#Storm with icy blue eyes

[elitesheepi]

I’m fine with Wolverine having black, brown, dull green and even hazel eyes. But not blue. We have enough blue eyed-black-haired superheroes and I’ve had ENOUGH

[amegeddon]

I had a stupid idea involving WuWa and a certain theme for a certain character and so. This video now exists.

[madamechrissy]

✞ Forgive me For I have Sinned ✞

✞ Pairings: Priest Gojo x Fem Reader

✞ Word count - 5.7k

✞ Content/Warnings- You keep having dreams about Father Gojo, and he decides to try to save your slutty soul <3 NSFW, sacrilegious, confessional fucking, rosaries as bondage, lots of filling you w/love and light, oral (both receiving) fingering, explicit church sex, reader is a lil bimbo and innocent fr, Gojo has a HELL of a God complex (canon tbh) overall kinky asf

A/N- Booking the tix to hell-who's coming with!? I based off this drabble of mine: Priest! Gojo (you can read it first if you want!) Reader and Gojo are in their mid 20s. Enjoy!

It was hot outside, a scorching summer day, the type that made you want to jump in an icy cool lake naked, but in the sanctuary of this pristine church which is kept rather cool, you still have a drip of sweat beading down your collarbone. You’re wearing a pretty red summer dress, your little hat right next to you in the pew, as you watch him with avid attention.

Father Satoru Gojo.

The entire church is in love with him, enamored by him, there are admiring whispers even amongst the most vigilant catholics, the ones who would judge you for coming not in your Sunday best. They hid it well enough, acting as if they only cared so much because his sermons were so powerful, because he was so young and profound already.

But you know better, and they know better deep down, that Father Gojo was just gorgeous, a face chiseled to perfection, tall and broad shouldered, swoon worthy by all accounts. His husky voice and insane presence that shines brilliantly like a million diamonds certainly helps, but his face itself is so pretty it’s angelic.

When he looks at you with those brilliant blue eyes, swirling like a moody storm, all glittery behind those snowy white lashes? Well you feel…

You’re going to hell.

Last night you’d had this insane dream of him, where he has asked you to serve him on your knees, just as he would offer that eucharist and wine to you, but instead it’s his cum you’re swallowing. And you’re a good, God fearing girl, so, you certainly should not do or think of such things! And worst of all, with your priest, Father Gojo. He has vows too, yet you’d committed much sin already.

Just last night you’d awakened throbbing, having dreamt of pleasuring him, on your knees before him, and you’d been soaking wet and dripping down your shorts, even the sheet had a wet spot. You’d rubbed your swollen little clit in circles, gasping and arching your back, feeling fevered as you committed such sins, as picturing Father Gojo had you climaxing all over your own fingers.

You’d been so ashamed this morning! You’d splashed cold water on your face, staring at yourself in your mirror, shivering as the cool water dripped down your skin, knowing you should stay home, find some new church. You are full of impure thoughts and sin, and it’s all because of him, how could you confide in him that you feel this way, think this way?

What would he do if he knew? Cast you out or…

Stop it.

But as you’re crossing your legs, shifting your hips, you see Satoru Gojo’s full, pouty lips part, his eyes directly on you. You pause then, eyes wide, you must be imagining it, your sin surely is carrying over too far… but you test it, crossing your legs once more, and sure enough, his eyes follow your legs up, between your thighs, surely seeing your panties.

That gives you a fucking thrill you can’t describe, as does him licking his thumb, going to another page as he continues his sermon, women all over are fanning themselves, enamored by him. But perhaps none so much as you, picturing what’s under that cassock, under those white robes he wears, what that long, lithe body would feel like against yours.

You imagine your dream vividly later when he’s giving you the eucharist, placing the biscuit on your tongue as you hold your mouth open on your knees, then you see it, the hunger mirrored in his eyes. You tremble when he brushes a thumb over your lower lip, and your eyes drift to his lap, where you clearly see he’s hard. You gulp it down, looking up at him and taking the wine now.

