie, so you let them pick while you went and got some snacks from the kitchen.

Returning to find them on the couch whispering to each other, you decided to just sit on the other side of Sana and let them press play when they were ready.

They picked a weird comedy you had never heard of, you decided to just scroll through your phone while the movie played on.

—

Around 10pm, Sana stretched and yawned, leaning into your neck and sighing into you. Toying with the end of your shirt lightly and scooting closer to you.

“You getting sleepy, my love?” leaning your cheek against her forehead and wrapping your arms around her.

All she could do was nod her head softly and nuzzle into you further.

“Why don’t you go and get ready for bed? I’ll show Nayeon where she will be sleeping and meet you in there, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight Nayeon. Thank you for today!” standing up, giving Nayeon a hug and sluggishly making her way to the bedroom you shared and closing the door behind her.

“She’s a tough one, huh? I never thought I’d see you go for someone jealous…especially with how jealous you get!” Nayeon nudged you as you both stood up and you made your way down the hall to the guest bedroom.

“I wouldn’t say though! She’s just not used to people being touchy with me. She likes a little jealousy…and I mean, you know I like possessive. Even if this round was a little intense. I’m really happy you both got to know each other better so we can do this more often” smiling at Nayeon.

“You both are a match made in heaven. I’m really happy for you, Y/nnie. She’s lovely. Good luck later!” booping your nose lightly and turning to go into the room.

“What does tha-…You know what, I dont want to know…goodnight.” dismissively waving your hand at her while closing the door shut. Her laugh can be heard from the other side of it.

Walking back to your own room, you can’t help but wonder what that meant…good luck? with what? Maybe it was just her trying to psych you out…

Trying to be quiet as you enter, you don’t see Sana on her side of the bed, assuming she’s still in the bathroom, you strip out of the clothes you spent your day in and changed into just a large T-shirt.

The bathroom door opens up softly while you’re bringing your clothes across the room to put in the laundry basket, not bothering to look up, you toss the clothes in the vessel and turn around to crawl into your side of the bed.

That’s when you finally register what is happening in front of you.

Sana has changed into her red, lacey night gown…the one that’s completely see through…the one she knows you can’t resist.

Trying not to drool at the sight of her and how sensual she is in her movements, the way her hips sway and the way she’s looking you up and down like you’re prey to her.

Taking a few steps closer to you, she watches as you stand there in total shock - ready to drop to your knees for her.

“I think I need to remind you what it means to be my wife.” sultry, sexy tone dripping off her tongue, melting through your brain - the ache for her very present between your legs.

“I think you need a reminder of who you belong to…” the sentence lingers in your mind as she makes her way over to you slowly.

Fuck.

She’s playing hard ball with you, wanting you to submit to her immediately…and you’re tempted. It’s hard not to be when she’s like this.

Usually so soft and sweet, but when that bedroom door closes, she’s in charge and you didn’t feel like giving her that power that easily, even if you knew you’d end up sore tomorrow.

“I need to be reminded? Ha! You must not remember what you did.” flipping the script on her, crossing your arms while you wait for your reply.

The devilish smirk translucently sits across her mouth for a moment, before dissolving seamlessly into the start of something that would haunt you all night long.

The game has begun.

“What I did?!” raising her voice at you and taking a defensive stance.

“After what YOU did with your little friend! And in front of me, no less!” Scoffing and crossing her arms at the memory.

Hesitating to say anything, you try and think of a how you want to navigate this. It’s obvious how this is going to end, considering the red lace that’s barely covering her body when the idea pops into your head.

Pawn moved.

“It’s cute when you’re like this” slowly walking up to her and placing your hands on her hips and leaning into her chest, lips mere inches apart.

“Whatever.” Arms still crossed under your chests pressed together as she fights to not wrap her arms around you.

“Awh come on, my jealous baby. You know it’s only you.” Trailing a finger up her side and watching as she swallows harshly, breath hitching as she mimics your movements.

As her hands glide up your sides, the tips of her fingers graze lightly over your skin and lift the over size shirt with them - revealing what was underneath.

Nothing.

Sana lets out a short laugh when she sees your bare ass, smacking it loudly and leaning forward into you with a hand slithered up the back of your neck and through your hair.

Check.

“And who says that you’ll get what you want from me? You think being a slut for others gets you rewarded?” rebutted in a whisper with her lips brushing past yours so delicately.

Pawn moved.

Hands coasting up her back and into her hair that’s tied into a bun, you kiss up her cheek and right to her ear.

“If you won’t, I know someone who will.” another peck to her cheek.

Check. Mate.

“Someone in the next room…she’s done it before. You’ve seen her hands, right baby? Can’t you just imagine how fu-”

Sana suddenly lets go of you. Shoving you, hard, onto the bed.

“Don’t fucking move. You’re going to regret what you said but any disobedience going forward will only result in worse. Do you understand me, whore?” the mood is rage scorched, scowling down at you as you nod your head one time before she sets off to the closet.

She pulls out the box, grabs her strap - the larger one - slipping it on and tightening the sides so it fits tightly. What surprises you is when she reaches back into the box and pulls out some hard metal handcuffs you rarely ever used.

“You think you can just talk about someone else fucking you and get away with it, bitch?” walking up to you, twirling her finger around in front of her, signaling you to turn over onto your stomach.

“Hands behind you.” her stern voice is making you dizzy, unable to actually register what she’s actually saying.

“Now!”

A hard smack to your lower thighs startles you, the sting is delicious but you listen to what she says and put your hands behind your back.

The metal is cold against your wrists, wiggling to see how tight they were. There wasn’t much room to move at all.

Running your fingers against the metal to find the loose bolt that usually releases the sex cuffs, you can’t find one that rattles against your fingers.

“Awh…you thought I’d use the fake ones on you?”

Oh, shit.

Sana pulls you to the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor and torso bent over the sheets. Taking the head of the strap, she runs it up and down your slit in a very unhurried fashion.

“Look how wet you are.” slapping the end of the dildo on your clit a few times just to hear it splatter against you.

“Did you get wet like this for her too?” gliding back over your slit this time dipping between your lips and grinding against your clit.

A gasp leaves your lips at the sensation, the burst of pleasure that sent shockwaves through you.

“Answer me, slut.” she’s leaned over your back and in your ear, grinding softly against you.

Holding you down by the chain with one hand, the other slips up to your neck, holding your throat to force you to keep your head up.

“Why don’t you…fuck- ask her?” whined out between the sluggish strokes of Sana’s strap.

Immediately coming to a halt when what you said registers in her mind, she grips your throat tighter, you can feel her tensing her body.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?!” growled as she lifts herself off of you.

Rabid, feral and unhinged, Sana can’t seem to get a grip on herself. Taking the chain of the cuffs in her hand and tugging hard, she flips you over on your back. Lost in lust and rage, she grips the collar of the thin oversized shirt you were wearing and rips it clean down the middle in one harsh tug.

You’re lost in your own neediness as you start to drip onto the floor, waiting for Sana to make her move and put you in your place.

Watching as she stands before you, strap brushing up against your core while her hands are clenched into fists next to her.

You swear you can see the steam spewing from her ears and her jaw clenching. Nudging her hips forward, the sensation of the strap against you pushes you closer and closer to begging for her and you know that’s exactly what she wants.

Sana’s hand flies down and smacks your thigh, the sound is brutal but the pain is something you crave.

“I said, what the fuck did you just say?”

You’re melting, slipping into the mindset of wanting.

Wanting her.

Craving her.

“Baby” huffed out through the tension of the room.

“Please”

“Please, what?” leaning forward, her finger comes up to your collar bone and traces it down, feather light touches right over your nipple and slipping to your hips.

Her lips follow from your neck down to your nipple, brushing past her lips barely touching your skin as she descended.

“Sana, please…I need to feel you.” breathing becoming heavier as her mouth travels down to your hips, biting down when she’s low enough to cause the reaction she wants.

Bucking your hips forward, instinctual reaction from your body- her hand raises and smacks your tit. Moaning into the empty space in the room as Sana kisses her way down to your slick smeared lips.

Her breath against your pussy was enough to push you over the edge - a long carnal whine expelled in frustration at how slow she was going. Needing her to finally take you the way you knew she wanted to.

“Say. It.” maliciously whispered, eyes showing you that even if her face was stoic in this moment, there was a hunger in them.

Sana drags her tongue up your inner thigh, stopping right before you could gain any relief from the friction of her touch.

This was torture.

“Baby” a breathless attempt.

Sana inches her way back up to your mouth, leaving a trail of ever deepening teeth marks in her wake, until she’s face to face with you - noses caressing and lips teasing each other.

Tugging at the metal of the cuffs, you whimper at not being able to touch her. Wanting to pull her close to you and tempt her to break- to give in and give you want you needed from her.

Sitting in sounds of your shallowed breath, Sana smirks at you letting out a sigh.

“I can feel how wet you are, baby.” taking her hand down the the base of the strap and positioning it against your entrance.

“Dripping down my strap and knowing that you can’t touch me…Must be so agonizing for a whore like you.” taunting you through clenched teeth and a forced smile.

Gliding over your slit again, she brings her lips closer to yours, letting you lean up to her but pulling away before your lips meet.

The only thing you can think about is her ruining you. Burning sensations of the emptiness between your legs instructs you to rock your hips back and forth to try and get her to slip the tip inside you.

“What’s the safe word?” pulling out of the moment to acknowledge the boundaries.

“Red.”

As soon as the word flies out of your mouth, Sana’s hand is around your throat. Thrusting her hips forward painfully slow until she completely bottoms out inside you.

The moan you let out was music to Sana’s ears, wanting nothing more than to let the guest in your house to know who could make you like this…let them know who you belong to.

Pulling the attachment out to the tip, Sana slams back down - hard but at a slow pace.

“That’s right, honey.” hips cocking back again.

“Let her know you’re mine.” hips snapping into you creating a rhythmic slapping as she continues torturing you with the aggressively slow stake to her claim.

Lips finally meeting, you’re fighting the metal connecting your hands as you both passionately dissolve into each other.

Sana’s grip around your throat tightens as she slowly starts to pick up the pace of ramming the strap into you. Her other hand trails to pinch your nipple, giving it a flick and a few twists so you moan even louder.

Feeling all the euphoria she was presenting you with, you’re unable to stop yourself from whimpering and moaning. Any attempt at muffling them felt useless. The only sounds outside of your own moaning was Sana breathing heavier as she snapped her hips into you, was the sound of your slick against her aggressive, deep thrusts.

Sana suddenly stops, elbows on either side of you, her resting and catching her breath for a moment. Taking a second to brush the hair out of your face, she looks you in the eyes and snaps her hips into you, pressing against your cervix when she speaks.

“Does she fuck you like this, slut?” another harsh thrust.

“Unh! Fuck babyyyy- ungh” your own voice echoes off the wall and back to you.

“Can she make your pussy this fucking wet?” another rabid jolt of her hips.

The deep strokes of her inside you hit every spot imaginable, tingling building in your limbs as she keeps marking her territory with her mouth, bite marks and hickies litter your body haphazardly.

Pressure building from inside you, gasping for air when you realize how close you are to cumming.

“S-Sana! I’m gonna c-cu-”

“No.” is all she says when she pulls out of you completely and watches as you writhe and whine on the sheets.

Moaning and whining in protest as you feel the pleasure receding, Sana just smiles and watches you tear up.

“Tell me who you belong to.” tip grinding against you again, this time causing an almost out right panic in you.

“Only you! Sana, please! fuck me! I need it I need it I need it PLEASE.” tears rolling down your cheeks, inching yourself close to her.

“Sit up.”

You immediately do as your told.

Sana grabs the keys from the nightstand and unhooks your hands.

Immediately, without a second thought, you’re pulling her onto the bed and pushing her down. Her smile is huge, giggling at how desperate you are.

Sana’s hands make their way to your thighs as you fix your position on top of her, straddling her as you ease yourself down onto her.

Hands flying up to catch your waist before you can sink too far down on her, she holds you still and buck her hips up one hard time before allowing you to sit comfortably with the strap inside you.

Completely blissed out, you lean forward and lay on her chest with your face in her neck. Her soft sweet giggle can be heard in your ear.

“Is my good girl that desperate?” placing her hands on your ass and assisting you in slamming down onto her.

“I bet she couldn’t ruin you like this.” positioning her hips at just the right angle to hit your G-spot over and over again as she picks up her pace for you.

Loudly mewling out as she rails into you, the ethereal wave comes back and takes hold of you again. Slamming yourself down onto her on your own, you can only think about cumming for her.

Right as the orgasm is about to shatter through you, Sana flips you over and throws you into a mating press, thighs against your chest and starts jackhammering into you so deeply that it sets your skin on fire.

“Fuck, S-s-ana! I’m gonna c-cum! J-ust like th-that baby!”

“Tell me who you belong to, honey.” her tempo only accelerates.

“You! Only you!” turning you into a groaning mess as you come undone around her.

Vision blacking out, you practically scream as you lose your sense of self and turn into exactly what she wanted, a ruined wife.

Her ruined wife.

Every fiber of your being set on fire and you violently thrash underneath her, creating a mess on the sheets and all over your wife.

Sana is laying soft sweet pecks on your cheeks as she lets you ride out your orgasm, holding your hips still while she lightly rocks into you.

“You’re so good for me, baby.” kissing your forehead and standing up, removing the strap from inside you.

“Look at the mess you made” pointing to the lace smeared with slick.

Unable to catch your breath, you try to compose yourself to reply when she sinks to her knees between your legs.

“Let me help clean you up, honey.”

A long, wide tongued lick up your pussy has you twitching immediately, still completely sensitive and walking into overstimulated territory.

All you can say is “Fuck, baby.” as she laps at you, cleaning up the remanence of cum from your thighs and cunt.

Passing over your clit intentionally, she watches you squirm and moans into you. Hands immediately grasping at her head, trying to pull her closer.

“Is that what you want, baby?” before a rhythmic open mouth kiss engulfs your most sensitive area and turns you back into a groaning mess.

It wasn’t long before she added her fingers into your folds, slipping two in immediately and pressing them up while latched onto your clit.

Bucking your hips into her mouth, you release the loudest, guttural moan you’ve ever heard as you cum around her fingers. Barely giving you enough time to come down from your first orgasm, she expected this of you - cumming quickly for her a second time.

Feeling the droplets of sweat dropping from your forehead, you feel Sana crawl up next to you and snuggle into you. Still gasping for air, you rolled onto your side and nuzzled into her. She played with your hair until you eventually fell asleep in her arms.

—

Waking up the next day was an atrocious feeling, not enough sleep and more sore than you ever had been.

Cracking your eyes open, you realize the bed is empty and there’s laughter coming from the kitchen.

Sitting up and rolling out of bed, you stretch and wince before getting a pair of Sana’s sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt to cover yourself up.

Opening the door to the bedroom, you wipe the sleep from your eyes and meander over to where the sound was coming from, dragging your feet along the way.

Sana and Nayeon are drinking coffee together in their pajamas - Sana is wearing one of your shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, a stark difference to what she wore last night. Nayeon has on something similar.

“Well good morning to you, Y/nnie!” Nayeon blurts out before falling into a thunderous cackle.

“You look like you got beat up! I said good luck, didn’t you hear me?” continuing to laugh with Sana.

“How bad are they? I didn’t check my neck in the mirror…wait, you…you knew?!” squinting at her in judgement.

“They’re pretty bad…Sana must have a biting kink, hm? And of course I knew! The tension between the two of you can be felt light years away. Plus, you weren’t exactly quiet about it.” fighting the laughter as she winked at you.

Nayeon’s hands shoot up in innocence again.

“She’s yours, Sana. I wouldn’t dream of taking her away from you.”

Looking over at Sana, she’s got her hand over her mouth trying to stifle the giggles. She walks over to pour you some coffee.

“I think it’s more about possessive and less about biting…And what are you laughing at?! You started this!” pointing at your wife as she turns beat red.

“No I didn’t.” nonchalantly as she passes you the mug.

“Nayeon should be happy that she’s leaving tonight.” sipping the warmth and smacking your lips at the taste.

“Why is that?” curiously inquired by Im Nayeon.

Looking over at Sana, she’s embarrassed and covering her face with her hand again but for different reasons.

“I didn’t flirt with you, but Sana flirted with the waiter in front of my face like that so I’ll put it this way…I know someone who’s louder and about to get it a lot worse than I did.”

[6gumi]

breathless.

synopsis ﹒jjk men giving you surprise kisses gone wrong (GONE SEXUAL!) that’s it. that’s the fic

pairings ﹒toji fushiguro, yuuta okkotsu, yuuji itadori, satoru gojo x f!reader

cw ﹒a little suggestive. not proofread (oops), makeout sessions kinda?, yuuji + yuuta aged up! slight vaginal fingering involved, dirty talk, petnames used ! (princess, baby, etc etc) you guys literally just make out n it goes wrong . . . do i need to say more ? <3

note ﹒sm thoughts sm thoughts sm thoughts !!! yuuji’s is the only fluff n innocent one LMFAO feel free 2 interact w me by sending an ask ! i’m still trying 2 finish up my requests so please be patient and know that only thirsts r open for now <3 — millie ! ♡

୨୧ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

toji always loved teasing you, especially during makeout sessions you both would have occasionally. he does a lot and i mean a lot of things to tease you during them too, it’s unfair! he loved it whenever you had your arms crossed infront of him, eyebrows furrowed while you lectured him for his laziness. he merely just chuckled at your attempts to tell him off for being such a lazy jerk, slowly closing the distance between both of you. you can’t blame him, can you? it’s not like you wanted him to stop either.. it’s crazy how your voice and that irritated look in your eyes left him feeling light-headed. before he knew it, toji you in his arms, holding you just a little too tight. “hey! let go of me, toji. ‘m not finished saying what i wanna say—“ and.. there he goes again. a deep groan left him as his lips traced each inch of your neck, his entire body clenched as he grabbed your wrist. toji’s other hand buried itself in your hair, caressing and pulling at it from the back, interlocking his lips with yours..

god.. your makeout sessions always begin this way, but honestly you didn’t really complain. toji ran his hand up your body, wrapping it around your neck as she squeezed it lightly.. careful not to hurt you too much. his lips on yours was the sweetest torture you had ever felt in your whole life, your heart pounding against your chest at a furious pace as he held you closer to him, not letting go of you anytime soon. “sorry, doll. what’d ya say earlier? too busy kissin’ these pretty lips of yours.” “oh great, and you weren’t even listening too?” the raven just shrugged, a smug expression painted on his face. “dunno, just wanted t’kiss your lips, you talk too much princess.. needed to shut you up.” gosh, you could’ve sworn you felt a vein popping out of your forehead out of frustration, is this guy for real? “mm.. can i continue kissing your lips?” was all he said, a low sigh leaving your lips before you waited for him to kiss you again. “oh no baby, not these lips. i mean the other ones.” oh yeah, expect yourself to be breathless after this.. kisses or not!

୨୧ 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐓𝐀 𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐒𝐔

yuuta can’t help it! he couldn’t help but admire you the whole time you rambled about a weird first interaction you had with his companion toge inumaki and how hard it was to understand him! thank the lord you didn’t even notice just how intensely his eyes stared at you, as if they were digging daggers into your soul. this is probably a constant thing for him, i feel like yuuta likes giving you shy surprise kisses out of nowhere! and sometimes, he can’t even control his body and they just smooooch your lips, atleast.. that’s what he says! he can’t help but grin every single time he sees that flustered expression on your face after he catches you off guard with his surprise kisses, he’s just trying to have after all. though sometimes he’s aware that, these “small yet shy surprise kisses” will turn into much more than what they seem. and you wanna know what they turn into? heated makeout sessions of course!

yuuta’s large hands rest on the nape of your neck, the other on your waist as he pushes you down the mattress with his weight, trying his best not to crush you completely with his body as his kisses were slow.. slow and passionate yet you knew that was gonna change in a few minutes or so, and you were right! in the blink of an eye, yuuta wraps his two hands beneath your thighs, lifting you up slightly so your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling the both of you closer and into a more passionate yet lustful embrace and kiss. the special grade sorcerer pulled away, chuckling when you puckered your lips a tiiny bit to taste his sweet lips on yours again, yuuta gave your jaw a small peck. “may i?..” the raven muttered under his breath.. lifting your skirt and tugging at the hem of your panties. just know that.. if you nod and say yes, oh boy. be prepared to stay up all night! those surprise kisses were a trap to kiss you until you were breathless!

୨୧ 𝐘𝐔𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

let’s see here.. to sum things up, yuuji loves giving you surprises kisses! and i mean loves it! he likes catching you off guard whenever he presses a kiss against you, your boyfriend gives you small little surprise kisses literally anywhere and everywhere, so much that you even have to tell him to tone down a bit because of how flustered you were! “but why, babe? i like kissing you..” he knew you liked it whenever he was affectionate so he would plant many many love kisses all over you nonstop! usually sometimes he even just gives you one when it’s unnecessary or so, kissing you on the cheek while you scroll on your phone.. kissing the nape of your neck from behind whenever you were in the kitchen, sneakily kissing your inner thigh from beneath the bedsheets, you name it! yuuji yawned as he wrapped an arm around your waist, scooting you even closer against him. “babe, can i kiss you?” no answer, you were too focused on that stupid movie you wanted to watch, he didn’t think you’d get this invested. the male gently put a hand on your thigh, surprise-kissing the blade of your shoulder with much desire and love.

anndd.. here you both go again.. on the couch as the room was filled with sharp heavy panting and lewd noises. yuuji’s hands grabbed onto your waist and moved you back and forth on his gap, feeling a bulge press against you as your cunt pulsed around nothing.. you prayed he didn’t feel anything. you always wondered how he’s so sweet and delicate with your kisses as if you were some kind of gentle flower you needed to protect, his touches were so soft.. so gentle and yet a little hesitant.. not wanting to hurt you in anyway. his mouth moved towards your jaw and then your hands. “you should kiss me more babe, i like how soft your lips feel on mine.” “i already allow you to give me surprises kisses in private and public, what more do you need, hm?” “.. another kiss, maybe? or maybe.. more kisses? more than the amount i give you in one day?” ahh.. you know you can’t say no to him, you knew just how much he wanted to kiss you breathless.

୨୧ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

surprise kisses with him are a must (atleast 2 him!) he loves sneaking small little pecks on your cheek and lips, though.. his surprise kisses are rather bold and lead to more intimate moments between the both of you. heated and long messy makeout sessions to more.. bolder ones, though you aren’t complaining really, he isn’t either.. in-fact he loves the faces you make whenever he plunges his tongue inside your mouth with no warning at all, grabbing at your ass.. your waist, you name it! scolding him about his “surprise” kisses won’t help either, he just knows how to rile you up in no time! the special grade groaned into the kiss as he pulled you onto his lap, grabbing your hips and squeezing at it with his hands. satoru sighs lowly, struggling against the heat and lust that was now flowing through his body like hot lava, he wanted more and he craved more.. he didn’t even care that it was supposed to be a “small” surprise kiss, he wanted you and he wanted you now. you sure do have that effect on him.

“you’re such a cute little angel for me, mhm? stay still for me a bit, yeah?” oh you knew what he was gonna do. you hear him spit on the top of his fingers for a second, body jolting as you felt his fingers rubbing your clit. “i’m sorry. i can’t get enough of you. look at this, you’re so wet already, angel. all this for me? all because of the kissing, hm?” he rubbed the slit of your pussy with two fingers at a harsher pace.. feeling your wetness on his fingers. “c’mon, keep kissing me pretty. don’t let these fingers distract you, yeah?” was all he said before the sweetness of his lips returned on your own, his kisses were sloppy and messy but yet he didn’t show any signs of stopping anytime soon.. his digits curling in your cunt, forcing a muffled moan from your lips. adding another finger in, he could feel how tight his pants felt.. getting all hard just from fingering you and kissing you alone was crazy enough, he wasn’t playing around.. he wanted more.. and he’ll get more. satoru will do this over and over again until you’re absolutely breathless.

[jezebelblues]

forsaken | h.s

summary: florence 1583. a woman of fire, a man of fuel.

cw: smut18+ penetration (piv), oral fem!receiving, parent death, fem!reader, unedited. unrealistic happy ending if u seek tragedy 😔

world count: approx 17.2k

| omg will be writing more on these 2, renaissancerry is my heart <3 not rlly thinking a series, more like extras on them fosho. ps: am not a historian or time traveler–if u see something incorrect no u didn’t

masterlist

Florence, 1583

Harry Edward Styles was born to a mother, an older sister, and two fathers—one of blood, one of choice.

The man that bore his blood to the two Styles children preferred the sound of the way glasses of ale would clink in warm evenings, the twinkle of gold coins in the sunlight. Children were the continuation of a name, a bloodline—and that’s all he thought them to be. The only fathering a man was made to do was the ritual of burying their seed in a woman, her duty was to grow them.

So, after a son with his same eyes drew his first breath, he rose a dagger and marked his heel with one singular, vertical dash.

He had done the same when his sister was brought into this world, but he marked her with a horizontal dash.

Their mother, Anne, didn’t understand why—and hated it with every fiber in her being—watching her newborns cry for any other reason then being pulled from the comfort of their mother’s womb.

Once their father left after Harry’s first week on earth, she understood why, his words messily printed with ink on parchment.

Dearest Anne,

Thank you for bringing my own flesh and blood into this world. You are a woman I entrust most with them, having been chosen by God to bear such souls.

Which is why I must leave. A man has more to do with his time on this Earth than to nurture, I shall pour my being into others and bring forth more Brothers and Sisters for sweet Gemma and Harry.

My blood with course through this nation and find itself basking within the kingdom of heaven. I’ve marked my children to find them when God finally calls us forth.

Your womb is a gift from the angels above.

Until then,

– Desmond.

For a while, she mourned the loss of her lover and children’s father. But as time continued, as it always does, she realized that she had dodged the fatal strike of a sword.

She was unsure of the crimes committed by the hands of their father, but she remembers hearing the news of him being hung in the southernmost village of their country.

On Harry’s second birthday, she had fallen in love with a woodmaker, Robin. Shortly after, they moved to Wiltshire and Robin was always known as their papa.

Of course, Harry and Gemma had learnt their true parentage before the dawn of Gemma’s thirteenth birthday, but it was hard to mourn a man you had never known.

Anne would have never told them he was hung in a town’s square, but ascended to heaven of natural causes—the inevitable kiss of an angel.

The scent of turpentine and drying oils had long become as familiar to Harry as the earth beneath his feet. In the cool stillness of his studio, he paused, fingers stained with ochres and umbers, to stare at the remnants of his father’s brush—the one he had used all those years ago, before the fever came.

Harry’s father had been no renowned artist. He was a man of simple trades, a woodworker from the hills of Wiltshire, far from the splendor of Florence’s sunlit domes. But in the evenings, when the day’s labors were done, his father would sit by the window, painting quietly by candlelight. It was there, beside him, that Harry had first seen the magic of creation—colors flowing like rivers across rough wood and fraying canvas, ordinary scenes transformed by the wild, unspoken emotion in every stroke.

His father had painted not for fame, but for peace.

Harry had only been fourteen when his father’s hands, once steady and sure, began to tremble with sickness. His chest had grown tight, his breaths shallow, until finally they stopped altogether. He remembers the way the pads of his fingertips would prune from bringing a water soaked rag to his lips, how his father would drink from the drops of it.

For a while, he hated the color red and grey. His father’s lips would crack with peaks of crimson, leaving faint stains of red on the water rag in its wake. His skin greyed in a speed he didn’t think possible once his heart fell absent of a beat.

In the days that followed, the house had filled with the clamor of neighbors, mourners, and merchants, but Harry could only hear the quiet absence in the stillness.

In the flickering silence, he had picked up his father’s brush.

The years after his father’s death were a blur of movement, as though he had been running from some unseen ghost. He had wandered south, across valleys and mountains, always chasing the sun. By the time he arrived in Florence, he was a man of twenty three and had little more than the clothes on his back and a single paintbrush to his name.

Florence had embraced him like a reluctant lover. The city’s streets were gilded with Renaissance splendor, yet heavy with the weight of expectation. It was a place of grandeur and art, where even beauty was a form of currency—where the Medici and other noble families wore their wealth as a crown and commissioned artists to immortalize their names in frescoes and portraits.

Harry’s talent had bloomed in these streets, but it had come at a price. Every stroke of his brush, every commission, felt like an unspoken promise to a father who would never see what his son had become. The bright colors of his palette were often mixed with the shadow of his grief, and though his name was now whispered in the gilded halls of Florence’s elite, Harry felt as though he were forever painting in the twilight between joy and sorrow.

Sometimes his mind would wonder to the possibility of if he was an angel banished by God, his punishment being to bear the pain of not having lost one, but two fathers.

Three if he counted the absence of Jesus in his life. He felt fatherless, in all senses of the word.

Or maybe it was all well circulated fairytale, conjured in the thoughts of his father’s, the one he shared blood with, brain.

He had grown to resent the mark on his foot, and in the depths of his heart he would refer it as the the kiss of the devil, rather than the mark of God.

He would blame his struggle with faith on his fathers, the three men who sat behind the title.

Desmond, for abandoning his family.

Robin, who loved him like a son and died in front of his eyes.

And Jesus, who had ignored his prayers for his papa to stay and to take him instead.

But it was the pain, the deep and gnawing ache within him, that had given his art its soul. His patrons spoke in reverence of his ability to capture more than a face—how he painted the delicate tremor of a moment, a fleeting look, a breath before the breaking. His works were praised as vibrant, yes, but they also carried something deeper, something tragic. A hidden sadness, like the ghost of a love lost too soon.

In his heart, he knew: he painted because the world was filled with such unrelenting beauty, and that beauty was fleeting. To capture it was to hold on, however briefly, to something that could not last.

One afternoon, as golden light filtered through the shutters, a letter arrived. The wax seal bore the mark of a powerful house—the Candela family. A commission for their daughter’s portrait. A noble request, one that might cement his place among Florence’s greatest. But it was not the promise of riches or recognition that made Harry’s heart stir with something close to fear. It was the girl herself, the rebellious daughter who, rumor had it, could not be tamed by family or duty.

As Harry read the letter, his thoughts drifted back to the girl he had once seen in the Candela gardens. Her eyes had been bright, but wild. Free. In that moment, he knew what she was—a living echo of the spirit he had long tried to capture in his art: untamable, elusive, yet heartbreakingly beautiful.

It was a portrait that might change everything. Or destroy him.

He set the letter down and turned back to the canvas, but his hands trembled once more, just as his father’s had in those final days. A reminder of mortality. A reminder that every brushstroke was borrowed time.

But still, he would paint.

*

The heavy velvet curtains of the Candela palazzo had long felt like a prison to her. Born into one of Florence’s oldest and wealthiest families, Y/N had spent her life in the shadow of their legacy—one that was both gilded with fortune and bound by duty. From the moment she took her first breath, her future had been decided for her. Her days were filled with lessons in etiquette, music, embroidery, and diplomacy, while her nights were a symphony of forced pleasantries at banquets and balls, always under the watchful eyes of her mother and the judgment of the city’s elite.

But from a young age, Y/N knew she was not made for such a life. Beneath the layers of silks and jewels, beneath the carefully orchestrated smiles and curtsies, there was a fire burning in her—one that she had learned to hide from everyone around her, for fear it would consume her entirely.

Her earliest memories were not of the marble halls of the palazzo, but of the gardens beyond its walls, the wild olive groves that stretched out toward the hills. It was there, in the quiet spaces between her responsibilities, that she found her freedom. She had spent her childhood escaping into the fields, where the wind would tear through her hair and her laughter would echo through the trees, free from the rules that shackled her in the world of men.

Her father, the head of the family, was a cold and distant man, more concerned with his political alliances than with his children. He rarely spoke to her except to remind her of her place—her duty to the family, her obligation to marry into another powerful house and secure the Candela legacy. Y/N’s mother was no different, though her scoldings came wrapped in sweet, deceptive smiles. She had been raised to be an ornament, a living testament to her family’s wealth and power, and Y/N was expected to do the same.

But she refused to be molded by their expectations.

She had always been different from the other girls of her station. Where they dreamed of betrothals and courtly love, she dreamed of escape. She would slip out of the palazzo at night, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant, and wander the streets of Florence, blending into the crowd, invisible for the first time in her life. In the dim glow of lanterns, she would listen to the street musicians, watch the painters in the piazza, and breathe in the freedom that was denied to her by daylight.

By the time she reached womanhood, her spirit had only grown wilder. Her parents, exasperated by her refusal to marry the suitors they paraded before her, tightened their grip on her life. But the more they tried to contain her, the more fiercely she fought to break free. She began to push the boundaries of what was expected of a noblewoman—her wit was too sharp, her temper too bold, her opinions too dangerous. Whispers spread through the Florentine courts, branding her rebellious, unfit for the delicate role of a noble wife.

It was not that Y/N wanted to be unwed. She simply refused to give her life to a man who would cage her like a bird. She longed for something more than what Florence could offer her, more than a life of duty and appearance. There were moments—fleeting though they were—when she felt she could see the world as it truly was, raw and beautiful, and she wanted to live in that truth, not the carefully constructed illusion of noble society.

That was when her mother decided it was time to have her portrait painted, a desperate attempt to remind the world of her beauty, her value. It was, of course, more for show than for art—another piece in the game of noble alliances, another way to lure in potential suitors. But Y/N saw it for what it was: a final effort to tame her.

And that was when she had first heard his name—Harry, the painter from the north.

Her mother spoke of him with the same dismissive tone she used for all the artisans they employed, but there was something about this Harry that intrigued her. He was not born of noble blood, and yet his name carried weight in the circles that mattered. The Medici spoke of him with admiration, and even the Pope had once commissioned his work. His paintings, it was said, had a rare quality—they revealed not just the outward beauty of a subject, but the soul beneath.

Y/N had seen one of his works in the home of a distant cousin, a portrait of a young woman who had died tragically young. The face had been serene, the colors soft and gentle, but the eyes—the eyes had told a story of longing and loss that no courtly painter would dare to capture. It had haunted her ever since.

For days, she tried to convince herself it was just another scheme of her parents—another attempt to make her fit the mold she had spent her life breaking. Yet, she could not deny the flicker of curiosity that sparked within her. What would this man see in her? Would he, too, try to make her into something she was not? Or would he paint the fire she had spent her whole life hiding?

The day her mother informed her of the first sitting, Y/N had felt the familiar weight of resignation settle over her. She would sit for this portrait because she had no choice. She would smile, she would pose, and in the end, her mother would hang the portrait in some grand hall for every eligible bachelor to admire. It was all part of the game they had been playing for years.

But when the day came, and she finally entered the makeshift studio lended to Harry for the length of his time here, she felt a shift in the air, as though the fates had turned their gaze upon her.

Harry was not what she expected. He was younger, rougher around the edges than the other artists her family had employed. His dark curls were wild, and there was a certain sadness in his eyes, something she recognized all too well. He was no stranger to loss, that much was clear. His eyes were a vibrant green she had not seen before, unless she counted the gardens that sat in a rainy haze. Perhaps he was a painting himself. And he, too, seemed out of place in the glittering world of Florence’s elite. It was as though he was merely passing through, as though he belonged somewhere quieter, more distant.

Draped in heavy silks, with eyes as sharp as a hawk and a posture that suggested defiance rather than decorum, the daughter of the noble Candela family was unlike any of his previous subjects. Her name was Y/N, and she exuded an air of mischief that the delicate ladies of Florence rarely allowed themselves to entertain.

He did not greet her with flowery pleasantries, as other painters had. Instead, he regarded her quietly for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face—not in judgment, but as if he were searching for something hidden beneath the surface.

“You’re the one they cannot tame.” He said at last, his voice low, almost amused. His accent confirmed he did not have deep roots in Italy, it sounded more of the English suitors her mother would introduce.

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. And somehow, in that moment, Y/N knew that he had already seen more of her than her family ever had.

She smirked, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “That depends on what you believe needs taming.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a half-smile, and for the first time in years, Y/N felt as though she could breathe just from the few seconds in his presence.

Her eyes gaze around the studio as she waltzes further in, her lips in a closed smile. Her skin held the glow of the sun beautifully, hair bouncing with the scent of lavender. Her fingers feather across a few empty canvasses he has on stilts, messes of paint and brushes scattered onto a table. “They say Hephaestus molded your flesh and bones before sending you to Earth.” She eased, a smile still on her reddened lips. Her steps clicked closer to where Harry stood, eyes still drawn out the windows surrounded by nature. “I heard Aphrodite herself kissed your wrist, frame still soft with clay.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, though her tone soft, there was anything but sincere admiration laced in her words. “I assure you that there’s no markings of her kiss pressed unto me—m’just a man with a brush.”

She hummed, rounding the stilt between them and watching the sunlight glimmer in his eye as the sun would in the waves. There was no denying the shift in the air between them, an unspoken understanding that went beyond the typical dance of polite conversation. In this studio, amidst the scent of oils and pigment, they were stripped of the titles and roles society had thrust upon them.

“A man with a brush.” She repeated softly, almost to herself. She reached out, her fingers grazing the surface of one of the unfinished canvases. The texture of it was rough, still raw with potential, much like her own life—full of promise, but still undefined. “I wonder,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “what you see when you look at me.”

Harry’s hands, stained with the colors of his art, stilled for a moment. He had painted many faces, each one a portrait of both beauty and sorrow, but this woman—this subject—was different. There was something about Y/N that made him hesitate. She was not like the others who sat for him with plastered smiles, eager to be frozen in time, their beauty immortalized for the world to see.

No, Y/N did not want to be captured in that way. She wanted something more, something truer. Her spirit was restless, untamed, and her gaze held a challenge, as though daring him to see beyond the layers of silks and expectations. To see the woman beneath.

Slowly, Harry moved closer to her, the distance between them shrinking. He studied her face, not with the detached gaze of an artist trying to perfect his subject’s likeness, but with a quiet intensity that sent a ripple through the stillness of the room. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

“I see a woman who was never meant t’be caged.” He mumbled. “I see fire and wind—a calm in an eye of a storm that would bring no ruin; something wild, something the world doesn’t understand.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly at his words. It was as if, in a single moment, he had unraveled all the masks she had carefully worn her entire life. The world she had known, the roles she had played, felt fragile and false in the face of this raw truth.

“And yet,” Harry continued, his voice dipping lower, “they try to fit you into a frame, don’t they? As if y’could ever be captured.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Y/N let herself be vulnerable. She turned away from the canvases, facing him fully, the light catching the strands of her hair like molten gold. Her eyes met his, no longer guarded, no longer deflecting.

“I don’t belong in that frame.” She whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a confession. “But they’ve been trying to fit me into one for as long as I can remember.”

Harry nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. “I know.” He said simply. “I’ve spent my life painting what people want to see. But you–”

He trailed off, as though the thought itself was too bold, too dangerous to speak aloud.

“Me?” she pressed, her heart beginning to race in her chest. She stepped closer, drawn to him in a way that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

“With you,” Harry continued, his voice a hushed murmur, “I want t’paint what the world can’t see.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them was palpable, charged with the weight of unspoken desires, and the world outside the studio seemed to fade away. In that small, sunlit room, there were no titles, no expectations, only two souls who had somehow found one another in a world that had tried to break them.

Y/N’s hand hovered near Harry’s arm, and then, slowly, as if testing the waters of some forbidden sea, she let her fingers brush against his. The contact was light, fleeting, but it sent a shockwave through both of them.

“I want that too,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the vulnerability of the admission.

Harry swallowed, the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He had never felt this way about a subject before, had never let himself blur the lines between artist and muse. But with Y/N, those lines had already been crossed the moment she had walked into his studio.

They stood there for a moment longer, hands barely touching, eyes locked in a silent conversation. And then, as if by unspoken agreement, they both pulled back—just enough to remind themselves of the roles they were meant to play, even as those roles were beginning to crumble.

Harry stepped away first, turning back to his easel, his voice steady as he spoke. “We’ll begin the portrait today. But I won’t paint what they expect.” He nodded toward her, “A caged dove to be set free.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, her heart still pounding in her chest. She knew, in that moment, that whatever Harry painted, it would be the truest version of herself she had ever seen. And it would bind them together in ways neither of them could yet understand.

“This will displease them.” She smiled, pausing her words. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her voice carried the weight of a promise, though she wasn’t sure who it was meant for—him, or herself.

Without another word, he jutted his chin toward the chair in the center of the room. “Sit.” He instructed, his tone soft but firm.

She followed his gesture, looking toward the seat and ambling toward it silently. She sat, keeping her spine stiff—something that was embedded into her through her training over the years. His eyes narrowed onto her face, cataloging each curve, line, and hint of emotion that sat in her eyes.

Their sittings became a ritual over the last month—an escape from the suffocating demands of her family, from the world that sought to control her. Each time she stepped into his studio, it was as though she left the weight of her name behind, shedding it like a heavy cloak. Here, she was not the Candela daughter, not the rebellious heiress trapped by duty. She was simply Y/N, a woman with dreams and desires that no one had ever cared to ask about.

Harry painted in near silence, his brush moving with a precision that bordered on reverence. But as the days passed, the silences grew warmer, more comfortable, and slowly, they began to talk. He spoke of his father, of the quiet life in England he had left behind, and of how he had found himself in Florence, painting for men who would never understand the depth of what he was trying to capture.

And she, for the first time, spoke of her own longing. Not for marriage or jewels, but for freedom. For the wildness of the world outside the palazzo gates. She told him of the nights she wandered the streets alone, the moments when she felt most alive, when the weight of her name fell away and she became just another face in the crowd.

With every word, with every glance, they both knew they were crossing a line—one that could never be uncrossed. Their relationship was not one of artist and subject. It was something deeper, more dangerous. And Florence, with all its grandeur, was not kind to those who broke its rules.

As Harry’s brush moved over the canvas, he realized he was no longer painting just a portrait. He was capturing the essence of a woman who had lived her entire life behind a mask, forced into roles she never wanted to play. With each stroke, he revealed her fire, her vulnerability, her defiance.

And Y/N, who had spent her life being told what she should be, saw herself reflected in his eyes—not as the noble daughter, not as the prize her family sought to offer to the highest bidder, but as she truly was.

In those stolen moments, as the sunlight filtered through the shutters and the world outside seemed to fall away, they became something Florence would never understand. They were freedom itself—dangerous, fleeting, and unbearably beautiful.

Y/N’s portrait only neared its finish as time continued to pass. They would always meet three times a week for about an hour or two. She would never say it out loud, but it began to become a favorite part of her weeks—meeting Harry. His soul was anything unlike she’s ever known, and all she wanted to do was linger.

They sat outside the cobblestone studio, lying upon a blanket adorned with fresh vegetables, cheeses and meats. Her mother and Father had been out for the day, and she thought it’d be a perfect opportunity to see Harry as he is, rather than the painter.

He spoke of his travels as he would eagerly show her he could catch the bites of cheese he would throw into his mouth—and he would order her to rank each catch one through ten.

Harry lied back, weight on his elbow as his curls tousled perfectly in the warm breeze. Y/N lied on her belly, kicking her feet in the air behind her as she lie her head on her folded arms.

The afternoon sun peaked from the trees above them, catching the light in her eyes perfectly. Harry always found her to be beautiful, but at this moment she looked ethereal.

He tossed another piece of cheese into the air, leaning his head back and catching it deftly with his mouth, smiling proudly as he chewed. “Well?” He asked, his voice teasing. “What say you? Surely that was a ten.”

Y/N laughed, the sound as bright as the sun and as sweet as the strawberry he head earlier. “A six, perhaps.” She grinned, voice lilting with playful challenge. “Surely you could do better.”

His smirk widened, and he threw another piece of cheese, catching it again with exaggerated flourish. “A six indeed.” He mumbled, feigning offense. “I think you’re quite mistaken, my lady.”

She bit her lip to suppress another laugh, shaking her head against her forearms. “Perhaps your talents lie elsewhere.” She mused, her voice dripping to a soft, flirtatious murmur as she gazed at him through her lashes. “Catching cheese seems beneath you.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else in them too—something she hadn’t seem from him yet, something that sent a shiver down her spine. "And what talents might you suggest, then?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, though the undertone was laden with meaning.

Y/N's breath caught for a moment, her heart fluttering in her chest as the playful banter between them took on a new edge. Her gaze lingered on his lips before she tore it away, focusing on the light streaming through the leaves above them. "I think you know the answer to that.” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to still around them. The laughter and lightness faded, replaced by the palpable tension that had been simmering between them for weeks. It hung in the air now, thick and undeniable. Harry shifted beside her, his playful grin fading into something more serious as he watched her carefully, as though waiting for her to give him permission to step closer to that edge.

He wanted to toss away the platter that lay between them, to grab her waist and flip her onto her back and show her the talents he possessed. It made his heart go into a sputtered mess, to cloud his gaze with need. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was in that moment.

“Did you hear me?”

Harry blinked, shaking his head before letting a sheepish smile spread across his lips. “No. I suppose not.”

“Have you ever thought of leaving Florence, H? Of leaving all of this behind?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, the question pulling him from whatever unspoken thought had been lingering on his lips. He exhaled softly, rolling onto his back and staring up at the sky. "I've thought of it," he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, thoughtful. "But Florence has become something of a home. Even if it binds me, l've learned t’live within those bounds."

Y/N frowned, her heart tightening at his words.

"But don't you wish for more? Don't you long for freedom?"

He turned his head to look at her, and in his eyes, she saw a reflection of her own yearning, the quiet desperation that they had both been trying to ignore. "Of course I do," he murmured. "But freedom is not something easily won. Especially not for people like us."

She swallowed, the weight of his words settling over her like a shroud. She had always believed that Harry, in some way, was freer than she could ever be—an artist, a man without title or the crushing expectations of nobility. But now, she saw the truth. He was as trapped as she was, bound by the invisible chains of his station, his livelihood tied to the whims of men like her father, men who would never derstand the depths of what he truly wanted create.

"And you?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with quiet intensity. "If you could go anywhere, if you could leave all this behind, where would you go?"

She hesitated, the question stirring something deep within her, a longing she had never dared to voice. "Anywhere," she whispered, her gaze distant. "Anywhere but here. I want to see the world, to lose myself in it. I want to go where no one knows my name, where I can be just Y/N—not the daughter of Candela, not someone's prize to be won."

Harry's gaze softened, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, but the air between them crackled with an intensity that neither of them could ignore.

"And if l asked you to go with me?" she said suddenly, her voice trembling with the weight of the question. "Would you?"

Harry's breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost pained. "If you asked me, I would follow you anywhere."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, the enormity of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. The desire to reach out, to cross the boundary they had been skirting for weeks, pulsed through her veins. But fear-fear of the consequences, of what they would beer if they gave in to this—held her back. Harry could feel the weight of her thoughts, the far away look in his eye. He sighed gently, propping himself back onto his elbow as he took a cheese from the platter, lightly throwing it toward Y/N.

It pulled her from her thoughts with a smile as it bounced from her shoulder onto the blanket spread beneath him. He laughed, leaning across the space between them and stealing the cheese for himself. “That’s a zero, I’m afraid.”

*

Before meeting Harry around the same time she had been, she brought forth a bowl of fruits from the kitchen—both a snack and a small gift. The heat was unforgiving today, adorned with the same silk gown she was supposed to wear during these sessions, but her feet were bare. The ground was cold beneath her, blades of grass leaving kisses from the dew left behind.

The temporary studio Harry resided in was across the courtyard, a small, cobblestone building hidden between trees and a small pond.

As she reached the studio, the door slightly ajar, she paused, listening. Inside, she could hear the faint sound of Harry moving, his footsteps light as he adjusted the easel or mixed colors on his palette. Her heart quickened, not out of nervousness, but out of anticipation. Each day spent with him had become an escape, a release from the weight of her family’s expectations.

Pushing the door open with her hip, Y/N entered the room, the bowl of fruit balanced in her hands. Harry was bent over his canvas, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the sinew of his forearms, streaked with paint. His dark curls were unruly, as though he had been running his fingers through them absentmindedly. When he looked up and saw her, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re early today, my dove.” He grinned, his voice warm, the familiar hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I brought something.”Y/N murmured, holding up the bowl of fruit. “A peace offering, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting his brush down and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. He stepped toward her, his eyes flicking from the bowl of fruit to her face, as though trying to discern the real reason for her gift. But there was no pretense between them here, only the quiet truth of what they had started to build—a fragile, unspoken connection that neither of them dared to name.

“I did not understand us to be at war.” Harry teased gently, his voice dropping to that low, familiar murmur that always seemed to make Y/N’s pulse quicken.

She smiled, setting the bowl down on a nearby table. “In these walls, we are always at war.” Her tone was soft, the weight of her words lingering in the air. Her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him, where her likeness had slowly begun to take shape. He was capturing her in a way no one had before—not as the carefully polished daughter of Florence’s elite, but as the restless, untamed spirit she had always been. She stepped closer to the easel, studying the way he had painted her eyes, the intensity of her gaze, the subtle fire that simmered beneath the surface.

“You paint me as though you know me.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s eyes softened, his expression unreadable as he stood beside her. “I am beginning to.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the quiet intimacy of his words. She felt exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never allowed herself to be before. For so long, she had worn her defiance as armor, a shield against the world that sought to control her. But here, with Harry, she didn’t need that armor. She could be raw, unguarded, free.

Y/N turned to face him fully, her bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. She had spent her life being afraid—afraid of disappointing her family, afraid of not living up to their expectations, afraid of being trapped in a life that wasn’t her own. But standing here, inches away from Harry, she realized that the only thing she was truly afraid of was losing this—this feeling, this connection, this fleeting glimpse of what life could be like outside the constraints of duty and decorum. “I am no artist, but your own beauty belongs on canvas.”