Father Gojo looks down at you, white hair falling over a brow, finding your beautiful eyes are affecting him as much as your stance on your knees, his thumb finds your chin now, imagining shoving his cock between perfect lips. Surely, you are here to tempt him, to ruin him, you are sin itself, haunting his dreams, making him hard in the middle of church, right in his own service.

You look at it then, his cock under the cassock that’s becoming too tight, before licking your lip, eyes back up to his hungrily. You look like such a good girl, but your eyes tell another story, a story of wanting to get fucked hard, to be filled by him, wanting to have his cum all over your pretty face. He imagines that as the wine drips down your lips now.

Fuck he’s going to hell if he stays around you, surely even he has rules to uphold even if he certainly is God’s chosen. But… perhaps since he is God's chosen, it’s his duty to help a little sinful girl like you. And as you rise, holding his hand, and your breasts brush against his chest, you’re far too close, he vividly pictures yanking them out of that dress, tempting him to no end.

Of course you ask for confessional, and he’s dying at the thought of being so close to you, when all he thinks of is how good you look, how good you smell, and he is left to wonder, do you taste that good? Your pretty neck, your delicate collarbone, your pussy? Surely he should not think such things, but as he looks at you through the lattice of the confessional separating you both, he cannot stop his mind.

“Father Gojo… I fear my confession is most wicked.” Comes your breathy little voice, only serving to make Father Gojo’s thick length harden, picturing what your little moans must sound like when properly fucked.

“Go on, my pr- my child, you may tell me anything.” He says, coughing a bit, because he’d rather call you a pretty little slut, and he has no clue why the devil likes to try him so hard. It’s all your fault, truly. Pretty little thing.

“Okay… but…” You take a breath. “I have dreams of someone fucking me, someone I should not.” You say nervously, and watch him shift in his seat, you can smell his cologne so much in here, making you thirst more for him.

“It’s natural to have thoughts, my child.”

“No, Father Gojo… I’m playing with myself, thinking of him. Of… sucking him, or of him laying on top of me.” You hear Father Gojo making a choking sound, and you panic. “I’m so sorry! I…”

“Ahem, no, no… continue.” Father Gojo’s cock is straining, he can already feel precum sticking to his tip, picuring you touching your pussy, he bets it’s so pretty, bet it tastes so-

Sinful girl, aren’t you?

Surely that’s all this is, not… him wanting to sin! Father Satoru Gojo certainly is perfect, he’s God’s perfect creature, so if he wants this, it must be on you. Sin in a perfect little body with a perfect little face, and a voice that drives him to utter distraction. Surely, Father Gojo must try to save you.

“Father, I cannot stop thinking of him, he’s in all my dreams. What should my penance be, how many hail marys?”

Father Gojo has to stroke himself to adjust his huge, throbbing cock now, as he watches you through the lattice, biting your full lower lip, your head falling back, hair cascading. Hair he wants to pull as he fucks you from behind, making you arch your back to take more of his cock.

“I have to ask how you’re doing it… so that I can tell you your penance, so that I may try to save you.” He says, husky now, and you whimper softly, shifting on the bench, your pussy throbbing around nothing, picturing his cock filling you.

“How I do it, Father Gojo?”

“Yes, it’s… important to confess.”

“Well, I take my fingers, and I find my pussy with them, I roll them around my clit over and over, I get so wet that they slip- Father are you okay?” Satoru can’t stand it, he’s stroking his bare cock under his robes, resting his head against the wall, struggling not to cry out as he’s pumping.

“Ahem… indeed I am. So you finger your little pussy then?” At his words you’re a blushing mess, breaths coming more rapidly, your hands gripping the bench, dying for friction as you’re soaking your panties.

“Y-yes.”

“Do you slip your fingers in?”

“I… no! Um… no.”

“And you cum?”

“I… yes. I do cum. Imagining him.” You’re watching those robes rise and fall, then you know it, Father Gojo is stroking his cock right next to you.