For a moment, Harry’s hand hovered near hers, as though he was about to reach out, to close the distance between them. But instead, he stepped back, turning to the easel once more, a breathy chuckle escaping him. “Okay, Shakespeare. Let us thank our lucky stars that you are not.”

She laughs with him, placing the bowl of fruit on the table beside the paint. She shook her head, popping a grape into her mouth. “Here I thought you to whisper me something poetic—we all have an art about us, we are art ourselves.” She mocked in his accent, rolling her eyes.

“Well that would be simply untrue.” He grinned, adjusting the canvas before him. “I am much too talented for you to compare your hand to my own.”

She scoffed, though it was humorous. Through her feigned offense, his lips only spread wider. “Show me to be wrong.”

“Show you wrong?” She raised her eyebrow, parting her lips. “You want me to paint you?”

He nodded, glancing at the blank canvases behind him. She only rolled her eyes as she gently grabbed his wrist, pulling him to the chair into the center of the room. He sat expectantly, his dimple cratering his cheeks as she retreated back toward the bowl of fruit, fishing out a deep red cherry, skipping back toward him. He knit his brows in confusion, but Y/N’s lips parted to speak before him. “You are to be my canvas.” She smiled, bring the cherry to his lips like a challenge. His expression was amused, though he couldn’t deny the way she made his chest tighten with tension. His eyes flickered between both her eyes and the fruit as he gently bit into the fruit, his lips brushing against her fingertips.

It was slow, deliberately intimate. Their eyes still burrowed into each others, she watched as the bead of crimson juice dribble down his chin. She thumbed it away, her touch light and fleeting before she feathers the fruit across the apples of his cheeks, adding to the already flushed pigment. Hesitantly, she pressed her fingers into the glistening flesh, patting it in and leaving his cheeks and lips painted red.

She steps back ever so slightly, putting the rest of the cherry into her mouth and letting a quiet laugh escape her lips. “Consider yourself to be painted.”

He shook his head, his cherry red lips widening into a smile as he stood. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s how it works.” Harry leaned in close, his breath a whisper against her cheek, but he made no move to wipe the remnants of cherry from his skin. His eyes, still dancing with amusement, searched hers, lingering with a quiet intensity. “I’ll grant you this.” He murmured, his voice low, carrying the hint of a jest. “Your methods are..most unconventional.”

She smirked, refusing to be daunted by his nearness. “Unconventional?” she quipped, her chin rising with a flicker of defiance. “I would call it a work of art. Would you not?”

Harry raised a brow, feigning deep thought as he smeared the red juice across his chin with a casual flick of his finger. “A work of art, you say? If by that you mean I appear as though I’ve just stumbled from a duel with a fruit cart, then aye, I’ll concede to your genius.”

Her laughter rang through the studio, a sharp contrast to the quiet that had hung heavy in the room moments before. It echoed off the stone walls, a sound so free that it banished all thoughts of duty, of propriety. The half-finished portrait on the easel, the weight of her family’s name—all of it melted away. In that moment, it was just them. Two souls bound in a fleeting absurdity, lost in shared laughter.

“Delicate sensibilities,” she teased, her brow arching as she wiped the last of the cherry’s stain from her hand. “I never thought to find such in a man.”

Harry’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin. “Delicate, am I?” He drawled, his voice thick with mischief. In a single swift motion, he swiped his thumb across her cheek, leaving a streak of red in its wake. “There. Now we are even.”

She gasped in mock indignation, taking a step back as her fingers flew to the sticky mark on her face. “You’ll rue this day, Harry Styles.”

“Will I?” he challenged, his tone now deep and laden with mischief of its own.

Y/N moved closer, closing the space between them with a deliberate slowness. Her heart raced, but not with the trepidation that had gripped her so often in this room. No, this was something far more exhilarating. The world outside this studio—the rules, the expectations, the rigid walls of her life—it all felt distant, unimportant.

“I’ve never claimed to be a master of painting,” she whispered, her voice dropping like the edge of a velvet curtain. She took a few steps backward, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a plum. She looks at it expectantly in the gleam of sunlight, trotting back toward the painter. “Yet I do believe the best art thrives with a hint of chaos.”

Before he could form a reply, she bit the dark fruit pressed it hard against his chest. The plum burst, sending dark juice cascading down his tunic, staining it deep purple.

Harry blinked in astonishment, his expression hanging in the space between disbelief and amusement. But the moment of shock passed swiftly, and his laughter came, full and bright. “Your peace offering was a coup!” he declared, lunging forward with a handful of cherries.

Y/N shrieked and darted away, her laughter filling the air as she dodged him. They circled the room, the once-serene studio descending into joyful chaos. Fruit flew, staining the floors, the easel, their clothes—a riot of color and recklessness.

By the grace of God the portrait remained untouched through the ordeal.

It was madness. Glorious, reckless madness. And for the first time in her life, Y/N felt utterly, completely free. Free from the chains of decorum, free from the burden of her family’s name. In that riot of fruit and laughter, she was simply alive.

When at last they collapsed onto the floor, breathless and sticky, the room a ruin of color and laughter, neither of them could stop smiling.

Harry lay beside her, still chuckling as he tugged at the ruined tunic. “If my patrons could see me now, they’d see me cast out of Florence faster than y’could say ‘masterpiece.’”

Y/N propped herself up on her elbow, a grin dancing across her lips. “Then we shall flee to the hills. I’ll hide you amongst the olive groves. We’ll live like rogues, artists and outlaws.”

“Artists and outlaws,” Harry echoed, his smile softening, his eyes lingering on hers with a look that carried something far deeper than the playfulness of a moment before. “I think I could grow fond of such a life.”

And in that quiet, as their laughter ebbed into the late afternoon light, Y/N felt the air shift between them. What had started as a game, as flirtation, had become something real. Something undeniable.

And try as they might, neither could outrun it.

As they lay there amidst the chaos, the moment stretched on, teetering on the edge of something neither could fully name. Y/N’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her heart racing not from the frivolity of their earlier play, but from the weight of his gaze on her. The air between them had thickened, laden with an unspoken tension that neither laughter nor fruit could break.

Just as her lips parted to speak—to say something, anything to diffuse the intensity—a sound, sharp and echoing, pierced the air.

The door to the studio had swung open, and there, silhouetted by the fading light of the late afternoon, stood Y/N’s mother, Lady Candela, her presence a sudden, jarring intrusion into their world of fleeting freedom.

Her eyes, dark and sharp as the blade of a dagger, took in the scene before her: the floor littered with the remnants of their childish game, the streaks of fruit staining both their clothes and skin, the disheveled state of her daughter and the painter. And in an instant, the mask of propriety that Y/N had so desperately sought to tear away snapped back into place.

“Y/N.” Her mother’s voice was cold, clipped, a tone that could freeze the blood in one’s veins. “What, in God’s name, is the meaning of this?”

Y/N scrambled to her feet, her breath catching in her throat, but her defiance flickered in her eyes. She had been caught, but she would not cower. “Mother,” she began, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart, “it was nothing—just—”

“Nothing?” Lady Candela stepped forward, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. “This disgrace is nothing? You, a daughter of the Candela family, covered in filth like a common servant? Is this how you choose to honor your name?”

Harry, who had risen to his feet beside Y/N, cleared his throat, stepping forward as if to shield her from the wrath of her mother. “My Lady, it was my doing,” he lied smoothly, his voice respectful but firm. “I allowed myself to get carried away during our session. The fault is mine.”

Lady Candela’s eyes flickered to him, her disdain barely concealed. “And you—an artist—think you can speak on matters of decorum in this house? You are here to paint, not to play the fool.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He could feel Y/N tense beside him, her fists clenched at her sides. The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of Lady Candela’s expectations pressing down on them both like a vice.

But Y/N, ever the rebel, would not be silenced.

“I am not a child, Mother,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I will not be tamed.”

Lady Candela’s gaze snapped to her daughter, her eyes narrowing. “You will be what this family needs you to be, YN. This behavior—this foolishness—ends now. You are to be married, and your actions today have only made that more urgent.”

Y/N’s heart sank, the reality of her mother’s words hitting her like a blow. Marriage. The cage she had spent her entire life trying to escape was closing in around her, tighter and tighter.

She glanced at Harry, her chest tightening. The fleeting freedom they had found in one another was slipping away, vanishing like a mirage in the desert. And yet, she knew she could not let it end like this.

“Perhaps I wished for something more than just another hollow painting to hang on the walls of your prison,” Y/N said, her voice stronger than she felt inside. She could see Harry stiffen at her side, his gaze flickering between her and Lady Candela, but he stayed silent, letting her words hang in the air.

Her mother’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She took a deliberate step forward, her eyes narrowing as they bore into Y/N. “A prison?” she hissed, her voice dropping dangerously low. “You speak of this house as if it were a cage, when all we have done—all I have done—is ensure you live in luxury, surrounded by the finest of Florence. Yet here you are, acting the fool with a common painter.” She spat the word like venom, her eyes flicking toward Harry before returning to her daughter. “Do you want to ruin yourself? To become nothing but a scandal whispered about in the courts?”

Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, but she kept her voice level. “What you call ruin, I call freedom.”

Her mother’s eyes blazed, her nostrils flaring, but before she could retort, Harry stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “My Lady, if I may—”

“You may not,” Lady Candela snapped, cutting him off with a sharp glare. “You are here to paint. Nothing more. Your thoughts and opinions are of no concern to me.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head, stepping back in silent acquiescence.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, each breath Y/N took feeling heavier than the last. Her mother’s gaze never wavered, cold and unyielding, but Y/N refused to back down. Not this time.

“Mother,” Y/N began again, her voice softer now, though no less resolute. “I do not wish to ruin the family’s name. But I also do not wish to be something I am not. I have given you my obedience for years, attended every ball, entertained every suitor you’ve paraded before me. But I cannot—will not—live a life that is not my own.”

For a brief moment, something flickered in Lady Candela’s eyes—something that looked almost like uncertainty, or perhaps a recognition of her daughter’s growing resolve. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same cold, unyielding stare.

“You have a duty, Y/N,” her mother said, her voice flat, as though the very word—duty—was the end of any argument. “To this family. To this city. And if you cannot understand that, then you are more lost than I thought.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of her mother’s words pressing down on her like a heavy cloak. But before she could speak, her mother turned sharply on her heel, heading toward the door.

“You will be expected at dinner,” Lady Candela called over her shoulder, her tone dismissive. “We will discuss your upcoming engagement. I suggest you clean yourself up and remember who you are.”

With that, she swept from the room, leaving Y/N and Harry standing in the wreckage of what had once been a moment of shared joy, the heavy door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the studio.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Y/N could still feel the burn of her mother’s words, each one a reminder of the gilded cage she had been trying to escape her entire life. She swallowed hard, turning toward Harry, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and something else she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t have been involved in that.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes softening as he stepped closer. “You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. I knew what I was stepping into when I took this commission.”

Y/N let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Did you? Did you know you’d be caught in the middle of a battle between duty and freedom?”

Harry smiled, but it was a sad, knowing smile. “In a way, yes. I’ve seen it before. This city—this life—demands so much from those born into its upper echelons. But I think you are stronger than you know.”

Y/N met his gaze, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. She wanted to believe him, to believe that she could somehow break free from the chains that bound her. But the reality of her situation felt suffocating, as if the walls of the studio were closing in around her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I don’t want to be trapped in a marriage I never wanted. But I don’t see a way out.”

Harry reached out, his hand gently brushing her arm, a small gesture of comfort. “There’s always a way out,” he said quietly. “But it’s not always easy.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some hint of hope. But all she saw was the same uncertainty that gnawed at her heart.

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough,” she whispered.

Harry’s grip on her arm tightened, just slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, but full of quiet conviction. “You are. You’ve already proven that.”

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet, the weight of the world pressing down on them, but together, they felt just a little lighter. The path ahead was uncertain, and Y/N knew the battle was far from over. But for now, in this small, sunlit room, with Harry by her side, she felt just a little bit stronger.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

The heavy, golden hour light had faded, replaced by the muted grays of twilight, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the palazzo. Y/N stood before the mirror in her chambers, her reflection staring back at her, cold and distant. She had shed the stained silk gown and washed the remnants of the fruit from her skin, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the weight of her mother’s words or the tension coiled tight in her chest.

Dinner. The final act of the day’s charade, where her mother’s sharp gaze and her father’s stony silence would frame yet another conversation about her future—a future she had no say in. The idea of sitting through another meal where her fate was decided without her input made her stomach twist with dread.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her maid, Lucrezia, entered the room, her face a mask of quiet concern. “My lady,” she said softly, “your mother has requested your presence in the dining hall.”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her hands gripping the edge of the vanity as she steadied herself. “Of course she has,” she muttered, her voice thick with resignation.

Lucrezia stepped forward, her hands moving to adjust Y/N’s gown—another silk creation, pristine and flawless, as if nothing untoward had happened earlier. “Shall I tell her you are not feeling well?” the maid asked gently, her fingers lingering on the delicate fabric.

Y/N smiled weakly, shaking her head. “No, Lucrezia. I must face it. I always must.”

The maid nodded, though her eyes were filled with sympathy. She knew the weight that rested on Y/N’s shoulders, the burdens placed upon her by a family that demanded perfection at all times. But even Lucrezia, with her quiet understanding, could not offer a solution to the problem that had no easy answer.

With a final glance in the mirror, Y/N straightened her posture and lifted her chin. She would face this evening the way she had faced every other trial in her life—head on, even if it tore her apart inside.

The walk to the dining hall felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the vast, empty corridors. The palazzo, so grand and full of splendor, felt like a prison tonight, its marble floors cold beneath her feet, its towering walls closing in on her with every breath.

When she reached the dining hall, she paused just outside the door, gathering her courage. She could hear the faint clinking of silverware and the low murmur of voices—her mother’s sharp, clear tones and her father’s deep, measured replies. It was the sound of a family accustomed to routine, to the rigid structures of their world.

Taking one last breath, Y/N pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The dining room was grand, as always, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes and a long, gleaming table set with the finest china and crystal. Her father, Lord Candela, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he idly cut into his meat. Her mother sat opposite him, her posture perfect, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes sharp as they flicked up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re late,” Lady Candela remarked, her tone light but edged with reproach.

Y/N forced a tight smile, lowering herself into the seat that had been prepared for her. “I apologize, Mother. I lost track of time.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning back to her plate. The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the occasional murmur of servants as they moved in and out of the room.

For a few minutes, Y/N focused on her meal, her appetite nonexistent but her movements precise, each cut of the knife and placement of the fork a carefully rehearsed act of decorum. It was a routine she had perfected over the years, a mask she wore to survive these dinners, to navigate the unspoken landmines of her family’s expectations.

But tonight, the weight of that mask felt heavier than ever.

It wasn’t long before her mother broke the silence, her voice smooth but laden with intent. “Y/N, your father and I have spoken, and we believe it is time to move forward with your betrothal.”

Y/N’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her pulse quickening as she set it down with deliberate care. She had known this conversation was coming—she had felt it looming over her for weeks, like a storm gathering on the horizon. But now that it was here, the reality of it hit her like a blow to the chest.

“Engagement?” she echoed, her voice steady but her heart racing.

Lady Candela nodded, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as though she had just solved some great puzzle. “Yes. We have received an offer from the Montellini family. Lord Montellini is a man of considerable influence, and his son, Leonardo, is a fine match for you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she fought to keep her composure. Leonardo Montellini. She had met him once, at a banquet—a young man with slicked-back hair and an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl. He had looked at her the way one might look at a prized horse at auction, and the thought of spending her life chained to him made her stomach churn.

“Mother, I—” Y/N began, her voice faltering for a moment as she searched for the right words, something that would convey the storm of emotions rising within her without sparking her mother’s ire. “I do not wish to marry Leonardo Montellini.”

Lady Candela’s fork paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded her daughter. “What you wish is irrelevant, Y/N. This is a matter of duty. Of ensuring the future of our family. You cannot afford to be selfish in this.”

Her father, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling through the room. “Your mother is right, Y/N. This marriage is important. The Montellini family’s wealth and influence will secure our place in Florence for generations to come.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she tried to find a way out, a way to make them understand. But how could she make them see that she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live her life in a cage, bound to a man she didn’t love, trapped in a world that suffocated her?

“I understand the importance of family, Father.” Y/N said carefully, her voice measured, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. “But I cannot marry a man I do not love. I cannot live my life as something I am not.”

Her mother’s gaze hardened, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Love,” she scoffed, the word dripping with disdain. “What nonsense. Love is a fleeting thing, Y/N, a frivolous notion for those who have the luxury to indulge in it. We are not those people.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, her breath shallow as she fought to hold back the rising tide of panic. She could feel the walls closing in on her, the future her parents were trying to force upon her looming like a prison, cold and suffocating.

“But I am not you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but full of quiet defiance.

The silence that followed was thick, the tension between mother and daughter palpable as they stared at one another across the table. Lady Candela’s expression remained cold, unyielding, but Y/N could see the flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“You will marry Leonardo Montellini,” her mother said at last, her voice like steel. “And you will do so without further complaint. That is the end of this discussion.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart sinking as the weight of her mother’s words settled over her like a heavy shroud. She felt trapped, suffocated by the life they were trying to force her into, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to fight it.

As the servants moved quietly around the table, clearing the plates and refilling the wine, Y/N stared down at her hands, her mind racing. She knew she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t marry Leonardo. But how could she escape a future that had already been decided for her?

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Harry—to the quiet strength in his eyes, to the way he had seen her, truly seen her, in a way no one else ever had. There was something in him, something that stirred in her a desire for more—for freedom, for choice, for a life lived on her own terms.

But that life felt impossibly far away, separated by the vast chasm of her family’s expectations and the iron grip of tradition.

And as the dinner dragged on, Y/N sat in silence, her heart heavy with the knowledge that, for now, she was still very much trapped. The clinking of silverware and the quiet hum of conversation felt distant to Y/N, as if she were trapped in a cage of sound, separate from everything around her. Her mother, satisfied that her edict had been given, spoke no more of the engagement. Instead, she shifted her attention to her father, discussing household matters and social engagements as if Y/N’s entire future hadn’t just been decided without her consent.

Y/N’s mind, however, was far from the table. It kept circling back to Harry, to the moments in his studio where, for the first time in her life, she had felt something close to freedom. His presence had stirred something within her—a quiet rebellion, a fire that had been smoldering beneath the surface for so long it had almost gone unnoticed. Until now.

As her mother droned on about the upcoming ball and the importance of making a good impression, Y/N’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. The thought of standing beside Leonardo Montellini, paraded like a prized possession for Florence’s elite to admire, made her stomach turn. She had seen his eyes on her before—hungry, possessive, as though she were nothing more than a means to an end for him. The Montellinis wanted to solidify their power, and she was the key to that door.

She could feel the bile rising in her throat, the suffocating weight of her family’s expectations pressing down on her like a vice. How many more dinners like this would she endure? How many more nights would she be forced to smile, nod, and pretend that her life was something she could control?

No. She wouldn’t accept this.

“Y/N,” her mother’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade, sharp and sudden. Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring down at her untouched plate for far too long. Her mother’s gaze was fixed on her, cool and assessing. “What fare you? You have been rather quiet.”

Y/N looked up, her heart racing as she met her mother’s eyes. For a brief moment, she considered telling her the truth—telling her that she wasn’t well, that she couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Leonardo, that the life they had planned for her was suffocating her.

But the words died in her throat. Her mother would never understand. To Lady Candela, duty was everything, and love was nothing more than a foolish indulgence.

Y/N straightened her spine, steeling herself against the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray her in front of her family. Her voice, when it finally came, was measured and cool. “I am well, Mother. Merely tired.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she did not press further, turning her attention back to the meal with a dismissive wave of her hand. Y/N, however, could feel the weight of her father’s gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer. He was quieter than her mother, but no less powerful in his expectations.

The remainder of the dinner passed in a blur, with Y/N’s mind distant from the conversation at the table. As soon as the final course was cleared and her parents rose from their seats, she made her excuses and slipped away, retreating to the sanctuary of her chambers.

Once inside, Y/N locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it, her heart pounding in her chest. The events of the evening, the threat of her future being sealed with a man like Leonardo, weighed heavily on her. She crossed the room to the window, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the sill and stared out into the night.

The city of Florence lay before her, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and moonlight. From her window, it looked peaceful, almost serene, but Y/N knew better. The world outside her family’s palazzo was teeming with life, with freedom that she could only dream of.

And in that world, somewhere amidst the winding streets and narrow alleyways, was Harry.

Her thoughts drifted to him once again, to the way his eyes had softened when he spoke to her, the quiet understanding that passed between them without words. In his studio, she had felt something she had never known before—something raw and unburdened by the chains of her family’s name. It wasn’t just attraction, though she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. It was more than that. It was the promise of escape, of possibility. With him, she could breathe.

Y/N closed her eyes, letting the cool night air wash over her as she made a decision.

She could not stay in this gilded prison any longer. She could not marry Leonardo. She would not be used as a pawn in her family’s games. And if there was anyone who could help her find a way out, it was Harry.

Her heart raced at the thought, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. It was reckless, perhaps even dangerous, but she had no other choice. She had to act before it was too late, before her fate was sealed by forces beyond her control.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Y/N slipped into a simple cloak, pulling the hood over her head to shield her face. She moved quickly and quietly, slipping through the darkened corridors of the palazzo until she reached a small, hidden door that led to the courtyard.

As she stepped outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a cloak of freedom. She paused for a moment, glancing back at the towering walls of her family’s home, the place that had held her captive for so long. And then, with a determined breath, she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the city, her feet carrying her toward Harry’s studio.

The narrow streets of Florence were quiet at this hour, save for the occasional flicker of lamplight or the soft murmur of voices carried on the breeze. Y/N kept her hood low, her steps quick and purposeful as she moved through the labyrinth of alleyways. She had walked these streets before—many times in the dark of night—but tonight felt different. Tonight, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like the stone arches above.

As she neared Harry’s studio, her heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. What was she even doing? She had no plan, no real escape beyond the hope that Harry would understand, that he might offer her a path out of this life she couldn’t bear. A reckless hope, she knew, but it was the only thing she had left.

The studio was tucked away behind a row of trees, secluded from the main roads. The small building, though unremarkable to most, had become a haven for her—one of the few places where she could let go of the expectations that had weighed her down for so long. And Harry, with his quiet strength and sad, knowing eyes, had become the embodiment of the freedom she craved.

As Y/N reached the door, her breath hitched in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle. What if she had misread everything? What if Harry did not want to be a part of her rebellion, her escape?

Yet she stood at his door anyway.

She pushed the door open, the familiar creak breaking the stillness of the night. Inside, the soft glow of a few candles lit the room, casting long shadows over the walls. The scent of drying oils and turpentine filled the air, mingling with the earthy smell of wet canvas. Harry was at his easel, his back to the door, lost in the rhythm of his work.

For a moment, Y/N stood there, watching him in the golden light. His dark curls fell over his brow, and his hand moved with a kind of precision that made her chest tighten. He was absorbed, unaware of her presence, and the sight of him in his element, so quietly powerful, made her heart ache with something she couldn’t name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness.

He froze for a moment, his brush poised in mid-air. Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of her standing there, cloaked in shadow. “Dove?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of concern in it. “What are you doing here?”

She stepped further into the room, her hands trembling beneath the folds of her cloak. “I had to see you.”

His brow furrowed, and he set his brush down, wiping his hands on a rag before crossing the room toward her. “It’s late. If anyone sees you—”

“I bear no sentiment to it,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. Her breath came quickly, the weight of everything catching up with her all at once. “I cannot stay there any longer, Harry. I can’t marry Leonardo Montellini. I cannot live that life.”

He studied her for a moment, his green eyes searching hers, and she saw the conflict in his gaze—the pull between wanting to help her and knowing the dangers of what she was asking. “What are you saying, Y/N?” he asked quietly, though there was a heaviness in his tone.

“I’m saying I need to leave. I need to escape before they lock me into a life I never wanted.” Her voice trembled with the intensity of the confession, and she took a step closer to him. “I don’t know where to go or how to do it, but I cannot stay here.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. His eyes flickered with something—worry, perhaps, or fear for what this might mean for both of them. He glanced at the door, then back to her, the weight of her words sinking in.”

“Do you know what you’re asking?” he said, his voice low. “If you leave, there’s no going back. Your family—Florence—”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “But what is the alternative? To be sold off to a man who does not care about me? To live my life in a cage, pretending to be something I am not? I cannot bear it, Harry. I won’t.”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process what she was saying. She could see the battle in his eyes, the part of him that wanted to protect her warring with the part that understood the gravity of the situation. “And what do you desire from me?” he asked softly, though she could hear the strain in his voice.

Y/N stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest as she met his gaze. “I want you to come with me.”

The words hung in the air between them, charged with a kind of desperate hope. She knew it was asking too much, knew that she had no right to pull him into her escape, but in that moment, Harry was the only person she trusted. The only person who understood her enough to help her break free.