“I see… I think I can help alleviate some of this, perhaps give you some guidance so that you do not afflict yourself so.” You want to touch yourself now, when you hear those breathy pants, your fingers clinging to the lattice.

“Yes, father, I need your guidance.” Cock, fingers, mouth… fuck you’re a full sinner, aren’t you!?

“Then come here, let us have our first attempt at saving you.”

Now you’re standing in front of him in the itty bitty room, face to face with Satoru Gojo, your Priest, and fuck if your nipples don’t tighten up, if your tummy isn’t clenching with desire. You’re nervously fiddling with your hands as he leans back, spreading his long legs as wide as they can in the tight quarters, his glittering blue eyes dilated as he licks his lips, making them glossy.

“You must show me how, and do not fret, sweet girl, it’s through god’s will of course, through me.” Father Gojo says, your breaths come faster as you slip up your sundress, and his eyes hungrily drink the sight of your bare thighs in. He leans forward, sliding those panties down, eyeing your glistening cunt now, his breath almost hitting it, making you jerk.

“Father… I cannot show you…”

“You can, I am here to help, have no fear.” He notices you’ve drenched your panties, a wet spot formed, sticky little strands of your arousal apparent as he pulls them down, hands touching the smooth skin of your thighs.

You put your hand on your pussy now, the other nervously holding up your dress, and you run your fingers in circles on your clit, crying out softly, as he lets out a low, guttural moan. You’re getting wetter as you play, as his large, sexy hands clench, the veins popping up out of the thin skin, and you’re trembling, imagining his long fingers working you instead.

Satoru is close to cumming as he watches your pretty face, your brows drawing together, your lips parted, eyes so dilated your pupils are taking over, just a thin ring of your iris left. Your lashes are lowered, and his hand stops yours now, as it’s playing with your soppy little cunt, you tremble before him.

“I see, I must help you, guide you. To get this… affliction taken care of. Yes?” You nod eagerly, then Father Gojo pulls you to his lap, and you’re straddling him, your hands sliding up to feel his strong shoulders under his robe, and he is touching your pussy instead, making you whimper. “Need me to save you, pretty little sinner?”

“Please save me. Please. Ah!” Satoru sinks two long fingers deep inside your eager little entrance, you gasp at it as he slips into your gummy walls, drippy and so tight. He’s paused, moaning and looking right into your eyes, you drown in his blue gaze, as your cunt drools down his hand. “Father Gojo… please…”

“Begging for it, are you? So tight, it’s so… have you had anything inside this perfect little pussy?” He huffs, feeling how you’re squeezing his fingers, then he hits some spot that makes you see stars, pumping up and down over and over. You cling to him, eyes fluttering shut. “Answer me, be a good girl for once, would you?”

Good girl for once.

There’s no hope for you.

“Nothing… no one… just you, Father Gojo. Mmm!” You’re covering your mouth as he keeps pumping, and he moans, dreaming of breaking you in all the ways he could, taking your innocence for himself. It’s surely what god is wanting, and who is he but god’s disciple himself? He thrusts those fingers knuckles deep, watching you fall apart over him.

“There, you’re loving this, fingers stretching your pussy, don’t you?” You nod weakly, gushing down his hand, you can hear the squishing wetness of your pussy as he now slides a thumb, rolling it over your clit.

“F-father Gojo!”

“Sinful girl.” He huffs, as you’ve buried your face against his neck, rocking against his hand, those long fingers fucking you so good it’s painful, moaning.

“Mmm! Father Gojo, I will… be good… for you…”

“Will you?” You nod weakly, as Satoru rolls your clit expertly, and you feel the pressure building, you’re panting, ready to combust. “I feel it, you’re so close, aren’t you?”

You’re nodding, hips grinding, now you’re soaking his robes, he’s picturing sliding his cock inside you, breaking you, until your sins are cleansed, and you’re picturing him taking you, defiling you in every way your hectic mind can picture. Both of you are about to cum, you’re not even touching Satoru though, you want to, fuck you want to.

“Close, m’close… p-please…” You’re begging for release, seeing stars as he works your now sloppy cunt.

“I've got you, you can let go, you're safe with me, let me see your sins so I can cleanse them.” He urges you on, bringing you higher and higher with those long, slick fingers.

“Father, it's... I'm gonna... mmm!” You're so close, soaking the sleeve of his robe now. And he's so ready to slide into your eager cunt, looking up at you behind snowy lashes.

“Show me how you sin, let me watch you cum, so I can... help you.” He whispers, and you fall apart then, pulsing around his fingers, and he groans as he watches you, pressing up so deep. You’re gushing so much arousal, he can smell your sweet scent, as you scream out into your little hand, shaking.

Satoru is now sliding his fingers out, you whine, wanting more, especially when he is sucking your juices off his fingers, making you gasp. His cheeks hollow, his eyes fluttering shut as he tastes you, your mouth drops open, breaths making you quicken, your heart pounding in your ears as you try to come down.

Your thighs are trembling over him, entire body lit up from cumming so hard, his snowy lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, before fluttering up, looking at you, your arousal coating his lips. “Oh my God.”

More sinning.

“You’re not being a very good girl.” He admonishes, but then his lips quirk up. “But, you taste too sweet to be bad. Or perhaps you yourself are sin.” Father Gojo whispers to you now, and you’re leaning closer, rolling your hips, making him groan, his hands gripping your little waist as your heat brushes against his cock. “Has it alleviated some of your… need, my child?”

He’s smirking at you, in a way no priest should! You sigh then, shaking your head. “No, Father, it’s only made it worse! You must help me more, I’m afraid now I’m thinking of sinning even more, and who I’ve been dreaming of.” You say then, it’s a whisper, as the room is hot from your breaths, smelling like sweet arousal.

Satoru blinks then, thin white brows going together, jaw clenching. “You’re thinking of fucking your own priest? That is a sin.”

“I know! It’s a terrible affliction. Oh Father, I’m going to hell.” You whisper, blinking back tears, still reeling from the aftershocks of cumming. Satoru arches his hips now, brushing his cock against your pussy, and you nearly scream out, head falling back, exposing your throat to him, and he pictures his hand wrapping a rosary around your neck, pulling tight.

You’ve dreamt of him too!? Surely this must be a sign.

A temptation.

But does he want to fight it? Your taste is all over his mouth now, as he feels your sexy little body against him, his hands brushing against your breasts, watching your nipples perk up. You look at him with intoxicated eyes, lips parted, your tiny hands clinging to his robes as you grind again, and he shudders at how fucking good it feels, your heat on him.

“I see… Well you must come to me tomorrow, and we will have to try harder, to save your soul.” He says huskily, you nod eagerly, as he helps you off him, his cock close to cumming, already twitching, he slides your soaked, ruined panties into his robes, you surely do not need them anymore.

“What if I have another dream father!”

“Do not touch yourself, I will help you when you come in, that’s so we can try to save you, yes?” You nod then, leaning close to his lips.

“Father, is it a sin to kiss your lips?”

“Not if you feel a calling, surely God wishes you to.” He murmurs, and you peck a sweet kiss on his lips, tasting yourself on him, before forcing yourself out of the cramped quarters, body on fire, leaving Satoru to finish stroking his cock, cumming as he shoves your panties against his face.

******

You’re dreaming of him again, of Father Gojo, this time his snowy white hair is brushing against your thighs, his tongue is lapping up all the dripping wetness, his big hands pressing into the plush of your thighs. You wake up throbbing, crying out, seeing how wet you are, as the ceiling fan whirls, failing to cool your overheated flesh. Father Gojo’s fingers made it worse, your affliction!

The next day you’re painfully turned on, pussy aching for more, you followed his instructions and did not touch yourself, instead you forced yourself to go back to sleep, now you’re in the nearly empty church, knocking at the door of Father Gojo’s office. You hear his deep voice speak.