Harry’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say yes. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in a gesture so small, so intimate, it made her chest tighten.

But then he pulled away, shaking his head. “Y/N, I—”

“I know it’s reckless,” she cut him off, her voice filled with a kind of raw vulnerability she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years. “But I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Harry’s expression was torn, his hand still hovering near hers as if he wanted to take it, to pull her into his arms and promise her everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice heavy with regret. “If we run, they will come after us. Your family will not let you go so easily. You know this.”

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to let the weight of his words crush her hope. “Then we’ll be careful. We’ll go somewhere they can’t find us. Please, Harry.” Her voice broke, and she reached out, gripping his arm as though she could will him to say yes. “I know not of heaven nor hell. I know not of Lucifer or God, I know only what I see before me, and If i were to draw my last breath tomorrow, I would perish with all this regret—my soul bound to my grave for eternity.”

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. He stood there, staring down at her with an expression so conflicted it made her heart ache. And then, finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

“We’ll need to leave before first light,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pack only what y’can carry.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of relief and disbelief washing over her as his words sank in. “You’ll come with me?”

Harry met her gaze, and though his eyes were filled with uncertainty, there was a quiet determination in them as well. “Wherever.” He murmured. “But we must be careful.”

A flood of emotions rushed through Y/N all at once—relief, fear, gratitude, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest as tears of both joy and fear slipped down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him. “Thank you, Harry.”

He held her for a moment, his hand resting on the back of her head as if trying to steady them both in the face of what they were about to do. “We shall figure it out,” he said quietly, though she could hear the weight of the uncertainty in his voice.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

As they stood there in the quiet of the studio, the world outside slowly fading into darkness, Y/N felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within her. She didn’t know what the future would hold, but for now, she wasn’t alone.

*

The night air outside the palazzo was thick with the scent of jasmine and damp stone, but to Y/N, it felt more like freedom than anything else. The distant sounds of Florence, the murmur of distant conversations and the soft rush of water from the Arno, filled the silence as she made her way through the narrow streets, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her heart raced, but her steps were sure now. This was her choice, her rebellion.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its pale light over the winding alleys and quiet courtyards as Y/N hurried back to Harry’s studio. Her thoughts were a whirlwind—but she couldn’t think of it now. The only thing that mattered was what lay ahead. She had to believe that there was a life waiting for her beyond the walls of Florence, beyond the expectations that had shackled her for so long. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could find it.

As she reached the secluded courtyard where Harry’s studio stood, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The small building was bathed in moonlight, its wooden door slightly ajar, as if waiting for her. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the doorframe, listening to the soft rustle of the wind in the olive trees.

Inside, the studio was quiet, save for the gentle flicker of the remaining candle on the windowsill. Harry stood at the far end of the room, packing his own bag—his movements careful and deliberate. When he heard her enter, he turned, his eyes immediately meeting hers. There was no need for words; he could see the decision in her gaze, the finality of it. She was here, and there was no going back.

“You are prepared?” His voice was soft, but there was an edge of tension there, a quiet understanding of what they were about to do.

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I am.”

Harry’s eyes softened as he crossed the room toward her, his hand reaching out to brush against her arm in a gesture of comfort. “We shall be leaving soon. I’ve made arrangements to head south, toward Siena. s’not far, but far enough. We will be out of reach, at least for now.”

Siena. The name sounded distant and unfamiliar to Y/N, but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here, better than the fate that awaited her if she stayed. She met Harry’s gaze, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes as she nodded.

“I trust you,” she whispered, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry held her gaze for a moment longer, his green eyes full of that quiet, steady strength that had always made her feel safe. “Then we’ll make it through this,” he said softly. “Together.”

He moved to the door, pulling it fully open and stepping outside into the cool night air. Y/N followed close behind, her heart pounding in her chest as the reality of what they were about to do sank in. They were running. Not just from Florence, but from the lives they had known, from the expectations and the rules that had governed them for so long.

The streets of Florence stretched out before them, dark and silent, like a sleeping beast. They would have to move quickly, before the city woke, before her family realized she was gone. Harry led the way, his pace measured but urgent as they slipped through the narrow alleyways, avoiding the more well-lit streets where guards might patrol.

Y/N kept her hood pulled low over her face, her heart racing with every step they took. She glanced over her shoulder more than once, half-expecting to see her father or Leonardo rounding the corner, chasing her down. But the streets were empty, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

They moved in silence, the weight of their decision hanging heavy between them, but there was no hesitation now. They had crossed the line, and there was no turning back.

It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of the city, where the walls of Florence loomed high above them, casting long shadows over the ground. The gates were closed, but Harry had anticipated this. He led Y/N to a small passageway, hidden between the stones and covered with vines. It was narrow, barely wide enough for one person at a time, but it led out of the city—an old smuggler’s route, known only to a few.

“This way.” Harry whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed.

Y/N nodded, following him through the narrow gap in the wall, her heart pounding in her chest as they squeezed through the passage. The air was cooler on the other side, the scent of the open countryside replacing the dense smell of the city. When they finally emerged, they found themselves on a small, winding road that led away from Florence, disappearing into the hills beyond.

Y/N paused for a moment, turning back to look at the city she was leaving behind. The towering domes and spires of Florence rose into the night sky, bathed in moonlight. It was beautiful—so beautiful it made her chest ache. But it was also a prison, a place that had tried to shape her into something she could never be.

She turned back to Harry, her breath catching as she realized the full weight of what they had done. They were free. But freedom came with a price—a price they had only just begun to pay.

Harry met her gaze, his expression soft but serious. “There’s no going back now,” he said quietly, as if reading the thoughts running through her mind.

Y/N nodded, her hand instinctively reaching for his, their fingers brushing in the cool night air. “I know,” she whispered. “And I am ready.”

Together, they turned and started down the road, leaving Florence behind them—its walls, its expectations, its suffocating weight—everything. The future was uncertain, full of dangers and unknowns. But for the first time in her life, Y/N felt a spark of hope flicker within her. She was free. And with Harry by her side, perhaps—just perhaps—she could build a life that was truly her own.

As they walked through the quiet countryside, the stars above them shining like tiny, distant beacons, Y/N knew that they were only at the beginning of their journey. There would be challenges ahead, and dangers they couldn’t yet foresee. But for now, she allowed herself to breathe in the cool night air, to feel the weight of the past slowly lift from her shoulders.

She glanced at Harry, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, and felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together. And that, she thought, was more than enough.

It had been two days since they left Florence behind, and the journey had been long, filled with the quiet tension of fear that someone might catch up to them, might discover their flight. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rolling hills as Y/N and Harry approached a small inn nestled at the edge of a sleepy village. The inn was humble, tucked between groves of olive trees and fields dotted with grazing sheep. It wasn’t much—just a small stone building with weathered shutters and a modest stable for travelers’ horses—but it was enough. For the first time since leaving the city, they could breathe.

Inside, the inn was warm, the smell of bread baking in the hearth mingling with the faint scent of wood smoke. The innkeeper, a woman with kind eyes and silver streaks in her hair, greeted them with little more than a nod, motioning them toward the narrow staircase that led to their room.

As they climbed the stairs, the weight of the past two days seemed to settle over Y/N like a heavy cloak. The adrenaline that had carried her through the journey was fading, replaced by the quiet realization of what they had done. They had left everything behind—their lives, their families, their very identities—and now, here they were, standing on the precipice of a future they had yet to define.

Their room was small, with a single window that overlooked the fields beyond the village. A modest bed stood against one wall, and a small wooden table with two chairs sat near the hearth. The fire had already been lit, the flames flickering softly in the dim light of the evening.

Harry set their bags down by the door, glancing around the room before turning to Y/N. His expression was calm, but there was a tension in his eyes—a quiet awareness that they had crossed a line they could never uncross.

Y/N crossed the room to the window, her fingers brushing against the cool glass as she looked out at the fading light. The sky was a deep, dusky blue, and the first stars were beginning to appear, faint and far away. For a moment, she said nothing, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft and uncertain. "Do you think we made the right choice?"

Harry turned from the window, his gaze settling on her. His green eyes, illuminated by the firelight, were filled with something unreadable-fear, perhaps, but also a quiet determination. He stepped closer, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots as he walked toward her.

"There was no other choice, Y/N.” He said gently, kneeling beside her. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers, grounding her in the reality of their shared decision. "Not for you, not for me. Remaining in Florence..it would have destroyed you.”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "But what have we done, Harry?" she whispered “I–” her voice trembling. "I have abandoned my family, my name. What if they find us? What if–" Her words trailed off, the enormity of their flight catching up with her. Her thoughts tangled in Fear. Fear of what might come, fear of the unknown future they now faced together.

Harry's gaze softened, and he took her hand fully in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing motion. "I do not know what will come," he admitted, his voice low and steady. "But I know that staying in Florence vould have been a life you could not live. You would have been chained, Y/N, to a life of duty, of expectations that would have suffocated you. What we have now, it may be uncertain, but it is ours."

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "And you, Harry? What have you given up for me?"

Harry smiled faintly, shaking his head as if the question was unnecessary. "Florence never belonged to me.” He murmured. "| painted for men who looked down on me, for families who never saw what I could truly do. l've left behind nothing of importance." He paused, his gaze deepening as he looked into her eyes. "But y–you are the first thing that's ever felt real to me."

Y/N's breath caught at his words, her heart thudding in her chest. She had never expected this-never imagined that leaving Florence would mean finding something, someone, who saw her not as the Candela daughter but as herself, YN, in all her flawed and wild glory. "And what do we do now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We are not nobility here, Harry. We bear no titles, no claims to protect us."

Harry stood then, his hand still holding hers as he pulled her gently to her feet. His expression softened, though there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes, something that made her pulse quicken. "We live Y/N.” he said simply, his voice low and intimate. “For the first time, we live as we choose. I have land in Siena, now—it isn’t much, but it’s a roof and four walls.”

He drew her closer, their bodies inches apart, the warmth from the fire mingling with the heat of his presence. Y/N could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath hitching as his gaze settled on her lips for a brief, tantalizing moment. “You are free now.” Harry murmured, his voice a whisper in the quiet of the room. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep within her. She could feel the walls between them crumbling, the barriers they had built around themselves dissolving in the heat of the fire. And as she looked up at him, her heart in her throat, she knew that whatever lay ahead, she wanted him beside her—no matter the cost.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached up, her fingers brushing against his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath her touch. Harry inhaled sharply, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer still. The air between them seemed to crackle, the unspoken tension that had simmered for so long finally rising to the surface. "Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, drawing her lips closer to his. Their kiss is slow, appreciative—full of months that had gone without it. He cupped her cheek as he parted briefly, holding her eyes into her own before he smiled. Harry's lips crashed against hers in a fierce, desperate kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer still. Y/N gasped against his mouth, her fingers gripping his tunic as the heat of the fire surrounded them, enveloping them in warmth. The kiss deepened, becoming something raw, something that spoke of all the things they had left unsaid —their fear, their hope, their unspoken love.

They stumbled back toward the hearth, their bodies pressed together as Harry's hands roamed over her, pulling at the ties of her gown, freeing her from the constraints of fabric. Y/N's breath hitched as the cool air touched her bare skin, but Harry's warmth, his touch, was all she needed. He held her close, his lips tracing a path down her neck, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

The heat between them became unbearable, a fire that consumed all reason. Harry's hands moved with purpose, deftly undoing the ties of Y/ N's gown, his fingertips brushing against her skin with a tenderness that belied the hunger in his gaze. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the fabric fell away, baring her to him. His eyes, darkened with desire, roamed over her with reverence, as though he was seeing her not as a woman of noble birth, but as someone entirely his, a secret kept only for him.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze, and her hands, trembling slightly, moved to the front of his tunic. She tugged at the laces, fumbling as her fingers brushed the hard planes of his chest beneath the linen. Harry let out a low groan, his own need palpable in the way his breath hitched, the way his body responded to her touch. He shrugged out of his tunic, tossing it aside, revealing the lean, muscled form that had been hidden beneath.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the space between them charged with a tension that was nearly unbearable. The firelight flickered across their skin, casting shadows that danced along the stone walls of the inn, but all Y/N could focus on was Harry—the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the way his eyes darkened as they traced the curves of her body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for him, her hands sliup his arms, feeling the strength in his muscles. Their breaths mingled, and as Harry leaned in to kiss her, the tension between them reached a breaking point. His lips were soft but insistent, claiming hers with a need that mirrored her own.

Y/N's hands found his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him against her, to erase the distance that had always lingered between them until now.

He guided her down onto the fur-lined rug before the fire, his hands caressing her with a tenderness that made her breath catch. The warmth of the flames flickered around them, casting their shadows on the walls, but in this moment, there was only the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together as if they had been made for this. They had stripped away the layers of propriety, both figuratively and literally, leaving only the raw desire that now pulsed between them. Y/N's heart raced as Harry’s body hovered over hers, his eyes dark with a hunger she had never seen before. Her skin flushed under his gaze, the anticipation swirling in her belly like a storm.

He kissed her softly, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made her melt into him, but there was something else in his touch—something deeper, something more primal. As his hands roamed her body, tracing every curve and dip, Y/N felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves coiling inside her. She had never known this kind of intimacy before, never been touched in such a way.

Harry pulled back slightly, his breath warm against her neck as he pressed a trail of soft, lingering kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and lower still, to the curve of her breasts. His hands slid down her sides, gently parting her legs as he kissed his way lower, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Y/N's breath hitched, her body trembling beneath his touch, and she instinctively pressed her thighs together.

Harry paused, his lips hovering just above her skin, his hands still resting on her hips as he looked up at her with a soft, knowing smile. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice low, rough with desire but tender, too.

Y/N nodded, her breath trembling as she met his gaze, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. “I do, H." She whispered.

Harry's smile deepened, and he pressed a soft kiss to her inner thigh, his hands gently coaxing her legs apart once more. "I got you, dove. Promise.” He murmured, his voice a quiet, confident assurance that sent a shiver of anticipation through her.

Y/N's pulse quickened as Harry kissed his way higher, his lips brushing her skin in a way that made her body ache with a need she had never known before. Her hands gripped the fur beneath her as his mouth hovered just above her most intimate place, and when his lips finally made contact, a gasp escaped her, her body tensing with the unfamiliar sensation. It was unlike anything she had ever felt—a warmth, a softness, and then the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue against her bud, sending a jolt of pleasure through her core.

Y/N's head fell back, her breath catching in her throat as Harry continued, his mouth working with skill and precision. He moved with confidence, as though he knew exactly what she needed, exactly how to coax the pleasure from her body.

Harry's hands slid up her thighs, his fingers pressing gently into her skin, grounding her in the moment. His tongue moved in slow, teasing strokes, building a rhythm that made Y/N's body tremble with each touch. Her hips moved instinctively toward him, a soft moan escaping her lips as the pleasure began to build, layer upon layer, each stroke of his tongue pushing her closer to a place she had never been.

"Harry," she gasped, her voice breathless, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched her back, the heat between her legs overwhelming. She had never imagined this kind of pleasure, had never known it was even possible.

Harry hummed softly against her, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through her as his tongue moved faster, more insistently. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer to his mouth, and Y/N's entire body shuddered with the intensity of it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The world around her blurred, the crackle of the fire fading into the background as she became lost in the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his touch.

The tension in her belly coiled tighter and tighter, the pleasure building with every movement of his lips, every flick of his tongue. Y/N had never felt anything like it before—this burning, all-consuming need that made her body tremble, her breath catch, her heart race. She was on the edge, teetering between control and surrender, and with one final, skilled movement of his tongue, she fell.

A cry tore from her lips as the pleasure crested, washing over her in waves that left her breathless, her body trembling beneath him. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her hips lifting off the rug as the pleasure pulsed through her, intense and overwhelming. Harry didn't stop, his mouth working her through the height of her release, his hands holding her steady as she writhed beneath him, lost in the sensation.

When the waves of pleasure finally began to ebb, Y/N collapsed back onto the rug, her body spent, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her limbs felt heavy, her skin flushed and sensitive, and as Harry pressed a final, soft kiss to her inner thigh, she shivered, her body still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Slowly, Harry rose, his hands sliding up her body as he kissed his way back up to her lips, his breath warm and soft against her skin. He settled beside her, pulling her into his arms, his lips brushing her forehead as she nestled against his chest, her heart still pounding from the intensity of her release. “Told you I had you, hm?” He cooed, combing his fingers through her disheveled hair.

She nodded, the sound of her heart thumping in her ears as she cupped his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. His hands roamed from her hips to her breasts, rolling back on top of her with a smirk. His hands roamed her body, caressing, exploring, a though trying to commit every inch of her to memory.

Y/N arched beneath him, her body responding to his touch with a need that had been building for weeks, months even. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection she had longed for, and Harry groaned, his body trembling with the weight of his desire. Slowly, reverently, he guided himself into her, his movements gentle, careful, as though afraid to break the fragile spell between them. She gasped at the sensation, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he filled her, their bodies finally coming together in a way that felt inevitable, as if they had been meant for this moment all along.

For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, perfectly still, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. He was entranced by the feeling of her walls fluttering around his cock, the way she stretched around him.

Then, slowly, Harry began to move, his hips rocking against hers in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. Y/N’s head fell back further into the rug, a moan escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the sensation, to the connection that seemed to bind them together more deeply than any words ever could.

Harry's movements were slow at first, deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, but soon the restraint he had tried to maintain began to slip. His pace quickened, his body moving against hers with a raw, desperate need that matched her own. The sound of their breathing, of their bodies moving together, filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind outside.

Y/N's fingers dug into his back, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin as her body arched beneath him, her breath coming in gasps. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust was a promise, a declaration that neither of them could speak but both understood.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with the intensity of her need, with the overwhelming sensation building inside her. "I–” But she couldn't finish the sentence. Words seemed inadequate to describe what she felt, the way her body and soul seemed to be unraveling in his arms.

Harry's lips found hers again, silencing her with a kiss that was all-consuming, his body moving against hers with an urgency that mirrored her own. He groaned against her mouth, his breath ragged, his hands gripping her hips as though afraid to let her go. “Y’like that, huh?” He grunted, bottoming out with each thrust. “Sound so pretty, the way you sing f’me.”

She nodded, eyes glossed over in pleasure as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder with whimpers of praises. And then, with one final, desperate thrust, Y/N felt herself fall over the edge, her body trembling with release as the pleasure crashed over her like a wave. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his curls, her heart pounding in her chest as the world seemed to fall away around her.

In that moment, Harry pulled away, his breath hot against her neck as he pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body shuddering with restraint. His hands tightened on her hips as he pulled back, separating them just before the inevitable.

A moan fell from his lips, and Y/N swore it was the prettiest melody she’s ever heard.

He fisted his cock, coaxing his hand back and forth before he lets out a low whimper, spilling himself right onto her abdomen—decorating her in opaque that marked her as his.

His sigh was heavy as he fell back beside her, placing a kiss to her temple as she lie there breathlessly. For a moment, they lay there in the quiet, their bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all, the only sound in the room the soft crackling of the fire. Y/N's chest rose and fell with the aftershocks of pleasure, her heart still racing, but she felt safe. “S’warm.” She giggled, his release glistening in the flames of the fire.

He couldn’t help but smile as he maneuvered his arm beneath her neck, turning to his side as he rested his chin atop her head. “Promise I’ll clean y’up.” He chuckled, draping his other arm across her chest, to which she reaches up and holds his bicep with a smile.

He presses a kiss into her hair, breathing her in. “Ad vitam aeternam.” He murmured, listening to the fire crackle and her even breaths.

Her eyebrows furrowed, recognizing some of the words but she figured the meanings are different, because what she interpreted made no sense at all. He tilted her head back, looking at the man expectantly as he shifted his own head ever so slightly to place a soft kiss against her lips. “To eternal life.”

Her cheeks flushed as she stared into him, the color almost as red as the cherries from the other day. She runs her fingers through his curls, a small smile spreading across her lips.

His own eyes searches hers, the tips of their nose almost touching. His hands cup her face, thumbing gentle strokes onto her cheek. “What?”

She lied her hand atop the one on her face, dipping the tips of her fingers to hold onto his grasp. “I’m falling in love with you.”

He exhales through his nose, a chuckle laced with content emitting from his mouth. He nudges his nose with hers, brushing their lips together softly before pressing it into a kiss. He smiles, pulling back after a beat. “I already have.��

[little-annie]

Bet you didn't know how Eddie found out Steve was Bi.

It was at a club in Indianapolis of all places. He and Steve, along with Robin and Vicki, had made their way to the city for a weekend of fun.

And some recognizance apparently.

Steve was convinced Vicki was into boobies, and at some point had made it his mission to prove such information to Robin. His location of choice? One of the biggest gay clubs in Indiana.

How Steve knew of the place made no sense to Eddie. Well at least not right away. Now though, now he knew Steve was…

Steve was:

A little fruity.

A friend of Dorothy.

A real cocksucker.

Steve Harrington was all of the above apparently.

To Eddie's utter bafflement.

And outstanding joy.

But sitting at the bar with the man in question by his side, Eddie hadn't known that yet. He was helplessly pining over a friend he thought he'd never have the faintest of a chance with. Watching from the side lines, imagining himself as the hot brunette in Steve's strong arms when the man would occasionally make his way to the dance floor.

They were having a good time. They were drinking, the girls were dancing like a couple of dorks out beneath the shining lights. Everything was going great.

But Eddie could still see from even across the dance floor the longing look in Robin's eyes as she watched Vicki do the sprinkler of all dance moves.

They really were perfect for each other.

“How's mission besties to boobies going? You think you'll have Robbie sucking on a tit by the end of the night?”

Sitting on the bar stool next to him, Steve snorts into his drink, choking on a laugh as he turns to admonish Eddie, “Jesus man.” He coughs around the fruity drink clogging his throat. “Robin would punch you in the jugular if she heard you say that.”

Eddie smiles to himself, just happy that he made Steve laugh. “Well good thing she's out there with Vicki then. Really though, any closer to helping them figure their shit out?”

Just as Steve's about to answer, both of their eyes watching the girls, they watch as some tall blonde jock approaches Vicki.

In the same instant they catch Robin's expression crumble.

“Mother fucker.” Steve huffs before he turns back to the bar and orders Robin's favourite drink. A Blue Hawaiin topped with more fruit than Eddie's eaten in the last year. Bright and flashy, decorated with a tiny purple umbrella.

Robin joins them not a minute later, sweat damp hair sticking to her forehead as she sighs sadly and falls face first with a groan into Steve's chest.

Eddie would be jealous if he didn't feel so bad for Robin.

The poor girl is nearly at her wits end.

For months her and Vicki have been going through a will they won't they type of thing.

Christ, they even kissed at one of Steve's little parties. Under the guise of spin the bottle, but it still happened and lasted way too long for Vicki to not have enjoyed it.

But then the next day, Eddie remembers Vicki talking about Dan. Her on - off boyfriend who apparently, judging by Steve's seething and Robin's near blubbering is the guy with his arms around a very annoyed looking Vicki's shoulders.

Robin's pulled herself from between Steve's beautiful beasts and is now leaning against the man, standing between his legs as he hugs her and she solemnly nibbles at her skewered fruit with her chin hooked over Steve's shoulder.

He's saying something to her that Eddie doesn't catch, but he notices how it makes Robin smile.

Albeit a little sadly.

Turning his attention away, Eddie takes a sip of his drink, stares daggers into Dan's soul on Robin's behalf and lets the Wonder Twins have their moment.

Amidst wishing Dan to drop dead, through the blaring music Eddie eventually hears Steve's determined tone.

“I'll do it, Rob.”

Curious, Eddie tunes in.

“You're not doing anything.”

“Mmmmh nope. I'm gonna do it.” Eddie nearly hears Steve's nod of resolution as he keeps his eyes on the gyrating crowd before them. He sounds determined. Surly staring his own form of ill will into Dan's soul, Steve continues, “He keeps dragging her on, which means she's dragging you on. And I can't let that happen.”

Robin sighs, “Steve.”

“Robin.”

Eddie can damn well hear them staring one another down.

It's rather loud.

As is the blatant telepathic convention they're having now.

After a moment of lord only knows what they've communicated to each other through a series of complicated facial expressions, Robin sighs again, apparently having accepted defeat, “You're a bitch.”

“You love me.”

“I hope you get Crabs.”

Eddie snorts to himself as he finally turns to take in the two next to him. Robin's now occupying Steve's previous bar stool and Mr. Great Tits and Tight Levi's himself is standing with the bitchiest expression known to man, staring Robin down, who sips her drink and appears unfazed.

And then Steve smirks.

“I literally watched you shave your chin hair with the razor I use on my balls. If I get Crabs you're coming down with me.”

Robin hardly looks bothered as she bites a hunk of pineapple from her skewer, seeming in a much better mood than when she'd arrived.

“You whore. Course you shave your balls.” She mumbles around the fruit in her mouth.

“Not everyone likes to have a jungle bush, Robin.”

Their continued nattering is lost to Eddie as he remains hung up on the idea of Steve's balls. Are they clean shaved, trimmed, artfully maintained?

He's pathetic. Eddie's well aware. Daydreaming of Steve's Adonis like body isn't new in the slightest.

He apparently wonders for so long that when he tunes back to reality, Steve and his decidedly trimmed balls are gone.

He looks to Robin who downing the remainder of her drink.

She shrugs, as if that explains anything.

Then he sees Steve at the other end of the bar talking to Vicki's maybe boyfriend.

It looks heated.

God, is Steve going to fight this guy? Fuck. Eddie's scrappy but he's never had a great track record with Jocks and he knows Steve and all of his monster fighting abilities means nothing when it comes to fighting people. He remembers the guy getting his ass handed to him by Byers. And Hargrove. Like he gets Billy, the guy was fucking insane. But Johnathan? Steve doesn't stand a chance against this guy. He's got at least twenty pounds on Steve.

Steve's going to get his ass kicked and Eddie's not going to be any help. Sure he'll try, throw a punch, maybe play dirty and move his rings over to his other hand so it hurts more, but otherwise he's got nothing.

All bark, no bite.

Fuck, what if the guy has friends here?

Eddie looks back to Robin who's now leaning back against the bar, watching as Vicki dances in the distance, giggling to herself as she waves at Robin then proceeds to do that shopping cart.

The sweet, ginger haired little dork.

Again, their perfect for each other.

“Steve's not really going to fight that guy is he?”

Robin snorts.

“Yeah, with his dick maybe.”

What?

“What?”

Robin waves him off with a limp wrist and plunks her empty glass onto the bar top behind her with a dull thud.

And then she's off.

Leaving Eddie with that tidbit of information.

She was joking, right? Right?

She had to be joking.

“Robin?!”

His voice is either lost to the music or she's ignoring him.

Probably the latter.

By the time Eddie turns his attention back to the end of the bar, he catches Steve giving Dan a playful tug to the belt loops and an expression Eddie can only describe as a smoulder.

Then Steve's pulling this guy by the hand to the men's bathroom.

What the fuck did he miss?

Jesus H Christ.

—

Twenty minutes and one tequila shot later, Eddie watches as Dan goes scurrying by from the bathroom to the exit, still tucking his fucking polo into his pants.

Lucky bastard.

A moment later, Steve returns.

Hair messy, pupils blown, shirt untucked and …

No.

It's that?

There's a small dot of milky white on Steve's chin.

Fucking hell.

Steve plops down in his chair, steals Eddie's beer and downs the remaining half, finishing it with a content sigh.

For the longest time Eddie's speechless.

Staring at Steve and the fucking splatter of come left on his chin.

What the actual fuck?

“What?”

Steve must've noticed.

Christ and it's not like Eddie can let the guy go walking around with that.

“You've got, uh, something on your chin…”

And like he knew it was there, knew exactly where it was, Steve wipes the evidence of his earlier rendezvous away.

Eddie can't help but continue to stare.

And like an idiot he decides to open his mouth. “Did you just…?”

And like it's nothing, Steve answers.

“Suck off Vicki's ex then threaten him with bodily harm if he ever bothers her or Robin again? Yeah. And?”

And?

And?!

Since when did Steve suck dick?!

Eddie's careening towards a level two gay fucking melt down when Steve decides to continue, sounding every bit offended and confused. “Is that gonna be a problem?”

“No!” Eddie answers immediately, hands up in defence. Steve's expression softens just a touch. “No. No, fuck, Steve. No, not at all. It's just-” well he didn't know and he and Steve are good enough friends Eddie figured something that important to Steve's person, he'd know. “I just didn't know.”

Steve's nose scrunches in that cute way that always makes Eddie feel like dropping dead, and then almost sounding like he's surprised, Steve laughs, “You- hah- Eddie! You didn't know!?”

“No!”

“No wonder,” Steve more so says to himself before ordering both him and Eddie another drink.

He doesn't continue until he's had a sip of whatever fruity monstrosity he's drinking now. “I've been flirting with you for months, Ed.”

“Yeah well I thought you were straight.” Eddie grumbles, feeling like a fucking idiot. Had Steve really been flirting with him? Had all of the lingering touches and seemingly longing stares all been intentional.

Jesus. Fucking. Fuck.

Steve had asked him if he wanted to fool around a couple weeks ago and Eddie thought he was joking.

Shit.

“What?” Steve says, halfass sounding offended, “Like it would have made a difference. Dude you've made it obvious you're not interested.”

“I- what?”

Steve shrugs, “Yeah. No hard feelings man. I get it. I'm not your type.”

“Not- not my type!? Steve! My beautiful beautiful boy, I am so interested. I'm painfully interested. I'm so interested I jack off to the idea every night, interested.”

He's just going to ignore the fact he said that aloud.

It's worth it for the blush that rises to Steve's cheeks anyways. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“So you wanna?”

“Absolutely annihilate each other in the men's bathroom?” Eddie asks confidently, truly hyping himself up so he doesn't freak out, downing his drink and standing to offer Steve his hand, “ Yes please.”

But not taking his hand and running to the bathroom to hopefully suck each other off, Steve stays sitting, staring at Eddie's offered hand. And just when Eddie starts to think he's fucked this all up before it's even started, Steve stutters his response

“ I- well- I was thinking more like a- a movie and milkshakes, or something?”

Oh.

Oh this isn't just sex to Steve.

Thank God.

Eddie wasn't entirely sure how his heart would have handled the alternative.

Did Steve Harrington just ask him on a date?

“Yeah.” Eddie answers, a little breathless, a little bashful.

“We can do your thing to if this is just-”

“No. No, Steve. It's really not. I feel like a fucking schoolgirl, man. All giddy and shit. I just never thought-”

“You're kinda hard not to want Eddie.” Steve interrupts him.

And isn't that a fucking line.

Maybe…

“Both?” Eddie asks, only for Steve to raise a brow

“What about both?”

“Oh!” Steve shouts, catching the attention of a few people, one of which being Robin who was wandering hand in hand with Vicki to the bar, “Yeah. Fuck yeah.” He downs his drink just as Eddie had and finally takes Eddie's offered hand.

On their near sprint to the men's bathroom, Eddie's sure, through the buzz of his own brain and the blare of music he hears Robin's raspy voice shout, “Enjoy my besties bald balls, Munson!”

---

Give my tittle ideas babes. I wanna post this insanity on Ao3.

[eelnoise]

with hearts aligned (nsfw!)

zoro x fem!reader this fic's followup btw. takes place between fishman island and PH (yes there's lore!! 🙄! and yes zoro did keep all that shit bottled up for a bit!!) cw: confessions of love, somewhat troubled zoro, not-so-awkward first times (our boy is intuitive okay ?!), piv sex, fingering, cute stuff idk an: okay i know this took a long time but i re-wrote this like 5 times and accidently got hyperfixated on ffxiv and generally needed a break from writing BUT WE ARE BACK BABY !!! wc: 3.4k tagging @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @sleepymarimo @willowbelle @nina-ya

The clinking of cutlery upon plates and chatter among friends fills the small island tavern with animated joy and serene relief. Brook plays the violin somewhere to the left side of the room, though the eager blathering of the crew drowns out the more finer notes and melodies played. 

A well-deserved interruption and a welcome change from the unpredictable nature of the past few day’s events – though for Zoro, it’s a distraction that’s come to an end. Despite the crew being whole again, he still feels a hollowness within – something no amount of eating or drinking or fighting can fill.

And it’s entirely his fault.

You sit across the table from him, sipping at a near-empty glass of wine and discussing something inaudibly with Usopp. He can’t quite read your expression from where he’s seated, but you look interested enough in the conversation. 

And if it’s obvious to himself that he’s keeping you at arm’s length, it’s clear to anyone with a working conscience that he’s doing his utmost to avoid you. The many longing gazes from his peripheral do not go unnoticed, but he dares not to look – for the hurt in your eyes would crush him and sear and stain into his soul.  A far-flung difference from the camaraderie that came before all of this, when the two of you were rarely found an inch too far apart from one another – and now Zoro can’t even look you in the eye. After his many imagined intimate rendezvous,how could he?

With you distracted, he lets his eye wander across your face, to the length of your arm, down to the glass pinched between your fingers – but it comes to rest upon your lips. He watches, transfixed on the flight peek of your tongue behind your teeth when you speak, how your lips twist with each syllable, how they purse when you’re in thought, and the way they stretch across your cheeks when you smile.

Zoro’s throat tightens, a sharp dagger of guilt carving into his chest. He forces his stare to the table, the tiniest sliver of your form still lingering in the corner of his vision. You’ve journeyed this far, fought, bled, and laughed together. And now, for once, he’s unable to find the words to say.

The weight of his inaction bears down on him, leaving him listless. The only respite he’s found is in the distraction of a battle, a thudding, a clash, steel ringing against steel. In those moments, he’s alive, he’s focused, and the words that plague his every waking thought cease to exist. But without the battle, Zoro is left with nothing but the echoes of unspoken desires.

His hand trembles, gripping his mug of ale as he brings it to his lips. The bitterness of the brew does little to quell the fire in his chest. He’s a swordsman, a pirate – not a poet, bard, or a man of words. It’s a mess of feelings. Lust, want, longing, love, all these indescribable sensations that only serve to make Zoro feel weak and helpless and vulnerable when faced with them. He feels like a coward, daring never to speak to you again, never to confess his feelings, and never pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless.

Zoro’s eye meets yours for one singular fleeting moment, the intensity of the connection making his heart race. He knows he can’t keep up this charade, this dance of avoidance – but how does one even confess to these feelings? How does one bridge the gap between comrade and lover? He scratches his chin, trying to come up with a solution, but all he can think of is a single, frustrating fact: he can’t keep running.

Whether it’s every empty bottle he’s seen the bottom of tonight, the last of his resolve wearing thin, or just the sheer guilt of it all that drives him suddenly to his feet, he isn’t sure. Inhaling one of the deepest breaths he’s ever taken, he silently trudges around the table to where you’re seated.

At first, he hovers awkwardly so as to not interrupt the conversation you’re having. Both hands come to rest at either side of the back of your chair and he can feel his pulse through his fingertips on the wood ��� and when you tilt your head up to look at him, a curious smile twitching at the edges of your cheeks, he cracks.

Zoro clears his throat and forces his gaze. “I need to talk to you for a sec.”

His voice is hoarse as he asks, and he hopes you can’t hear the nerves that lie beneath his words. Surprised by how much he’s sweating and how his heart races against his ribcage, he swallows to regain some semblance of composure.

“It’s important,” he adds, trying not to stumble over his thoughts. It’s a pitiful excuse, but all that comes to mind amidst the maelstrom of emotion in his head.

“Oh, yeah – of course!” You reply with raised brows and begin to stand. Zoro allows you the room to move, taking a step back from the table. “Sorry, Usopp,” you say as you turn and give him a weak shrug, “Remind me where we left off later?”

“No prob!” The sniper shoots a thumbs-up and the two of you exchange a wave before you turn to follow Zoro away from the lively table and out of the tavern.

Zoro leads you to a quiet spot by the docks nearby, where the salty scent of the sea mingles with the faint tang of fish and the distant hum of the island. He can’t bring himself to look at you, electing instead to focus on the water and the twinkling reflection of the night sky in the soft waves.

“Everything okay?” You ask softly, taking a few steps toward him and assuredly taking note of his hesitance. “What’s up?”

“I missed you,” Zoro replies, fixated on the sigh of the shifting tides lapping at the wooden posts below. “A lot.”

“I missed you too, Zoro, but what’s so urgent?” The concern in your tone is apparent and caring, and normally works to soothe him when his mind runs rampant – but this moment, this situation he finds himself in, it does the opposite.

“No,” Zoro shakes his head, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I missed you - differently from the others.”

“Differently?”

Zoro’s jaw clenches, and part of him wants to jump into the ocean and swim as far away from the island as his arms will take him. The honest admission hangs heavy on his tongue, the weight of the years of denial suddenly threatening to push it out. He pauses, opens and closes his mouth a few times, then finally, with a shaky exhale, he looks you straight in the face.

“I love you.”

The admission hangs between you, the weight of years of suppression. Zoro shifts his weight from one foot to the other, twinges of regret creeping up the nape of his neck.  It takes you a moment to reply, and considering the nature of the confession, it's reasonable. Zoro's nerves feel like hot coals beneath his skin as he watches your face for any sign of an answer.

“...for real?” Your gentle response fills his entire being with a wistful spark of hope.

Zoro's fingers curl into fists. "Yes, for real," he confirms, still not looking up. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, a heavy, leaden weight. All his hopes and fears rest on the outcome of this conversation. He's unsure if he could handle rejection, but he can't go back to the pretense any longer. Zoro swallows, tasting bile at the back of his throat. "I should've told you before now, but I... I'm an idiot.” He lets out a humorless laugh, his voice quiet.

He isn’t sure when you move, but a smaller, softer hand wraps around his – and in an instant, he feels himself relax into your touch. Zoro relaxes his grip, allowing your fingers to entwine with his.

He snaps his gaze towards you, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears. You peer at him, a sweet, crooked smile on your lips and a blush across your face. And when your free hand finds purchase on his cheek, Zoro finds himself leaning in. 

You meet him halfway in a genuine, tender kiss that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through him. Zoro's arms wrap around you and pull you close. The world around falls away as you both delight in the embrace. The kiss is gentle, delicate, and filled with longing. It floods him with an unexpected warmth – and for once, he can't think of the past or the future. He's simply lost in the present moment.

When you finally pull away, Zoro can't help but lean into your palm on his cheek with a bit of a dazed smile on his face. Holding onto your hand, his other hand slowly moves to cup your cheek in return. His heart is pounding, his mind a blank slate tinged with overwhelming happiness. He's lost in your gaze, unable to speak, but he doesn't need to. The moment says everything.

"Do you know how much I missed you?" you murmur, lips ghosting his and thumb trailing upward to gently trace the lower half of the scar that now covers his right eye. "How often I thought of you?"

And then you say it - the words he's only imagined hearing you speak.

"I love you, too.”

Zoro's chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat as he meets your gaze, his heart swelling. Words fail him, the raw emotion in his gut silences his voice.  A slow smile spreads across his lips, a look of awe and joy shadowing his features. He doesn't need words. The simple fact that you feel the same is enough to fill him with warmth and peace. 

Leaning in again, Zoro captures you in another deep kiss – a deep and soulful kiss that speaks volumes. He's consumed by the feeling of being with you, of finally being able to express his love. His hand moves to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer, and he kisses you with all the passion and longing he's suppressed for far too long.

You sigh into him, the sound willingly swallowed by Zoro’s growing hunger. Arms wrap around his shoulders and you press yourself into him, the opened-mouthed kiss quickly turning into a twist of tongues dancing together in a frenzied rhythm with audible smacks of saliva mixing with each meeting of your lips. His hand clutches your hair more firmly, his other hand slipping around her waist to pull you impossibly closer.

The gesture is all-consuming, a whirlpool of desire and affection that leaves him lightheaded. For the first time in years, he feels like he's truly alive, his heart beating in perfect harmony with yours.

Slowly breaking the kiss, Zoro's lips ghost over your jawline, trailing down to your collarbone as he breathes in your scent, savoring every moment. He wants to memorize the taste, the feel, and the sound of your breath as his hands roam over your body, his heart beating a furious tempo.

You let out a small gasp when his lips touch your sensitive flesh, your body reacting to his every move. Goosebumps raise in the wake of his fingertips as he nibbles at your neck, causing your grip to tighten and for you to moan softly into his ear. 

Part of Zoro wants to take you here and now, but what remains of his will stops him. He growls into your neck and lifts you up fully and, – with a little assistance from you –  heads in the direction of the ship anchored nearby. The others wouldn't be back for a while, so why not take advantage of the privacy?

You’re weightless in his arms as he carries you away from the bustle of the small island village and towards the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro can feel himself growing hard beneath the fabric of his pants as you kiss and nip along his neck, giggling in his ear when he retaliates with a playful squeeze to your rear and a rumbling growl against your skin.

He wastes little time pushing the door to the men’s quarters open with the tip of his boot, his grip on your hips tightening when he moves to lift you onto the nearest bunk, one hand still clutching your waist while the other travels up under your shirt to caress your chest, deft hands making quick work of unhooking your bra and tossing it aside to be forgotten.

Zoro’s breathing hitches, his eyes dark and lustful as he dips his head to suckle at the swell of your breast. He can feel himself twitching against your thigh, and despite his inexperience, he wants nothing more than to please you. 

He kisses down your body, taking a nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue while his hand roams, finding your core already soaked with desire. He pauses, fingers grazing over your clothed slit and feeling you shiver in pleasure. Zoro murmurs your name, and snakes his fingers beneath the waistband of both your shorts and panties before sliding them down your legs in one motion, leaving you naked and bared before him. His own pants follow suit, quickly discarded next to yours.

Zoro's hand finds its way between your thighs again, spreading your folds with ease, and he lowers his head to kiss you once more, his tongue probing your mouth as his fingers gently stroke your clit, drinking in your soft moans.

"Show me." He whispers just loud enough for her to hear. His expression is a loving one, though she notes the slightest bit of hesitance in his words.

Show me how you like it.

You nod and guide his fingers, taking two of the large digits and easing them in circles on your clit. "Not too rough, though," you say patiently, letting go of him with a soft sigh and an encouraging smile. 

Zoro hums in acknowledgment, his thumb and forefinger doing as you ask, the slickness of your pussy allowing his fingers to move easily as he continues to tease at your clit. His other hand rests on your hip, steadying you as his thumb rolls over the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting small moans from you. 

Zoro brushes the tip of his finger against your entrance in an experimental move, and by the way you wreathe and whine, he's urged to continue his work. He slides one past your folds and inside of you, making your toes curl and your back arch.

"Shit–" You sputter out between breathless sighs of desire. "Feels really good..."

One finger becomes two, your inner walls clenching around them as he scissors them in and out of your pussy. There's a wet slosh of sound coming from where you meet, your wetness audibly coating his fingers and dripping down down his wrist. 

Zoro's breath hitches at the sound of your pleasure, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your reaction. He's entranced by how your body responds to him, and he can't help but lick his lips as he continues to finger you. He adds a third, the stretch making you gasp and tighten around him.

His pace increases, his fingers swirling and thrusting within you, and he watches as your body writhes and arches beneath him. He can feel the tension building in you, the way your breath hitches and your eyes flutter closed.

"Do you want me inside you?" Zoro asks, his voice low and thick with need. He's anxious to give you pleasure, but he's struggling to keep himself from joining his fingers inside you.

"Please," you whine, eyes wide and watery with pleasure but red hot with the need for more. "Need you, Zoro."

Zoro's heart beats wildly in his chest, his own need for you overwhelming as he pulls his fingers from your slick warmth and licks them clean before sitting back on his heels to position himself between your legs. He lines his cock up with your entrance and looks into your eyes, the passion reflected in his own.

Without warning, he thrusts forward, plunging deep into your tightness. You're hot and wet around him, and he lets out a growl of satisfaction as he bottoms out. He pauses for a moment, allowing you both to adjust and to revel in the feeling of being connected. He pulls back, slowly at first, then picks up the pace as he leans over you, the headboard digging into the wall with each forceful thrust. Zoro's eyes never leave yours, his gaze locked as if he's trying to absorb every detail of your expression.

Each stroke of his cock against your walls feels heaven-sent, and the taste of you that lingers on his tongue drives him crazy with want. Nails dig into the flesh of his triceps and your back arches, a song of passion belting from between your lips, a serenade made for him and him alone.

Zoro grunts at the sound of your pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more ferocious as he watches your reaction, the sight of you so lost in ecstasy driving him to the brink. He grips your hips, holding you steady as he pounds into you, the sweat glistening on your skin as your bodies collide.

The moonlight trickling in from the window illuminates your body below him. It's a sight better than anything he could dream, your face contorting in bliss and ecstasy, hands clinging harshly onto him as if he'd disappear if you let go. Savoring a feeling that neither wants to forget.

"You're so fucking perfect." Zoro growls, leaning over you to kiss you feverishly, his tongue seeking yours as he fucks you. He can feel the tension building, the way your body tenses and your nails dig into his skin, and he knows you're close. He wants to give you this moment, wants to make you cum as much as he wants to feel it himself.

"Come on," he urges, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me." The words were a warning, a promise that he wasn't going to last much longer..Zoro increases the pace of his assault, his own release imminent as he watches your face, your eyes half-lidded and flushed with pleasure. Together, you move, driven by the primal need for release.

Zoro's thumb meets your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts with the speed of his ministrations. The dual stimulation pushes you over the edge, crying out butchered attempts at his name as your body convulses around him, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Zoro can't hold back any longer, feeling his own climax building as he watches you.

With a roar, he lets go, burying himself deep as he cums, the spasms of your walls milking him as he shudders and groans into your ear, seed spilling inside of you. He pants heavily, leaning over you as he rests on his forearms, his forehead meeting yours. He stays like that long enough to press a quick kiss to your lips before collapsing atop you with a very exhausted, but very relieved sigh. 

You breathlessly hold him close. Cradling his sweaty form to your chest, one hand makes its way into his moss-green tresses to lightly scratch at his scalp. Zoro lets himself relax, letting out a sigh and nestling into your shoulder. He closes his eyes, feeling thoroughly sated in your embrace.

Zoro pulls out of you eventually, gently rolling off your body to rest. He pulls you into his side as he nuzzles into your hair. "I love you." He whispers, his voice soft and tender and almost unrecognizable.

Snuggling into his side, your hand still lazily strokes his head. "I love you too," you reply, voice equally tender, and a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Your soft touch and tender words soothe Zoro, your shared connection cemented in the aftermath of passion. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, a smile still lingering on his lips. The words you whispered echo in his mind, a warm feeling settling in his chest – and together, in each other's arms, you find peace.

[amirasainz]

I admit I read everything with baby Sainz in it.🫢 And as I'm on a Lando bender again. (Loving all things Lando) I was wondering if you could write something with Baby Sainz and Lando about how they got into a fight and the whole grid is there for her and being mean to Lando but like the fight was something really little and silly. (Something like Lando not putting his clothes away)

I hope that makes sense.

Oooppp!!!! That make me so happy to know that people enjoy reading my writing. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as well and let me know if you have any requests. I will do my best to write them ASAP

-XoXo

No Part 2!!!

Trouble in paradise

There were two things Lando hated dearly: fish and seeing his girlfriend cry. The first one is pretty self-explanatory. For him, fish tasted horrible and looked disgusting. It had a weird consistency and smelled—oh god, don’t get him started on the smell. The second thing, seeing his girlfriend cry, was because a beautiful girl like her should never have to feel any sadness. Her pretty eyes should never fill with tears, making the window to her soul more obvious than ever. Her perfect lips should never tremble, and her voice should never crack. Amira was made for being happy and carefree.

However, this morning, Lando managed to do the worst thing ever. He made his girl cry. And why? Because he is the biggest idiot on earth. The only thing she asked him yesterday was if he could start doing the laundry. Like the lovesick fool he is, he was more enamored with her presence than actually listening to her words. When she wanted to wear her favorite shirt today, which was in the laundry, Lando had to admit that he didn’t do anything. Maybe it was the current heat, her jet lag, her hunger, or the frustration that he didn’t do the simple task she asked him to do, but all of it was too much. And Amira tried to be brave, she really did. But she couldn’t help but let her frustration and sadness out through her tears. When Lando saw his girlfriend crying in front of him, he wanted nothing more than to cry himself. What kind of monster is he, making his perfect girlfriend cry because he was a lazy idiot?

The others around them immediately realized something was wrong when the couple arrived this morning in the paddock. Usually, Lando would have his arm around her shoulders, their hands intertwined, kissing her shamelessly in front of everyone and whispering sweet nothings in her ear. But today, they arrived with only their pinkies intertwined. Despite having a huge fight about something so silly this morning, the couple couldn’t stand not touching one another. If their unusual entrance wasn’t a huge sign that something was wrong, it was Amira’s behavior. Instead of wearing bright, vibrant colors, the young woman wore a black jacket with sunglasses on. Her blue shirt was the only speck of color in her outfit. If even THAT wasn’t a sign that something was amiss between them, it was on their way to the motorhomes. Instead of leading Amira proudly into his side of the garage, he brought her to the Ferrari garage. There, one could see Lando hugging Amira, whose shoulders shook. Without another word, Amira left a heartbroken Lando inside. One might have thought that something terrible had happened to his family, instead of him forgetting to do the laundry…

The news spread like wildfire that Amira and Lando had a fight because Lando couldn’t be trusted to do a simple task. The drivers and WAGs were furious when they heard about what happened. Carlos even went as far as keeping his sister inside his driver’s room, making her sleep and eat something. While Carlos was busy taking care of his precious sister, Lando had the worst day of his life. EVER.