“Come in.” You nervously walk in, you are wearing a shorter blue sundress today, and no panties. You know Father Gojo will see how sinful you are, but when you see his perfect face, and him wearing a thinner, lighter white robe, your pussy is already making your thighs sticky. “My child, lock that door, so we can have privacy… we would not want your confessions judged.”

“Yes, thank you Father.” You lock the door with a click, stepping to him, your heels clicking on the wooden floor of his room. He’s sitting in his chair, fingers steepled, studying your body carefully.

“Do you have any updates on your affliction, pretty girl?”

“Pretty girl…” You’re blushing worse now.

“I feel I must call you what the lord is telling me. Is that alright with you?” You nod nervously, standing before him, the desk separating you. “So how were your dreams last night?”

“They were of you again, Father Gojo. I’m so sorry!”

You cover your face in embarrassment, hearing the soft thumps of his shoes as he comes to you, taking you by your wrists, big hands enveloping the delicate wrists entirely. Your head tilts back to look at him, he’s so tall and big… you’re drinking in the sight of him, his black rosaries hanging across his broad chest.

“You must tell me these dreams, so I may help you. Perhaps they’re some sign that we must see.”

“You… you were licking me, between my thighs.” His nostrils flare slightly, those swirling blue eyes thirsty as he studies you, your thighs shift, his hands still tight on your wrists.

“Your slutty little pussy, I was licking it?” Your pussy is clenching, tummy coiling, at his nasty, sinful words, from such a pure man. You nod then. “I see, there’s no choice, we must see what enacting your dreams does. To try to save you.”

“Y-yes, father, I think so too.” You whisper, hands sliding up and down his chest, watching his Adam's apple bob under that white collar. “Does it ever get uncomfortable, Father Gojo?”

“At times. Take it off for me.” He turns and you undo the collar, when he turns back you see it, his strong neck, the muscles corded, you bite your lower lip, earning him pulling it from your teeth. “This dream, describe it, so I can help you.”

You’re a flustered mess, especially after his fingers yesterday, and all the dreams you’ve been having. You take several breaths now. “You were licking me.”

“More descriptive.” He murmurs now, sitting you up on his desk, shocking you, then he slides up your skirt and smirks, wicked priest that he is, blue eyes darting back up to yours. “No panties, your soul is so slutty.”

“I… well… Father Gojo!” Satoru’s rubbing your clit with his thumb, watching you writhe on his desk now, as he sits back in his black chair, scooting up, his breath right against you.

“You wanted this, to be bare in front of me, didn’t you pretty little sinner?”

“Y-yes, I told you, I’m going to hell, mmm!”

He’s kissing your thighs, your hands enwrap in his silky white hair now, his breaths higher and higher, eying your perfect, glistening pussy. He’s dying to feel you dripping down his tongue, dying to drink your sweet nectar flowing when he’s opening up the lips of your pussy, and you’re making those pretty sounds, you’re so pathetic already, he thinks.

“No, I will save you, don’t you believe in me, pretty? I alone speak for God, I’m the honored one.” His words along with his eyes, those glittery blue storms that see right through you, as if they know your every sin, wreck you now. He surely must be the honored one.

“You’ll save me, I know you will.” You whisper, caressing his cheek now, and he moans softly, just urging you on more.

“That’s a good girl. Now tell me, what did I do in this dream?”

“You licked me, here.” You touch your slit, and he slides his tongue up it now, making you gasp, his tongue is so hot and wet, you’re gushing just from that. Satoru moans, kissing right over your clit before swiping his tongue again. “Father!”

“Shh, lest they hear your sinful mouth.” He whispers, and you clench your teeth, nodding as you watch him, he is placing your feet on either arm of his chair. “And you did not play with yourself?”

“I swear I did not, Father Gojo! I listened. Please…” You arch your hips up, full pussy in his face, and Satoru begins to devour you now, spreading your lips and flicking his tongue on your little swollen clit over and over. You have to slap a hand over your mouth, his rosary is cool against your inner thigh as he works your pussy, just like your dream.