It all started when he ran into Carmen and George. The couple were busy staring daggers at him while he was on his way to the media pen. Lando was so distracted by their glares that he didn’t see Lewis. He bumped straight into the 8-time world champion, who wasn’t very keen on seeing the young Brit. “Oh, sorry Lewis. I didn’t mean to bump into you,” Lando apologized. Lewis looked him up and down before muttering, “Seems like you never mean to do something.” Before Lando had a chance to ask what he meant, Lewis turned around and walked away.

A confused Lando continued walking to the media pen. During the conference, he was asked about his outfit ( new Quadrant merch) when Max muttered loud enough for the microphones to pick up: “Must be nice to have clothes you can wear because you can rely on your partner.” The atmosphere in the room became strained in a matter of seconds. The reporter awkwardly tried to move on. Lando wasn’t stupid; he knew what this was. This was his punishment for upsetting the paddock princess.

After a 40-minute-long speech from Lily and Kika about how important giving and taking in a healthy relationship was, Fernando calling him “El mayor idiota que ha existido en la tierra,” Charles letting Leo bite him, Lily and Oscar giving him the biggest side-eye ever throughout the day, Yuki “accidentally” pushing him into a wall, and Pierre starting gossip about him, he finally went to Carlos’s driver’s room.

He gently knocked on the door, wishing it would be his girl opening it. Sadly, today was truly not his day, because he was met with the sight of an angry Carlos. Before Lando had the chance to say anything, Carlos brought him closer. He whispered quietly in Lando’s ear: “If Amira wasn’t so damn much in love with you, you would already be under the earth. I know where you live, I know your password, I know your deepest secrets. If you ever, and I mean ever, in your entire life make my sister cry again, it will be the last thing you’ll ever do. ¿He sido claro?” Carlos only let poor Lando go after he swore to never do something stupid like that again. “Good, now you will go inside, apologize to Amira, and buy her a new freaking Birkin bag. Did I make myself clear?” Carlos sternly asked.

Safe to say that Lando did a lot of groveling that day. It took the drivers and WAGs 5 months, 1 week, 28 days, and 17 hours to stop with the “Lando-fuck-up” jokes. And Amira? She never had to wonder about a thing again; they now had a housemaid, Aurelia, who only adored Amira and not Lando.

[kinichval]

haiiii ;3 can i request kinich and a reader who’s like half siren? like in h20 where when they’re dry they have legs and mualani finds her injured and keeps her in the springs and one night when he goes to see her she’s singer and he like falls in love? i’m not the best with ideas but ignore if you don’t want to lol

hi !! ty for requesting :3 i love the idea so i gave it a shot. i'm not deep into the siren mythology so i switched the lore and tried my best writing this one < 3

"you can't just take in a random stranger in your house just because they're injured, mualani."

"but they were suffering and needed urgent help!"

"then, you should've taken them to the clinic. who knows how severe their injuries are or if they have good intentions."

the conversation of your savior and a stranger stirs you awake from your slumber, eyes fluttering open as your mind gradually processes that it is time to get up. well, maybe if your legs weren't a bit impaired then standing up would've been useful.

except you're not in the best shape as you found yourself tangled in washed-ashore seaweed causing you to trample over rocks and bruising your legs; this means that you can not transform back to your siren appearance (and vice versa if your tail was injured). thank archons, your ridiculous situation ended soon when a kindhearted mualani decided to tend your injuries.

you were honest with your true self with mualani, believing in your instincts that she is as kind as she shows herself to be. like you, she was one with the waters, a soul that's tied to the flow of the oceans and destined to live freely just as the waters liberty to just be.

in the silence of mualani's shelter where you rest and heal, there's the envy creeping up in your heart that you desperately want to repress. but no, it makes itself known for you are not like mualani.

mualani is a free-spirited surfer, an adventurer of the seas; while you were a siren shunned out by society, viewed as a menace and a threat to the land's safety. kill a siren on sight before they destroy your life is what the people would say.

but you do not have the heart to decline her kindness, rather you want to see her heart as a chance to be seen by humans in a different light. because if mualani can, then why can't they?

still, you uphold the value that your mother had instilled in you; there's no point in proving your kindness when they do not believe in your existence. so you remain hidden within the confines of mualani's home, waiting for your injury to subdue until you're able to become siren again.

"kinich, this is yn. yn, this is 'malipo' kinich." mualani introduced you to a trusted friend of hers with enthusiasm high enough to reach the heavens. simply, you give the dendro user a nod and a gentle smile, he returns the gesture with a civil nod of acknowledgement. kinich's reserved attitude is intimidating, given that mualani is the only human you had ever interacted with, you're confused how human relations work and whether the land culture is different from those who reside under the waters.

you trust that mualani hasn't let a word out about your identity, yet it doesn't assure you when you feel the man's skepticism clawing at your skin as if he's ready to capture you the moment he confirms your true nature.

or maybe you're just overthinking.

kinich never intended for his lingering stare to feel like a dagger pointed at your neck, on the contrary, he harbors the curiosity to learn about you. he often finds how his mind wanders off to mualani's newfound friend whenever the usually occupied space in his head is vacant. who is she? why is he so subconsciously adamant on knowing her? only he fails to grasp a clear picture of reason as to why the voices inside his head are telling him to seek at least a fragment of her soul.

"mualani, thank you for taking care of me."

as a parting token, you granted mualani to experience your siren form. the two of you are within the privacy of the springs that only a few ever come to visit under the moonlit night sky.

your heart sinks at the thought of returning back to the deep, uncertain if you shall ever come up to the surface once your clan learns about your predicament knowing that despite you were well taken care of, they will only emphasize the what-ifs and assert the dangers of a siren caught on land.

natlan's springs are peaceful. you requested to have time in the waters for yourself the next night; promising that when morning comes, you are off to return to the ocean where you belong. but right now, you are neither your ascribed identity or whom you want be, you are just part of the waters.

cold air hits your skin, you lightly splash the water with your luminescent tail and softly smile at the quietness. sometimes, the water doesn't have to be constantly flowing, staying still is alright.

in the midst of your solitude, you hum a tune that your mother used to lull you to sleep when you were a young siren. your voice mimics the gentleness of a mother's love, a cradling feeling of tenderness and comfort. slowly, it shifts to a song, your voice becoming louder and alluring.

and just like a serenade, your song had captivated a certain saurian hunter's attention, he stands on the opposite edge of the spring right across where you were situated in. your eyes still closed and immersed in your enchanting euphony.

"i believe i'm not under a spell, but allow me to compliment your melody. may i stay here and listen?"

kinich fixes his composure, hiding the nervousness inside his pocket. but oh, the moonlight acts like a spotlight on your figure, your true nature completely open for him to realize that you are not human at all.

but kinich isn't fazed, neither does he yield the urge to capture you in exchange for the prestige that comes with catching a siren alive.

"are you not afraid?"

instead, you were the one afraid, wrapping your arms around your torso as if it's any help in shield your true form from his green and amber eyes.

"i'm fascinated. you are a beauty."

at this point, kinich does not intend to supress his longing need for you. he's conscious and sober, implying that a siren's song is not all about luring prey into the waters.

sometimes, just like yn, a siren's song is an open book to her innermost thoughts and heartbeat's poems. it doesn't need to hold words for kinich to depict the sentiments carried into the wind as she sings; to be known, to be understood.

"may i stay with you for tonight?"

this time, you wish for the moon to stay in its place, for time to pause, and for kinich to stay in the springs with you.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Play Nice

Summary: The reader knows she’s in it when Michael grabs her off the street. What she doesn’t understand though is what he’s up to and why he’s so unusually kind at times...

Pairing: Michael!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language, Michael being his usual creepy self

____

“Hello Y/N,” said Michael. You sat up on your bed, glaring daggers at him. He smiled, looking down at his shoes. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Wait,” you said, Michael smirking as he lifted his head.

“Yes, little one?” he asked. You sighed, staring up at him through your lashes. “Speak.”

“I want out of this basement,” you said.

“But as you previously said, you have all that you need here. You are not tired nor thirsty nor hungry. No harm could ever come to you here,” he smiled.

“I’m not an idiot,” you said.

“I never said you were.”

“You won. You won the second you grabbed me. So let’s get on with it, alright?” you asked. He nodded, lifting his chin up at you. He walked over to you, grabbing your right wrist gently. Something tingled in your arm. It wasn’t painful, just sensation. When he pulled it away, you saw a mark on your skin. “What’s this?”

“The beginning of our partnership,” he said. He snapped his fingers and you were in a kitchen, beautiful and clean and Michael walked behind you slowly. “The mark is like a tether. It pulls you to me and me to you. Not literally but you get the idea.”

“No running away?” you asked.

“No. Well you can but I’ll find you,” he said.

“What exactly is it that you want Michael? Besides my cooperation?” you asked.

“In time. For now, your cooperation is all I ask,” he said. He spun around. “This home is to your liking. I know what you desire with Dean and I think this satisfies. There is a vehicle for you out front and the town is only fifteen minutes away. Come and go as you please.”

“So I go from the little basement to no curfew? What gives?” you asked.

“You’re mine now,” he said with a shrug. “I feel as though...kindness will go farther with you than fear. But to be clear, there is room for both.”

“And if I try to contact Sam or anyone, you hurt Dean, is that right?”

“Quite correct. See? You’re not an idiot,” he said. You scowled, Michael walking back to you and touching your cheek. “He is safe in a dream. I’ve chosen not to harm him. Remember that.”

“You’re still not the good guy,” you said.

“Never claimed I was,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

He disappeared in front of you and you threw up your hands.

“I need money for stuff genius!” you said. You saw a credit card appear on the counter, your eyes looking all around. “Brownies?”

A plate of them appeared on the counter as well.

“Dean?”

A piece of paper popped up and you frowned when you lifted it up.

Don’t push it. Now stop asking unless it’s urgent.

You pouted and took a bite of the brownie.

“These are actually really good,” you mumbled. “You’re still an asshole though.”

One Week Later

You were getting ready for the day when mid way through washing your face, Michael appeared behind you.

“Fuck, Michael!” you shouted, trying to cover yourself up and forgetting about the soap. “Ah, ow, ow.”

“It’s a wonder your species has even made it this far,” he said, the pain in your eyes gone, your face wiped clean as he moved his hand around. You crossed your arms over your chest, Michael looking you over in your bra and underwear. “You do know I have access to Dean’s memories. I have seen you naked.”

“I know you’re a creepy guy and everything but could you be a little less creepy and get out of the bathroom!” you said.

“Don’t dwaddle,” he said, exiting the room. You sighed and finished getting dressed, down the stairs within ten minutes, Michael staring out the back window. “I thought I said don’t dwaddle.”

“I thought I said to stop being a creeper,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “What do you want?”

“To touch your soul,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

“Considering I know that’ll hurt like a bitch, I’m gonna go ahead and say no,” you said, backing up and bumping straight into Michael’s chest. He rested his hands on your shoulders, your body tensing.

“This can be unpleasant for you or it can be pleasant. It’s your choice,” he said.

“W-What’s the pleasant version?” you asked.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You swallowed hard and did what he said. It wasn’t as though you had any choice. He rested a hand on top of your head and reached his other one around to your chest. “Take a deep breath and hold it.”

You inhaled and sealed your lips together, a warmth spreading throughout you before you felt his hand on your chest push in. It wasn’t painful but it felt so strange. 

“Alright,” said Michael after a moment, pulling his hands away. He walked in front of you, giving you a smirk. “You can breathe, little one.”

You let out a lungful of air, running your hand over your body. 

“No pain?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “What’d you do to me?”

“Not everything is about you, Y/N.”

“You’re a bitchy little angel, aren’t you,” you said. Michael smiled at you before you were pushed back against the wall, Michael staring you down.

“Congratulations, you just earned your first punishment,” he said. You frowned, the room suddenly much cooler. You looked down, only your bra and underwear on. “It seemed to bother you earlier. Sometimes subtly is the best approach.”

“If you want to make me have your nephilim-”

“No. No, Y/N. I do not desire one of those. You were disrespectful towards me so now am I returning it in kind,” he said.

“It’s still fucked up,” you said. He leaned back and spun around, a smirk on his face. Suddenly your clothes were back, Michael nodding. 

“Is that more to your liking?”

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “This is...”

You stared down at your shirt, cocking your head at Michael.

“Michael’s pet? Really?” you asked as you read the shirt.

“Behave and maybe we’ll upgrade that to partner someday,” he chuckled. “Stay out of the study for the day. I will be busy.”

He left without a word and you threw your head back. 

You liked it better when he stayed the hell away from you.

“Michael,” you said, knocking on the door to the study late that night. “Michael.”

“Yes, little one?” he asked as he opened the door. 

“My soul earlier...I feel funny,” you said. You weren’t expecting any compassion or anything of the sort. But you had a feeling he didn’t want you keeling over on him. 

“Funny how?” he asked, placing a hand against your forehead. “You are not ill.”

“I feel so tired,” you said.

“Well that is because I tapped into the power of your soul,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“You are my true vessel’s soulmate. Your soul is...I’ve never been as powerful as since I began to be near you. Touching your soul today has helped me even further,” he said.

“Awesome,” you said, turning around and falling to the floor.

You woke up in your bedroom, Michael sitting on the edge, running his hand over your head.

“Don’t,” you whined.

“I am healing you, imbecile. Stay still. I don’t have to do this at all,” he said, returning to the calm motion, your body feeling better the longer he did it.

“You’re still evil,” you grumbled, tucking your covers around yourself.

“Everyone is capable of being evil, Y/N. All I ask is for a power up on occasion. That is all,” he said.

“I want Dean back,” you said.

“Dean is gone.”

“What do you mean Dean’s gone?” you said, pushing his hand away as you sat up.

“I mean, Dean is in heaven.”

You stared at him, Michael giving it right back until you jumped on top of him, wrestling Michael to the ground.

“You son of-”

“He’s not dead,” said Michael, pinning you to the floor with a snarl. “I made an arrangement with him. Temporary control of his body and he would relocate to a location capable of holding his soul.”

“You killed him you-” 

“I am not the villain of this story. You may think I am but I am not. My father is and you know damn well I am right,” he said.

“You-”

“No. I didn’t,” said Michael, pulling you up and pulling you into his lap.

“Yes you did,” you said, Michael running a hand up and down your back. “Lemme go.”

“Dean made me promise,” grumbled Michael. “To take care of you when you discovered the truth.”

“Fuck you,” you said.

“Our deal was extensive. You have no idea what is even going on, do you,” he said.

“You killed my boyfriend and soulmate and you kidnapped me and-”

“No, little one. My job is to protect you,” he said.

“Are you insane? You’re the bad guy!” you shouted at him.

“Oh, I am a bad guy. I’m not the bad guy. My father is far far worse and he needs to go,” he said. “Why do you think no one has come looking for you? They are all hiding or in heaven. Chuck cares nothing for you and you give me more power than he’ll be expecting. You’re going to help me defeat him.”

“And when it’s all over, you’re going to hop out of Dean and go on your way?” you scoffed.

“I didn’t say that. This universe will need a new God and I do like this body. I was the lesser of two evils,” he said.

“Fine. We beat Chuck and then you’re going to get the hell out of Dean,” you said.

“We’ll see about that,” chuckled Michael. You turned your head away, Michael still rubbing his hand up and down your back. “Are you finished feeling sad now?”

“No,” you said. Michael suddenly stood up with you, sitting down on the bed and putting your covers back over top of you.

“Sleep,” said Michael, putting his hand on your forehead. “The sooner you get used to this, the better.”

______

[dragongirlpoet]

Dark Signs

Part II

<Read Part I here>

Alucard x female reader

Synopsis: You asked Alucard for a favour. Now you have to be careful what you wished for. (3.5k words) "To be born a dhampir is to be born a monster" - Vampire Hunter D

TW: Dark fantasy, horror & gore elements, blood, SMUT (Alucard is feral in this one) Explicit 🔞

Here's hoping you'll enjoy this too! Sorry it took longer than expected, I was unwell and didn't want to put out a story I wasn't proud of. Thank you for reading!

Also to @skychaser777 hope you can sleep after this 😉

The hollow stone walls echoed my shaky breaths, caving them in, the thumping of my heart violent in my ears. My skin was pricked with goosebumps, foreboding dire dwellings. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Absurd question, considering everything was inherently far from right. 

There had only been one instance where I felt unsafe with Adrian. 

Located in the underbelly of Wallachia was a forgotten catacomb, a labyrinth where the dead and undead alike convened. I had been extracting bile from slaughtered night creatures, told to render powerful salves when mixed with mint, myrrh and…other herbs. 

Body sticky with sweat and hands grimy from reaching into revolting guts, I was almost to my fifth vial when a guttural growl stopped me dead in my tracks. 

From the marrows of a tunnel, a numbing cold, laced with strangled gnawing, reverberated through the passageways.

Every fibre of my being told me to run, alas I had all but the impudence of a child. Unsheathing my iron dagger, ensorcelled to wound even the most vile, I treaded warily towards my impending doom.  

The sight that awaited me was sickening. Crouched over bodies upon bodies of night creatures was a pallid, mangled man? His face was buried in their carcasses, marring at their flesh, lapping at their blood. 

Before I could take another breath, the man turned, face smeared with ravaged viscera and foul, curdled blood. He had hair like the purest wisps of wheat and eyes like dark, desecrated graves. 

I choked back a gasp.

“You foolish, foolish girl. You are not prepared for the evil that lurks here, feeds here..” his bellow was deafening, diabolical. Blood spilled from his fangs, splaying his torso tainted with innards and rotten flesh.

“Wh..who are…you?” I paced backwards as he stalked towards me.

“You don’t know who I am? Most fascinating…” he offered a smile so sinister, as if he had stumbled upon the most naive of fools he was soon to devour.

“I am the sun…rain…the darkness. I am sin made flesh and I am whom you should most fear. I am Alucard, son of Vlad Dracula Tepes.”

A loud “smash” rattled through the room as I retreated into our wooden dresser, knocking over a prized hourglass Alucard so often used to practise his script. The pair of glowering molten eyes trailed me — never blinking, burning caverns into my soul. 

I shifted my gaze downwards to avoid stepping into glass, but that was regrettably the least of my worries. Lifting my stare, those eyes were gone — quick as spectres passing through dimensions. 

Our chamber fell into a boundless black, and my human sight could not adjust acutely enough to the darkness. I flailed my arms about willing to grasp onto anything that could give me some bearing. Anxiety crept through me like poison ivy ensnaring a forsaken home. 

“Adrian? Stop this please! This isn’t funny.” The volatile rhythm of my heart suddenly became too loud, too unbearable. 

No amount of breaths could repress my violent trembling. A faint flicker from the corner caught my eye — Alucard’s heirloom sword. If his magical estoc was there…he is still in the room with me. 

The hairs on my arms shot up, little by little.

Out of nowhere, forceful, ice cold hands prised around my throat, yanking me out of my state of terror. From behind, Alucard, voice grave like a thousand infernal souls, growled into my ear, 

“Do you understand the gravity of what you’re asking?”

Whether it was fear or the vice-like grip around my neck, I couldn’t speak.

“Answer me.” 

He clamped tighter.

”Ye…yesss,” I wasn’t telling a lie. 

“Then let’s finish what we started, shall we?”

One minute I was in Alucard’s death grip, the next I was shoved, hard, into the stone wall, my face chafing against the abrasive mortar. I winced at the pain.

“You’re hurting me, Adrian!” 

Behind, he tightened his grip on my wrists, binding them into the small of my back. 

“Am I? Ohh…but you like danger, don’t you?...His other hand reached down to unfasten his pants, his erect cock sliding out… “You are drawn to the darkness, just as I am.” 

He trailed the words up and down my neck, pausing ever so subtly to savour the scent of blood in my veins. 

A small bead of sweat started trickling down my face…no, no, it was blood — from my collision with the wall.

Alucard went eerily still again. I felt a shift in his countenance, like a malevolent cloud obliterating sunshine. 

He was hungry.

With one knee, he forced my legs apart and hauled my nightdress up, my backside fully exposed. I could feel the tip of his length against my rear — throbbing, impatient. He snaked his hands all over my naked body, grabbing at my breasts, digging into my thighs. 

The scent of my blood set his every carnal need aflame. 

Adrian had always been prudent — he would excuse himself at the slightest scent of my exposed blood, isolating himself in the castle dungeons for hours, as if he deserved it. Deserved to be punished for his beastly urges, deserved to be condemned for being born a monster. 

Every blood-month I had would send him away for days — “I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve seen what I become when I feed… I’ll just be hunting, it’d be just a few days, and your cycle would end when I’m back,” he would say with a smile. A sad smile.

And I was utterly tired and heartbroken that my Adrian, so kind and full of love, would admonish himself, rip his spirit to shreds, for a fate that had been unfairly handed to him. I was going to end this, tonight.

Alucard nuzzled his face into my hair, taking in all my smells, heaving. His body was unyielding against mine — elegant marble against bewitching velvet. I could hear his vampiric heartbeat ringing in his ears, drowning out all sense of reason. He was an animal in heat. 

“You know I cannot control myself around you. And you know what your blood does to me… Do you know how long I haven’t fed?” 

His writhing cock was brandishing my cunt, starving for my hole.

“Do you know I think about what it’s like to have your blood in my veins? How much I want it, need it, desire it. 

How much I want my blood in you. And you ask this of me, tonight, when I’m sitting at the precipice of hunger and lust…”

There was a sharp intake of breath. 

“Hmmm you don’t know what’s coming for you. Once I do this there’s no turning back. 

Do you know how long I’ve been holding out for you? To be better for you. And now you ask this of me…”

At that he yanked at my hair, forcing my head to fall back. The red trace on my cheeks bowed complete to his mercy. 

Staring defiantly into his eyes, I said, “Do it, Adrian. I want you to.” 

Danger, danger.

A devious smile tugged at his lips. Alucard skimmed my neck with his mouth, bruising it with reckless kisses and parlous nips. He moved precariously to suck at the aquamarine veins running down my breasts, licking slow circles about my nipples. He was a wolf dallying with his food. 

A true vampire, hedonistic even in the slightest of pursuits, moving inevitably to the blood trail. He had waited so long for this. 

Alucard pushed his lips delicately into my face, afraid of spilling even the smallest of drops. My blood was a sacred river, a bath of worship he would praise forever. Shaking, he ravened the scarlet off my face, sucking at the open cut, willing for more. 

He was a mixture of muffled moans and enthralled ecstacy.

It was exhaultant. I adored being able to give Adrian what he most craved. 

Drinking in more than necessary, the whites of his eyes were no longer — entire sockets now overtaken with crepuscular crypts darker than the blood moon that hung outside.

Alucard’s cock twitched beneath me, length growing harder and bigger by the second. Grunting, he pumped his sex and slid it against my pussy. I was light-headed with anticipation, but he had merely fondled my folds, prodding at my entrance, testing to see how wet I was.

Perhaps he had been right. Perhaps a dissolute part of me yearned for the darkness, but what I’d wanted most of all was to know that I had years, centuries — immortality, to be with Adrian. 

Head over my shoulder with eyes like lacquered obsidians, he interlaced his fingers with mine, bringing them down to press at my clit. Flagging off from my most sensitive spot, he traced them up my body, slowly, torturously. 

“I wonder…” fingers caressing my abdomen… “how far up…” I gasped as he adjusted them higher… “my cock will go when I’m deep inside you…” Alas settling on a spot above my navel.

A sacred river spawned between my legs. 

Incapable of restraint any longer, I reached back to stroke his shaft, thumb stimulating his tip until his pre-load creamed my fingers. I lathered his fluids, relishing in the feel of his hallowed flesh tethered to my hands. 

“Fuuuck.” Alucard bristled against my touch, face buried in my neck. Below, he was thrusting at my entrance, not yet entering, readying me for his carnal devotion. 

”Adrian please, I need you. I want you inside…”  

His last thread of resolve snapped. He rammed his boner into me from behind, stretching me, engulfing me. My tender walls were a haven to his brutal thrusts, welcoming him in. Cock barely to his hilt, he spread my bottocks apart, plunging his engorged member in. 

“Ahh…ahh…” I whimpered, hands braced on the wall. 

“How are you still so tight…” he hissed, enraged he couldn’t yet feel all of me.

My fingers weaved into his hair, tugging as I leaned further back into him. This feral urge, I craved it. It was scarce enough to satiate the searing lust in me, so I ground impiously against his length like the unholy girl he wanted me to be. 

Tonight, he was to have his way. He was the nefarious overlord and I was but a malleable zealot. My hips were firmly held down by his hands — he wanted to control my rhythm. I was, afterall, his submissive little prey. 

Alucard forced his cum-stained fingers into my mouth, swirling them about the insides of my cheeks, wresting in and out of my plush lips. I licked at them greedily, suckling on his taste. He was so deft — hands and length penetrating me in a lyrical sync, sating me above and below.

I gagged when he stuck his fingers further down, my throat wedging tight. Tears rimmed my eyes but I continued hollowing my cheeks, head bobbing. “Such a good girl…” praising as he brushed hair off my face. I was to appear immaculate while being fucked indecent.

Hypnotised by his bulge assaulting my hole, I bit sinfully on his index, tearing his skin. He pulled out from my mouth, eyes transfixed on the blot of blood. 

“You’re being a naughty little lamb tonight…” His smile was insidious, like a serpent suffocating its meal.

My vampire smothered his blood over my parted lips. My tongue grazed over it, wiping it clean like I was the one writhing in blood lust. What I did had Alucard under a powerful spell. He plummeted his smug into me, our kisses heedless, crashing into each other in depraved lust. 

We sucked and bit them swollen, both of us unrestrained and shameless of our monstrous love. Under, he continued hammering his heat into me, hand pushing my cunt back to swallow more of him.

Alucard was never one to trifle with a perfect opportunity. Hands at his favourite spot, he rubbed his digits forcefully at all the places his cock didn’t already fill. My knees buckled at once from overstimulation. 

“Stay.” He landed a firm smack onto my soaking sex… “Still.”

“Or I won’t let you cum.” An order.

He bent me over, my backside raised to allow him easy entry. I compelled my wobbly legs to stand, muscles quivering at my bones.

“Good. Hands on the wall.” 

Like his obedient little lamb, I hoisted my arms on the cold stone, squeezing taut around my feral wolf.

I was begging, moaning his name, my being in complete disarray.

Content with how tight I was clenching around his shaft, Alucard drove his erection mercilessly into me, pounding so hard I was lifted off the ground. 

I cried out in pleasure and pain. “Adrian! Adrian please…”

“You like it when I’m rough with you, baby? You want me to turn you, and fucking you senseless comes with it,” he spat in between thrusts, dragging hair away from my ears to ascertain I could hear him loud and clear. 

I was so deliciously filled my lewdness spilled out onto my legs. Paths of sweet nectar trickled down my trembling thighs, glazing his girth with my wicked desire. 

I was so close.

Smelling my arousal and imminent climax, Alucard slammed faster into me, his own pace losing cadence. 

We were so close. 

He had everything timed perfectly. Just as he had countless times before — night creatures and wild animals — all unsuspecting pawns to his blood thirst. He was adept at hiding his deplorable little secret, but I knew better. 

Fangs fully exposed, he grazed them masterfully over my neck, humming at my veins and arteries. Quite like a skilled chef discerning food, he was choosing which would taste most exquisite. My scarlet vessels were pulsing in tempo with my heartbeat — palpitating, quivering, waiting.

“Are you frightened? I can feel your terror in my bones…” villainy laced his snarl like a wolf finally rid of sheep’s clothing. 

I had to inhale gulps of air to articulate my words, “No….” But what I said or what I thought mattered no longer. Gone was Adrian — human, moral, benign. A bestial, debased monster, instead, all consumed him. 

Soulless eyes searched me once more, as if to forewarn me about my perilous decision, as if the human in him was straining to break free of his chains to stop this atrocity.

There was no turning back now.

I offered my neck to him, reckless, bloodstreams on full display. At last, with Alucard’s throbbing cock still stuffed full inside, I felt the firestorm in my core and the crushing torrent soon overcame me. 

My release tonight felt different — cathartic. I was once again the delicate driftwood being dragged underwater — careless, aimless, going where the current took me. My limbs fell limp at my sides, my spirit devoid of vigour. And I knew why. 

Alucard’s fangs were buried in my neck, drinking my blood as if a divine offering. When did he bite me? I felt no pain, only a rapture so heavenly I ached for more. 

And so drink he did. Rivers of blood coated his lips, crimson tributaries surging down his throat. He sucked and lapped at my vital spark, clawing at my body so arduously as if I was the most cherished jewel of immeasurable value. 

Like a vampire deprived of debauchery, he drank me in like sweet sin. He had no beginning and no end. And rightfully so. I was profoundly proud of my Adrian. At long last, he no longer had to be ashamed of who he was. He was liberated. He was free. 

My racing heart was now a supine hum. I lay naked — pliant and frozen in his arms. The sleepy swell of the ocean lulled me into the black nothingness. I was rising and falling, so in harmony with the current.

Above, hazy sunbeams fractioned the waves like sparkling diamond necklaces. Beneath, the sombre abyss tugged at my essence, diffusing all manner of light. The ominous depth, though a macabre embrace, was one so full of promise. It was beckoning to me, calling my name — stay, stay, stay…

—

I awoke to a pall of infinite blackness. 

I had been dreaming. There were shadows — silhouettes, of people I couldn’t quite make out. They were whispering, a sonnet of hurried voices, as if going somewhere, but nowhere at the same time. Then there was a lambent flame — the colour of pale amber, always in the distance but never near. Always tailing, always watching…

Where was I? 

I could see nothing, hear nothing. I shifted slightly, and my shoulders were met by cool textile — silk? As more of my senses reconciled, I felt the mattress below me, a satiny divan not reminiscent of my bed. Muted was the air, hollow was the roof, and

…algid was my skin. 

I was in a coffin.  

Panic coiled through the ridges of my ribs, puncturing my heart like lethal thorns. I clawed and pounded at the wood…was I buried alive?

Alas, like the caves of hell being vaquished by divine light, the casket slid open, and I clambered onto a sprawling granite floor. I was heaving, frantic to take in air, clamouring at my chest as if ghostly hands were crushing my heart, splintering my valves. 

Where was Adrian?

A succession of torches adorned the upper vaults, the mellow ebb of light suddenly becoming glaring to my eyes, as if I had been staring directly at the sun. I could make out the phosphorescent ripples and saffron hues that wreathed the flames. 

The air smelled vaguely of mildew and crumbling concrete, while the scampering of rodents in between masonry thundered in my ears. I could hear them squeaking, the sounds of their bones compressing while they squeezed through cracks and crevices. 

I could hear their heartbeats — tiny surges of blood in their capillaries. 

Such fragile little things, I wonder what they’d feel when they’re crushed by the force of my teeth. If they’d feel pain, if any at all, as I drain them dry…

I was so, so hungry. 

My awareness had heightened ten-fold, the anarchy of it all confounding whatever human that was left in me. The sensation of everything all at once was too much to bear and I covered my ears to drown out the distress. 

Futile efforts indeed. 

“Adrian? Adrian…” My voice hoarse from wheezing.

Was this what he had to endure? Being so akin with the presence of entirety, enough to render one insane. Was this why he had been so loath to turn me?

I hauled myself off the ground, bidding my legs to what looked to be a door. Scarce a blink had passed than I was face to face with a metal threshold — intricate lineations etched faintly onto the frame. 

“Willing blood of the Raven Maiden,” — Enochian, words of ancient bygone, but Adrian and I had been avid philologists.

I didn’t concern myself with whether the translation had in fact referred to my blood, but I sank my fangs — a lurid extension — into my wrist and smeared them over the threshold. 

The magicked portal transported me to a bed chamber, a former bed chamber, now resembling the crux of a dense forest.

Creepers cleaved through stone, while poison vines slivered across furniture. Rich moss clung to the bed frame, eating away at the tulle canopy, embedding itself into rotted linen.

That chaise…it was ours. 

Horror flooded my senses as I glanced furtively around. 

Our armoire, our settee, our desk. 

Strewn across the floor, some shredded by tree roots dissecting the wooden panelling, lay stacks of disintegrating parchment like remnants of forgotten lore.

Vampiric speed overtaking, my eyes scanned the moth-eaten pages over. 

“Come back to me.”

“Come back to me.”

“Come back to me.”

I choked on my tears. 

“To be born a dhampir is to be born a monster.”

They fell like glass, shattering on the ink, eroding the paper more.

How long had I been asleep for?

“No, no, no…”  I wept into the emptiness, anguish imprisoning my lungs, blocking off air. In spite of being undead, I had a heart, and it bled — it bled crimson, pain and grief. It bled with all the words I wished I could take back. 

It bled with all the ache that I might never see Adrian again. 

I scoured the castle. Every tower, every room, every dungeon, each a shell of its former mirth. The scenes ran parallel  — overgrown foliage, wrecked furnishings, pillars atrophied by decay. Our home had been eaten away by the curse of time. There was no sign of life, no essence of Adrian. 

With a threshing hole in my heart, I raced past the lattice of abandon toward the main doors. As the iron portcullis lifted, I recoiled at the hell that awaited me. 

There, in the blistering winter, impaled upon rows and rows of stakes, dangled festering corpses of night creatures…and humans. 

What have I done?

Part I

[cece693]

Stupid Crush (Nico di Angelo x Son of Poseidon)

This was something that suddenly came to mind and I couldn't help myself :) Hope you enjoy it.

Summary: It wasn't just the fact that Nico had to reveal his crush on Percy in front of Cupid, but when your boyfriend, the twin brother of said boy, was also in attendance, Nico's life was destroyed.

tags: Nico confesses his crush on Percy, however he's dating you, reader is Percy's twin brother, things get angsty 😈

Nico’s heart pounded in his chest as Cupid’s mocking voice echoed around them, his magic coiling around Nico's soul like a noose. Jason stood on one side, his blue eyes wide with concern, while you—Percy’s twin brother and Nico’s boyfriend—were on the other. Cupid’s voice dripped with cruel amusement, cutting through the silence like a knife. "The truth, Nico di Angelo. Tell them who once held your heart."

Nico’s throat closed up, his worst nightmare unraveling before his eyes. This was the moment he had fought so hard to avoid—the truth he had buried deep within himself, even from you. But there was no escape now. Cupid’s magic tightened, pulling the confession from his lips like a venomous secret. "I…" Nico’s voice cracked, his fists trembling as he clenched them at his sides. "Percy Jackson."

The air in the room shifted. Your breath hitched, but Nico couldn’t bring himself to look at you. He knew what he would see—shock, hurt, betrayal, the crumbling of the trust you'd built together. The pain he’d been dreading. "What?" Your voice came out in a cold, broken whisper.

Nico swallowed hard, staring at the floor. "It was before I met you, before Percy got with Annabeth. I thought—" He stopped, the words turning to ash in his mouth.

But you could read between the lines. Now everything made sense, how Nico easily allowed you to befriend him; you weren't special, just a boy who shared the same face as someone Nico loved. Loves. "So, let me get this straight. You're only with me because my brother didn't return your feelings? Am I just your consolation prize?"

Nico’s head snapped up, panic swelling in his chest. "No! No, it’s not like that!"

Your eyes narrowed, fury replacing the initial shock. "Really?" you spat, taking a step toward him. "Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you settled for me when you couldn’t have Percy."

Nico’s voice wavered as he pleaded, desperate to make you understand. "I didn’t settle! I chose you because I love you. That crush…it was stupid. It doesn’t mean anything anymore!"

But Cupid’s laughter echoed again, cruel and jagged like shattered glass. "Ah, but old feelings never truly die, do they, son of Hades?" The god’s voice teased, his presence hanging over them like a storm. "You can hide it, bury it, but the truth always has a way of surfacing." Nico had never wanted to strike down a god as much as he did now. "Now that the truth is out," Cupid continued, his mocking tone fading as his presence disappeared, "I'll leave you to deal with the consequences."

Silence fell, but the weight of Cupid’s words lingered like a blade pressed against Nico’s throat.

"You played me." Your voice, thick with unshed tears, barely above a whisper but laced with so much pain that it felt like a physical blow. "You say you love me, but if Percy hadn't chosen Annabeth…if he had even shown the slightest interest in you, would you still have ended up with me?"

Nico froze, the question like a dagger to his chest. He wanted to deny it, to say that nothing would have changed the way he felt about you. Perhaps your friendship did arise from some misguided crush on Percy, but as time progressed, Nico fell in love with you. You. But even then it took time for him to distance who you and Percy were, sometimes it even stunned him how much you were alike, so if Percy did magically return his feelings, would Nico fall for you? His silence seemed to confirm your suspicions as your expression hardened.

"That’s what I thought."

Jason stepped forward, trying to break the tension. "Guys, come on. Maybe we should—"

"Stay out of it!" You snapped, your voice sharp enough to make him flinch. Jason took a step back, helplessly looking between you both, understanding that this was something beyond his control.

Nico reached out, desperate to grab your hand, to stop you from slipping further away, but you recoiled. "Don’t." Your voice was quiet but firm, the finality in that one word shattering the last bit of hope Nico had. "Just…don’t."

Nico could only watch as you turned away, disappearing into the shadows. Jason hesitated for a moment before following after you, leaving Nico alone in the cold, empty chamber, the weight of what he had just lost settling deep in his bones.

When the three of you returned to the Argo II, the change in atmosphere was immediate. Gone was your usual bright demeanor, replaced by hollow eyes and the kind of blank expression that spoke of barely contained pain. Nico, too, was different. His usual quiet presence had shifted into something darker—his shoulders slumped under the weight of regret, his face pale as if he were just moments away from breaking.

The others exchanged worried glances but said nothing as you silently headed toward your cabin. The slam of the door reverberated through the ship, causing everyone to flinch, even Nico, whose eyes lingered on the door as if willing it to open and for everything to go back to how it had been. But it wouldn’t.

Hazel was the first to break the silence. "What happened?" she asked, her voice soft, her gaze fixed on Nico. When he didn’t respond, avoiding her eyes, she looked to Jason, who merely shook his head, pity etched across his features. "Nico," Hazel pressed gently, her worry growing. "You can talk to us."

But Nico didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped back, letting the shadows around him rise, and within moments, he was gone—leaving the others standing in silence.

Days had passed, but to Nico, each one felt like an eternity. Every hour that dragged on without your voice, without your gaze meeting his, was a torment he hadn’t anticipated. The coldness that had settled between you was suffocating. Whenever Nico approached, even just to be in the same room, you’d find some excuse to leave. He could sense it, the way you tensed whenever he was nearby, the way you averted your gaze, as if looking at him was too painful. And that hurt more than anything—knowing he was the cause of it.

The others noticed the growing distance between you two. The worried glances exchanged over meals, the whispers behind his back. Jason and Hazel, in particular, kept trying to reach out, but Nico had shut himself off. What could he say? How could he explain the rift when the mere thought of it made his chest ache? Even Leo, who usually cracked jokes at the dinner table, had grown more subdued, as if the tension in the air had smothered his usual cheer.

Nico couldn’t bear it anymore. He had to fix this—he had to at least try. He couldn’t stand the silence, the void that had replaced the closeness they once shared. So, one night, when the Argo II drifted quietly through the sky and everyone had retreated to their cabins, Nico ventured out onto the deck. The night was cool, the stars twinkling above like distant, indifferent observers to his misery. But that wasn’t what caught his eye.

You were there—alone, standing at the edge of the ship, staring out into the horizon. For a moment, Nico just watched you, his heart aching at how much he missed simply being near you. He could almost imagine everything was fine—that you were waiting for him, that you’d smile when he approached, kiss his forehead, and mention how he needed to take better care of himself.

Gathering his courage, Nico stepped forward, his footsteps soft against the deck. "Can we talk?"

You stiffened at his voice, but didn’t turn around. For a few agonizing moments, there was nothing but silence. Then, with a sigh, you spoke, your voice devoid of the warmth Nico so desperately missed. "I don’t know what there is left to say."

Nico’s heart sank, but he pressed on. "Please, just let me explain."

At that, you turned to face him, and Nico saw the exhaustion in your eyes. The sleepless nights, the weight of betrayal, all of it etched into your features. "Explain what, Nico?" Your voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a coldness that made his chest tighten. "That you were in love with my brother? That you settled for me? That I wasn't your first choice? Do you think words are going to fix this?"

"No," Nico whispered, stepping closer, his voice strained with the weight of everything he wanted to say. "No, I don’t think words can fix it. But I never meant to hurt you. I—" He paused, swallowing hard, trying to find the right words. "It was a crush. A stupid, meaningless crush. I didn’t choose you because of Percy. I chose you because of you."

Your eyes flickered with something—anger, hurt, betrayal—but you didn’t waver. "Then why didn’t you deny it when I asked you? Why didn’t you just say that nothing could have changed how you felt about me? Why did you hesitate?"

Nico opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He hadn’t known what to say back then, and even now, he was at a loss. How could he explain that moment of doubt without sounding like the worst kind of person?

"You see?" You shook your head, your expression hardening. "You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell me that I wasn’t just second best. But, do you know what hurts the most? It’s not just that you had feelings for Percy. It’s that a god had to force you to tell the truth. If Cupid hadn’t intervened…how long would you have strung me along? How long would I have been in the dark while you carried this secret? Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I—" Nico started, his voice faltering. "I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I didn’t want you to get hurt. It was just a crush. Something stupid. And I thought I’d gotten over it, I swear." He took a step closer, his eyes pleading with you to understand. "I grew a crush on Percy when we were younger—when I first came to camp. He was the hero. Brave, kind...everything I wasn’t. And I thought, maybe if I could be near him, maybe I’d feel like I belonged."

Nico’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he remembered those days, the confusion, the hope, and the loneliness that had followed. "But it wasn’t real. Not like what I feel for you. Percy was this…this idea in my head, someone I admired from afar. But you—" His voice broke, his eyes locking onto yours with desperation. "You were real. You saw me for who I am, all the broken parts, and still cared. What I feel for you isn’t some crush or fantasy. It’s love. I love you."

You shook your head, your face twisted with both anger and pain. "But how am I supposed to believe that, Nico? After everything? How do I know you aren’t still lying to yourself or to me? You say it’s love, but how do I trust that?"

Nico felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him. He couldn’t lose you—he couldn’t. "I’m not lying," he insisted. "I swear it. On the River Styx, on my mother, on Bianca—on everything I hold dear—I love you. I don’t care about Percy anymore. What I had for him was nothing compared to what I feel for you."

The solemn weight of Nico’s oath filled the air, the magic of the River Styx sealing his words, making them unbreakable. The sky seemed to darken for a moment, a rumble of thunder far in the distance, confirming the binding nature of his vow.

But you didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Your eyes, once filled with love, now only reflected the deep wounds left behind. "Maybe you believe that, Nico," you said softly, but the coldness in your voice made it clear that something between you had shifted, something that could never be undone. "But I can’t anymore. I can’t keep going, wondering if I’ll ever fully have your heart. Because that shadow—the one you said lingered over you—it’ll always be there, won’t it?"

Nico’s breath hitched, the weight of your words crushing him. He wanted to scream, to beg, to prove that you were wrong. That there was no shadow, no lingering doubt in his heart. But his silence, that hesitation back in Cupid’s lair, had already broken something vital between you. And now, no matter what he swore on, no matter how much he begged, you didn’t believe him anymore.

Tears pricked at Nico’s eyes as he realized that he was losing you, that you had already made up your mind. "Please…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please don’t go."

You looked at him for a long, painful moment, and Nico thought—hoped—that maybe there was still a chance. But then, you shook your head, and turned away, leaving him standing there, the solemn weight of his oath ringing hollow in the night air. Nico felt the cold wind biting at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that had settled deep within him as he watched you walk away. Alone, once again.

[razzle-n-dazzle]

- hi ! 💌,,

ISTG you’re writing is so well done and creative I had to contain myself from like spam!!

I hope you’re still taking request and if you’re not that’s totally cool, I’ll wait ‘till next round.

Adam reincarnates in hell and oh, would you look at that? the s/o is the only one trying to help and not making him feel worse that he already is. (i just need wholesome content, exam week is killing me rn).

AGAIN, love you’re writing thx for reading so far!

ᯓ★ Let's Give This Another Shot (and not fuck it up this time) Sinner! Adam / Sinner! Reader | Drabble

‗ content / trigger warning: fluff, swearing, Adam being Adam, not proof read (we die like Adam) ‗ author's note: this is for everyone who's dealing with exam weeks, it sucks but I believe in all of you any you're going to kill those exams! (don't let them kill you!). Also thank you so much for the compliments Anon <3, I write for the people and myself, so I'm glad everyone is enjoying the crazy shit I've posted here!

ᯓ When you fall from grace, it's not a pleasant feeling; That Adam knew - or at least he thought he knew - well enough from hearing about Lucifer falling, hearing the horrific things the others whispered about it, mentioning it in passing before the thought disappeared and dispelled into the air as though Lucifer had never held a place in Heaven. As though he was nothing that what he was now, demonic figure that wore a crown made out of skeletons and bones fashioned to mimic horns. Adam never cared about the stories that were whispered, about the horrors he sometimes heard through passing, about Sera recalling how she heard Lucifer scream on the way down, about how Michael watched with horror as Lucifer tried to shield Lilith and himself, about how Gabriel heard his pleads and couldn't do anything; No one could save him from the fate that had been weighed on his shoulders as soon as he had fed the apple to Eve. And partly it was because Adam blamed Lucifer for ruining his paradise, for infecting the mind of both his (ex) wives and causing him grief and pain. Dying alone is almost just as unpleasant as falling from grace; almost.

ᯓ You see, while Adam had died alone on Earth, at least his soul went to somewhere pleasant and he was able to continue living; To make a name for himself and, he guessed, make some friends and live a rather worriless and carefree life in the clouds. He was able to have fun, rock out, and be known as the first human soul ever being able to reach Heaven - that was something not even Eve managed to do, and he took it with pride! It was his title. It was partly who he was. Maybe it was all he was. That much became more clear to him when he found himself waking up in Hell again, the stabbing pain of a dagger striking his back still their along with the weight of his wings. At first, he had thought he managed to survive the assassination attempt, that Lute had just left him in Hell on accident or because she thought he was dead. It caused some sort of pride to well in his chest, a flame that sparked his need to go boost and scream at the top of his lungs - he had survived an angelic weapon! He was immune! He was the strongest angel there was, because Sera would totally fall and die in a sad crumble after being stabbed with angelic metal! He was . . .

ᯓ And that's when Adam happened to pass by a mirror, or well more of a reflective glass on the street of Hell (as he walked, not questioning the odd ball looks he got), and that's when he saw it; What looked like a stranger to be staring back at him, engulfing and taking over his reflection like they owned it, like it was there own. That wasn't him! Well, it looked like him, he could admit that, but it wasn't as sexy or as handsome as him! The reflection would copy his movement, snarling as he did and grinning all the same. With his same fluffed up hair and piercing eyes, the reflection wore no mask yet still held the horns of his all the same; Even the way they slowly curled back before dipping down, forming and L for the gold spikes to rest at the end. The reflection wore his exterminator uniform, yet it was the darker version with the yellow having somehow been dulled and deepened and faded out all at once. His wings were still golden, still tucking at his sides from under his arms all the same, though there was no halo to accompany them this time. And Adam almost wanted to laugh, maybe it was hysteria or maybe it was disbelief, yet he watched to cry and laugh and break the glass all at once; Denying that this was his fate, being unable to stomach that he, First Man Adam, was not only double dead yet in hell. Hell! The first man cannot be in hell, he had created everyone on Earth; All of them came from his nuts and in turn all of them should be praising the fucking land he walked on because if it wasn't for him he wouldn't be here!

ᯓ And yet the Reflection looked back all the same, teasing him with a distorted grin; Like it could feel his distress in the way he curled his fist, pulling back before he slammed it against the glass. It gave a crack, a small one at first, before completely shattering. Adam could care less what shop or business had that glass, he could care less how he effected them or how he was going to be painted in Hell, because this was some crazy mistake! He was not supposed to be down here and he was not going to stand for some stupid mistake that happened because some small crazy bitch decided to back-stab him! Literally! And yet, if Adam wanted any of the answers he so desperately craved, he would have to suck in some of his pride and trudge along to the damn Hotel and talk to the residence who had taken his life. It would take him a while before he accepted such a fate, taking the chance between deciding and doing to walk along the Pride Ring before stumbling into the wrong town and being chased out by crazy demons who wanted to bite him! Maybe even eat him . . . What crazy place is this?!

ᯓ When Adam had begrudging and reluctantly knocked on the new Hotel door, which he would never admit to stopping and marveling at for a second, he would feel that ever irritating dread weigh in his stomach. Who wouldn't feel such a feeling after coming to the front door of a group of people you had tried to exterminate only, Adam didn't know how long, prior! Maybe, silently, somewhere inside Adam knew if he were in their shoes, having faced what they had, he wouldn't accept him either; He would throw him to the curb. Yet, he didn't exactly like that thought, and it wasn't very on brand, so he shoved it down and away and deep until all the could think about is: How in the hell would they not accept me? I'm Adam, I'm the first man! And yet when the door opened, allowing Adam to come face to face with none other than Vaggie, he felt that dread creep in a little. But, not enough to stop him from greeting Vaggie in a less that desirable way, "What's up Vagasaurus?" The sneering comment left his mouth, "I love what you did with the place. You know, it looks slightly less like a destroyed pile of Sh-" Yet the door would only slam in his face before Adam could finish his thoughts or his words; Leaving him standing outside, a tad awkwardly, waiting for the doors to open again. He, also, would never admit giving a glance behind him, making sure no one was standing there to watch him standing in front of the doors.

ᯓ "Vaggie, who was that?" Charlie would call to her girlfriend as she walked away from the door, coming towards where Charlie sat on the floor organizing new activities that everyone could do. All while Nifty rushed around nearby, cleaning Sir Pentious' and Dazzle's memorials in the new Hazbin Hotel. She muttered to herself quietly, not bothering Angel and Husk, who sat at the bar. "No one important." Vaggie would mumble, not being able to catch her tone before it could reveal that it was someone less than desirable. Possibly another sinner choosing a path of redemption after the last extermination! Which the thought caused Charlie to gain a burst of energy, barreling onto her feet so quickly that she knocked around the carefully organized slits of paper on the floor. Vaggie tried to protest, saying it was truly no one at the door and Charlie should just leave it alone! But she was never a really good lair, "Oh calm down Vaggie, I'm sure it's no one bad!" Charlie would grin with a wave, her hand touching the crisp and cool metal of the door handle before swinging the door back open. "Hi, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! How can I-" And yet her words fell flat as soon as her eyes were locked onto Adam's - who quickly spun around, pretending like he hadn't just been looking behind him - and was also welcomed by his light groan of annoyance. "Oh fuck me." ". . . help you." Charlie's voice flattened, dropping as her eyes widened. You know, she's never felt this shocked to see someone at the steps of the Hotel before since Alastor had came along without warning.

ᯓ "Adam?!"

ᯓ "BITCH CAN YOU NOT SHOUT MY NAME?!" Was the next words that were exclaimed out of the ex-angel, the now outcast, as he seemed rather eager to push Charlie inside of her own Hotel and walk in after; Quickly shutting the door as though there was someone outside waiting and stalking him, watching him with all their attention. "Hey no, you cannot just let yourself in here this isn't Heaven!" Vaggie was swift to march her way over to the two, seeing as Charlie wasn't doing anything to discard of Adam she might as well do it herself! No way was she going to let some two-timing exorcist angel not only push her girlfriend around yet also push his way into the hotel. Who did he think he is? And yet Charlie waved out a hand, stopping Vaggie in her tracks. There was confusion, and the two at the bar would turn their heads, before scowling seeing the fallen angel. Adam was sure he could hear Angel's accented voice loud and clear shouting out, 'oh what the fuck is this bullshit!' before Charlie began to talk to him again in a rushed fashion; One he remembered quite well during the meeting that Lucifer subbed her in for instead of coming to it himself, and he was still annoyed by her voice. "What are you doing down here? I thought you-! You know . . . " Charlie rushed out, trying to make it quick as though the others at the hotel would jump and kill Adam again with no remorse, finishing the job that clearly didn't stay permeant the first time; And, honestly, Adam wouldn't put it above anyone here to do that. Adam, who had been picking at his teeth with his pinkie finger, would turn away from Charlie and shrug his shoulders, "Yeah, well, I fuckin' did and ended up down here for some fucking reason, probably a mistake and mix up of souls. I'm sure you have plenty of those down here, pft!- I mean who else would want to stay in this charity case!-" "We're not entertaining you Adam!" Vaggie would cut off the ex-angel, causing his interest to peak over at her. Though he relaxed quickly enough, maybe too quickly seeing as Vaggie had drown out her own weapon and that . . . nasty little creature stood beside her with the dagger made out of angelic metal; Now that little one-eyed demon could give Adam the creeps, maybe even a little (lot) fright, but not Vaggie. "You know, I thought were all trying to redeem souls in this junk box of yours." Adam scoffed, quickly crossing his arms with a tilt of his head. "Are you fucking discriminating against me wanting to return to where I rightfully belong just because I was an angel before this? Wow, that's a low blow, especially for someone light you." Adam's voice dripped with sarcasm mixed with malice, maybe even still a little pride. "You literally tried killing up like- 2 weeks ago!" Vaggie would gesture to the side, as though trying to compare time to the length of her arm. "Oh shit it's been too weeks?" Adam paused, thinking about it yet drawing a blank and shrugging in result, "Shit, didn't know, pft! That shit must still be fresh for you then, huh? Well, let me remind you all that you weren't the ones who DIED!-"

ᯓ "Adam?" Your voice would slip out into the common space of the lobby of the hotel, honey sweat to Adam's ears; Filling them with a melody that could match the songs of Heaven, running down his spine with the comfort he didn't know he needed until now. But even then, you knew he wouldn't break his 'tough man' exterior until you managed to snag him along, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. "Holy shit, hey Babe!" Adam was quick, rushing past and slightly pushing Charlie out of his way to make his way over to you, over to his love. "What the fuck are you doing in a dumb like this? I thought you said you had your own fucking spot near Cannibal Town!" - It had been the only reason why he had tried traveling to that cursed town, even while knowing its residents might try and take a bite out of him or his wings. He craved for the familiarity of someone in this new world, as he had never felt this vulnerable since his first days on Eden; Earth. God's Earth. "Babe?" A chorus of confused, slightly concerned, and baffled voices followed as Adam came to your side, swinging an arm around your waist and instantly drawing you closer. You swore he was fighting off the urge to flick off the others, a casual fuck you for trying to push him off and out. You could feel their eyes as you leaned up to pepper a kiss into Adam's shoulder, to which he squeezed your waist slightly tighter, adorning a snicker upon his face. "Wait, wait!-" Vaggie started, taking a staggering step forward as her arms laid limp besides her. One of her eyebrows were cocked up, her eyes narrow, "What do you mean Babe?" Your name left her lips, "Don't tell me you're dating that fucker!" She would soon exclaim, tossing her hands out as they finally regained the life they had lost. To which you would turn towards her confused, and then remember oh yeah . . . the battle. The one you hadn't been present for though heard about through Channel 666 News; In all honesty it's why you had came here, to the Hotel, to see if you could try and get to Heaven and find Adam again - praying he didn't actually die but was taken back to Heaven to heal or was revived in some way. "Uh, yeah. Adam's my boyfriend-" You would start with a wavering smile, nerves tugging at the edge of your lips. "Oh, this couldn't have gotten worse." Angel would groan, slamming his head down onto the bar countertop, acting like a disappointed parent; Silently telling you that you could have done better. To which you placed a hand on your hip, about to tell Angel off, only to be cut off by Husk tsking and shaking his head, "I would not put you as an Angel and sexist fucker, but whatever rows your boat." His tone came off dry, uninterested, and a little hostile. And with Charlie's silence, you couldn't help but feel the weight of everyone's words a little heavier.

ᯓ And Adam noticed that, with one glance down at you and your face, his wings would flare defensively and his glare was snapped back at the other demons. He couldn't care less that they had been talking shit about him, he couldn't care less on how they saw him or the reasons they thought you could do better than him; They shouldn't care about whether or not someone was out of their friend's league if they were clearly happy with the person! That, Adam knew - or maybe he believed it more. "Hey, what your fucking mouths!-" He would start, trying to draw you away from the others. Sure, he was no longer an Angel, but he was sure as hell he could take any of them in a fight anyways! And yet, his anger was snuffed like a candle as soon as you placed your hand on his chest, gently pushing in and pushing him back. The breath of ire was caught in his throat, not even being able to reach his lungs, as he glanced down at you, noticing the spark that you had seemingly stolen right out of his chest and placed in your eyes. He knew your reservations of fighting with friends, or with anyone in general, so he couldn't help but feel pride swell up in his chest watching you stand up for yourself, for you and him: "I will not let you speak about me, nor Adam that way!" You defended, shooting a star through your eyelashes that the group; Who seemed just as taken aback as Adam had been before the warmth spread from his chest. Vaggie would scrunch her face, much more concerned that irritated or disappointed, but also all of that at the same time. Your name slipped from her lips, "You can't be serious! He's . . ." She stumbled for a moment, trying to grasp her words, "He's led genocides on Sinners all over Hell! He's like really gross and he doesn't respect people. He's a douche and a dick!-" "Dick master," Adam would correct Vaggie just to piss her off, earning a slight jag in the gut from you and a snarl from Vaggie. Vaggie, who, tossed out her hands once more, yet pointed at Adam this time, "See what I mean?!"

ᯓ "And tell me how you felt when you first lost your divinity?"

ᯓ The question lingered in the room, drifting and sticking in the air, as Vaggie stared at you with disbelief; Her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide, and her stance rigid. You noticed how Charlie grew nervous behind her, how she seemed rather uncomfortable in the atmosphere that been created in the room since Adam had arrived than you. She would place a hand on Vaggie's shoulders, attempting to comfort her, yet failed to pick out any words to say in response. "It's hard enough to leave somewhere you've called home," You would continue, frowning, "To be tossed out like you had meant nothing, like one mistake had deemed you unworthy despite everything great you have done in your life. Vaggie! . . . out of everyone, I would have thought at least you would understand something like that." Seeing as she had gone through the same process herself, yet had always had Charlie there by her side to walk through everything with. Was she implying that Adam didn't deserve the same because of what he had done? Sure it was crude and cruel, but everyone deserved another chance to mistake their wrongs and that was what this hotel was about; And you voiced such concerns to not just Vaggie but to Charlie as well. What makes Adam so much different from Lucifer, or say another Fallen Angel that managed to wind up down here? What makes him less worthy to be redeemed? What made him less of a human soul as say Angel or Alastor? Everyone fucks up in their life and as long as they're trying to better themselves, understanding what they did wrong and why it was wrong, they should be given a chance!

ᯓ It wasn't long before Charlie said that everyone should take a break, and as such you would lead Adam away from the crowd of people and up to your own room in the Hotel. You could feel Vaggie's eyes linger, you felt like she wanted to say something yet let her words fall short before they were ever given a chance. But, even if they had, you were too pent up to even discuss anything logically with her at the moment. And you think she could feel or at least tell and that's why her words fell short, yet you would never know - you're not Vaggie nor would you ever think like she does.

ᯓ You and Adam found yourselves in your bed after settling some matters, such as a change of clothing for him and whether or not you wanted to try and make the trip back to your apartment today; Luckily you had some of Adam's old T-shirts and joggers you had stolen from him from one of the few trips where Adam had snuck you into Heaven - and yet on the same note, either of you felt like going downstairs to face anyone to leave to your apartment. So, with not much to do, you set the TV on as background noise and brain fuzz as you snuggled up to Adam's side. You felt as his claws, at first, scratched gently at his side, pairing with a kiss on the forehead, and then they began to tap the flesh there; Like you were some little drum that made no noise, yet Adam continued until he switched to rubbing his thumb against your hip. "What's wrong, Adam?" Concern dripped from your lips, forcing Adam to draw his eyes away from the mindless television and down to meet you, and your eyes. He had known your attention had been up at him for a while, at first admiring his face (as you didn't get to see it much) yet it had shifted to concern the more he played with the plush flesh of your waist. He wondered if you could tell he was nervous from the start. Adam's eyes would falter and glance off to TV again, his words causing a lump in his throat as he tried to play through them; Trying to find the best combination to spew out instead of talking without thinking - vomiting whatever first came to mind and not thinking about it later. And maybe you could tell the trepidations that filled his head too; Seeing as you shifted your position from his side, pushing yourself up, and instead onto his lap, effectively blocking his vision of the television. Your hands rested on his chest, something so natural at this point yet something that still caused Adam's lungs to halt for a minute and for his stomach to flutter. Even so, he would give you a curious glance up and down, trancing the curves of your body with his eyes as he has done countless times before - yet every time, you managed to take his breath away. "If you wanted to fuck, babe, you could have just said so!" The snarky remark left his lips, meeting your amused yet disapproving face. He knew that's not what you wanted, yet he couldn't help but entertain yourself when you were basically straddling his waist; As such, his fingers would drag along the calf of your leg before his hands would trail up your thighs before tailing back down and up once more. He saw the flutter in your breath, yet you tried to keep your composure. Even if Adam was making it ever so hard.

ᯓ "Adam," You would start, your tone causing Adam to stop caressing your thighs. It stuck his eyes to yours, and he couldn't look away no matter how much his nerves pulled at him to. "I want you to know, no matter what happens . . . I'm here for you, okay? We're in this together. You're not a solo act anymore, we're a duet . . . or, well, more a duo act." Your words sunk down into Adam's skin, they infected through his lungs and ran to his heart before infecting all his blood and his veins. His hands, which had ran up to hold your waist, gave a gentle squeeze as he swallowed down the saliva that built up in his suddenly dry mouth. A duo act? Sure, he knew you two were dating, that you had been for a while, yet even then he had a silent thought in the back of his head that you would leave him, much like the others; So he never considered himself no more than what he had: A soloist. First Man Adam! . . . but now he was able to add being 'Yours' to his list with some sort of fire-like confidence; Burning and bright. It made his heart catch fire, even more so when you would stretch out lightly and lean down to lay down on his chest; Your warmth infecting all of him you touched, allowing his arms to wrap around your back and for his wings to fluff out and wrap around your frame. It was like he wanted to shield you from the world, shield you from Heaven, shield you from everyone and anything that wanted to hurt you. Sure he had the urge before, but now? . . . "You heard that big man?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, your teasing smirk had him fighting for a breath. You would playfully nudge his shoulder, "You're stuck with me, I'm stuck with you're, we're stuck together so you better be getting used to it! I'll fight for you, you fight for me, and we'll get back to that stupid place that outcasted you in the first place!" But he would like to stay here, with you, forever. "And we'll show Charlie and Vaggie that it can be done and that even if you fucked up you have a good heart in you! . . . Because I know you do under all the gunk." And your laughter had never sounded so sweet, and you touch has never felt so soft and loving.

ᯓ A duo act, huh? With you? Adam could get used to and stand behind that thought; Perhaps, even after all this time, he wanted nothing more than to hear those words, or well the meaning of those words, from your mouth since the start.

ᯓ But even then, with the emotions that swelled Adam's heart with nothing but pure love, he couldn't help but nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. Your scent filled his nose with a warmth he missed, the soft skin of your neck flushed against his smirking lips, a feeling he longed for and couldn't forget. You were perfect, you always had been! "Fuck, Babe, when you say pretty shit like that, it's hard not to fuck you right here and now." Adam would groan before a loud cackle left his lips as soon as you smacked his back. All too used to his ways, you couldn't do much yet shake your head against Adam's shoulder, like a parent scolding their child for saying something offensive. "You ruined the mood Adam!" The huff escaped your lips, it hit Adam's neck and made goosebumps spring up his arms. "Again!" And yet, you didn't protest as Adam tossed you both into your sides with a fever, still cackling as though this was the funniest joke in the world - and you couldn't deny, you loved the sound of his laughter so much. Even as his stubble would tickle your neck as he did so, causing you to start laughing soon after and trying to push his head away from your neck. "Adam! Oh my god, Adam stop that tickles!" You gasped between breaths, struggling to push your boyfriend away as he found joy in your lighthearted misery. Though he would only curl around your frame, not answering your desperate calls of a truce and a stop, and trap you in his arms and wings with no remorse. "You're stuck with me Babe, you said it yourself! Now come here, let me kiss that pretty fucking face of yours until you can't breath!"

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[000marie198]

I just realized.

Hiccup loves Toothless but he doesn't have a reason for it like everyone else.

Like, everyone in-universe loves Toothless right?

The antagonists are fascinated by him and are obsessed with him because he's a night fury. Pre-redemption Dagger loves him because of same reason and post-redemption, he likes Toothless because of many other things that have to do with Toothless’ personality. Stoick loves him as a son, yes that is very true, go rewatch the series if you don't believe me, all of the Berkians are in awe with Toothless because of his capabilities, the kids adore him, the dragons listen to him (because he had protected them for a long time), the animals stopped being afraid of him because he was protective and kind, and the Gang loves him for a lot of things, for his capabilities and his fun personality and intelligence, he is their friend just as much as Hiccup is. And we viewers love Toothless for a lot of things, we can make a very long list of reasons.

But then you get to Hiccup, the one person who loves Toothless the most, out of anyone in the whole franchise.

But then you think about which quality of Toothless does he love him for? His intelligence? His protectiveness? His loyalty? His speed or stealth?

Everyone has a reason to love this dragon, what is Hiccup’s reason?

And I thought back to the movie and the short movies and the series and realized, Hiccup doesn't have a reason.

He just loves Toothless, and he would love Toothless even if he weren't a powerful, fast, kind and intelligent night fury, he would love Toothless even as a tiny terrible terror (he has in fact, maybe in another universe).

Hiccup saw Toothless, saw his eyes for the first time and saw his own soul staring back.

Hiccup saw Toothless, saw his eyes for the second time and saw his own curiosity and intelligence staring right back.

Hiccup and Toothless’ friendship grew slowly, gradually and strongly, they love each other for no reason other than the fact they learned to trust each other, no ulterior motive.

And Hiccup moved on so fast from an overhead sketch scribbled hastily for scientific record to scribbles in the dirt of eyes full of life, the one thing occupying his mind as he stays within the same space as the one whom his people considered the offspring of death itself, feeling unworried and safe.

And Toothless, sharing his fish, even though he doesn't share with other dragons, napping in the same space as the human, letting down his guard enough to fall asleep, unaware of time passing till evening arrives, seeing a figure of himself being drawn in the dirt and allowing the human to reach out and touch him.

He comes to care about Hiccup just as much, enough to protect him from everyone and everything, even the rudeness of other vikings.

He doesn't have a reason to love Hiccup. One would think it's because Hiccup gave his flight back but no, Toothless broke the new tail that allowed him to fly free, he jumped into an inferno with no guarantee of survival, he ate an eel, he broke an alpha’s command when he heard his best friend’s voice, for Hiccup.

Everyone who loves Hiccup has a reason for it, be it his skills or kindness or compassion or intelligence or parental pride or hero worship. But Toothless would love Hiccup even if he were being reckless and stupid, even if he didn't win at something, battle or game, even if he becomes sleep deprived and half crazy, even when the boy couldn't fight as he does once grown, even when he was small and hidden and hated by many.

Hiccup and Toothless love each other, without a reason and unconditionally.

[feinv]

jealous/possessive low honor!arthur morgan x hyperfem reader... he's so hot sorry,,, arthur doesn't like other men having their eyes on u or something??

-🎀

low honor!arthur morgan who is mean to everyone but you. that right there. that’s how i die. — arthur morgan masterlist.

ᯓ it’s very grumpy x sunshine undertones you two got. he is this mean, rude, six foot tall outlaw who is literally wanted for murder and people advise not to get close to him when spotted outside. and you are his sweet little thing, kindest and purest soul, always so full of love. and you got him swooning after you. <3

ᯓ the thing is. he loves showing you off. he wants everyone to see how mesmerizing you are. and that you chose him. but he wants them to see that from afar. anyone flirts with you at the bar or even tries to start up a flirty conversation would just be signing themselves for a trip to afterlife.

ᯓ it’s not unusual for prying eyes to find you two, a rather odd couple. a broody looking man dressed in dark with an angelic sweet lady hanging by his arm. so he doesn’t mind when people stop their doings to stare. but once that stare turns into lust and you got men checking you out, it’s a disaster.

ᯓ he knows that in contrary to him you hate when he gets into fights, so he will always try to keep his calm with you, shooting silent but deadly daggers with his eyes at others.

ᯓ absolutely smiles at you while you rumble his ears off when the two of you are in a saloon just conversing over drinks. but that smile is reserved for you only. you are not sure others even know he can physically form a smile.

ᯓ would absolutely beat someone who dared to throw a perverted comment at your direction to an unconscious state before finding your trembling body at the corner and coming to hold you with one hand on your waist, the other caressing your cheek, his bloody fingers leaving stains on your pretty pink dress. :(

“y’know i would never hurt ya, sweetheart. but those bastards need to know you’re mine,” kissing you softly before it progresses into a hungry make out session.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

You

So I went from listening to "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry (because it was stuck in my head for some reason) to listening to Burying the Dead by Kevin Kiner from Star Wars The Clone Wars and all I could feel was angst. Obviously I have to pass it on.

Summary: Astarion realises he's known all along what it means to live, all thanks to you

He can feel the stickiness of the liquid sandwiched between your palms, feel it sliding down his wrist and trail along his forearm. He can feel your hand slowly slipping from his grip, your fingers weakly grasping at his palm for purchase, unwilling to let go. He doesn't want to let go either, but your ragged breaths remind him of the pain you're in, the hurt in your eyes tearing his soul apart.

"It's alright, love. Everything's going to be alright." A lie. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes and swallows as hard as he can, willing his sorrow away.

Just endure it for a while. Until they move on.

Your chest is barely moving, crimson bubbling from your lips as you desperately suck in whatever air your weakening lungs can. Your eyelids flutter, your body fighting to shut down and Astarion has to force his hands to stop trembling, his undead heart crying out with each weak gasp that slips from your fading body.

He brings your bloody hand to his lips, hating the way the sweet taste floods his mouth. The smell fills his nose and his fangs reveal themselves, his body urging him to drink but he forces his mouth shut, pushing down the hunger that threatens to take over.

Your lips move, but Astarion can't make any of them out, rendering your final words lost forever. His hand shakes as it clasps tightly around the hilt of his dagger, his eyes squeeze shut as he inhales deeply. He can't do this, he can't.

He can't kill you. But he has to.

His dagger trembles as its tip hovers over your heart, the steel of the blade reflecting the setting sun. The evening sunlight casts a beautiful yet saddening glow over you, framing you in its radiance like it has a thousand times before, but today is the last time he will ever see you bask in the sun.

The poison has chewed its way through almost your entire body, your pained laboured breathing is all that remains. He has to do it now, put you out of your misery or the poison will drag your suffering out until your lose your mind, and he can't let that happen.

His fingers tighten around the hilt, hoping that it will stop the dagger from shaking so much and forces his hand to move downwards.

One strike and it will all be over. One strike and you wouldn't have to suffer any longer.

Blood springs forth from the new well he has created and he gags. He loves your blood, yes, that is an undisputed fact. It nourishes him, tastes absolutely divine, but only when it's you giving your blood of your own accord. Not like this, not when it's being poured out all over the ground, not when it steals you away from him.

He watches as your body twitches for the last time and hears your last breath leave your lips, a quiet thank you for everything he's done. He stares blankly at your now dead body, mind and body numb to the core.

Where does he go from here?

He sits on his heels, feeling the pent up tears trickling down his cheeks. It starts out with quiet sobs, soft whispers of words he never got to say to you that grow louder as he starts to cry, his heart shattering into a million pieces. Reality hits him hard. You're gone now, forever. He will never see your radiant smile again, never hear your melodious laugh again, never feel the warmth of your skin as you hold his hand tightly, never feel the softness of your lips, never…never see you again.

He wails out his agony to the deaf gods above, the tears flowing freely as he curses the hand he's been dealt, wanting nothing more than to have you back. He'd made a promise to you, to always be by your side, to never leave you but that promise lies broken at his feet, buried beneath the dirt you too will soon lie under. He will live on, alone once again, with the weight of world crushing him.

He cries until he has nothing left to give, cradling your now cold body against his chest, and feels exhaustion taking over. The sun has set, turning the sky pitch black with few twinkles from the stars above. He remains where he is, kneeling in the bloodstained dirt surrounded by the forest and the creatures that inhabit it, holding your cold corpse tightly and ignoring his body's call to rest. He doesn't want to rest, he wants you, he wants your warmth.

He wants this all to end.

He contemplates the idea, nearly giving in when a familiar whisper pulls him back from the brink.

"I want you to live."

He lets out a pained chuckle, even in death you're still there for him, catching him when he falls. He remembers exactly when you had said those words. It had been at his tent after everyone else had fallen asleep, under the moonlit sky as the campfire was fading out. You'd held his hand in yours, a fiery earnest look in your eyes as you delcared out loud that you didn't want his body in exchange for keeping him around.

"I want you to live. That's all. What living means to you, I don't know, but I suppose that's what life is for, to find out what all these fancy words mean. I know you'll find it, you're the kind of person who will."

He presses his forehead against yours, drawing a shaky breath and closes his eyes. He steadies himself and lets the breath out, opening his eyes to take in the sight before him.

"Darling, I…" His throat clogs. This is stupid, he's talking to a corpse. You can't hear him anymore, you're dead. His words will never reach you, but he has to get this weight off his chest, and maybe by some miracle your soul will hear what he has to say. He regrets not being able to tell you this while you were alive, but he supposes it's better late than never. Besides, it's more than just words he wanted to say to you, it's a declaration to himself, a reaffirmation of what he's discovered alongside you.

"I've found out what it means to live. It's more than just staying alive, more than just waking up to the next day. It's making my own decisions, choosing what I want to do, knowing who I am and who I want to be. You've taught me all that, you've shown me what it's like to live, and I…I thank you for that. It's because of you that I'm free from the shackles of my past, it's because of you that I know the path I should take. I owe you so much, more than I've been able to repay you, but knowing you, you don't care about it."

Astarion lets out a huff of amusement, his eyes filled with sorrow.

"Still though, love. You could've asked anyone else to ease your suffering. It's not fair, to make your beloved vampire do all the work."

He looks to the sky, wondering if you're able to see him through all the damn clouds and laughs. He can't stop laughing at the absurdity of it all. The laughter soon turns to sobs, fresh tears dripping onto your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, darling."