Satoru’s tongue is wicked, for such a holy man you think, and it does the most wicked things to you, no dream could prepare you, even his fingers had not. He sucks your clit into his hot open mouth, moaning as your juices coat his tongue, looking up at you as you cling to his hair with one hand, the other muffling your cry as you feel yourself begin to cum.

Soon you are cumming right on Father Gojo’s face, your thighs shaking on either side of his head, pussy pulsing around nothing, and he’s drinking you up, so lewd in the quiet church office. You’re jerking now, as he leans up, half his pretty face shining with your slick, making you flush at how much there was. Your hand eases down, now just gasping for breath as you look at him.

“And now, my child, how is this affliction?” He whispers, leaning up and laying atop you, pressing you into the wooden desk. You lean up, kissing him once more, earning his moan, tasting yourself all over him, he grabs you by the throat then, long fingers wrapping as he pulls back. “How hard do I have to work to save your slutty little soul, hmm?”

“I’m sorry, Father Gojo. It was so amazing… but I just want more, I fear I’m having more lustful thoughts of you now.” Your hand slides down now, cupping him where he’s thick and hard, and he squeezes your throat harder now, his thumb on your racing pulse.

“And what else is in that little brain of yours? What lewd fantasies of your priest, hmm?”

“Sucking your cock, that’s what.” He groans now, pulling you down and putting you to your knees. You look up eagerly, now Satoru is undressing, and you finally get glimpses of his body, of hard muscles and planes as he’s taking off his robes, now opening his pants for you, revealing a huge, thick cock. You gulp as you drink in the sight of it.

“And do you know what to do, how to serve me, my child?” He asks, you shake your head. “Yet you’ve dreamt it?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then it’s surely meant to be, hmm? First, slide down your top.” You do as he says, and he moans as he sits back in his chair, gripping your bare breasts. “My God,  you’re made to ruin me. Come here, open your mouth.”

You do as he says, and Father Gojo now guides you by your hair, hair he wraps around his fist, guiding you down on his cock. His curved pink tip is leaking white pearly substance, which you tongue out, earning his grown, his head falling back. You suck him eagerly, swirling your tongue, as his eyes watch you, lidded and dazed, tasting his saltiness and sweetness eagerly.

“You’re far too good at this, are you sure you haven’t been sucking cock, like a sinful brat?” You pull back with a pop, saliva dripping down your lips.

“No, I only want to serve you, Father.”

“Mmm, you’re so precious.” He whispers, before shoving your mouth back on him, and you’re bobbing up and down as he pulls your hair, using it to glide you up and down his length. Your eyes water, your nose starts running as his cock is choking you, your pussy throbbing even more. “Fuck…”

“Father, did you cuss?” You ask, pulling back, with a shy little grin, earning Father Gojo’s smirk.

“I’m allowed to, it’s all God’s words. Now are you finally satisfied, or do we need to go further? Do I need to break your pretty little pussy?” He murmurs, his words like a drug, running his thumb across your lower lip. You nod then, weakly, and his lips part, eyes studying you. “Then ask me, on your knees so pretty, like you’re praying.” He puts your hands in prayer position, blue eyes lighting up.

“Please, break me, Father Gojo.” He pulls you up now, kissing you deeply, tongues so unpracticed and messy, you’ve never really even kissed, but now you feel him, filling you once more with those two fingers as he bends low.

“Turn around and bend over, sweet sinner.” You turn, and now Father Gojo has slid your dress down, leaving you in just your heels, his big hands gliding down every line and curve of your bare body. “I said bend over.”

He smacks you sharply on your backside, making you gasp then whine out, as he presses your upper back between your shoulder blades, your face against his desk. He then takes your hands, putting them behind your back and wrapping them with his black beaded rosary. You whine out at the sensation, he pulls it so tightly it’s digging in, shoving the cross in your palms.

“Hold on to that cross while I fuck your innocent little pussy. Feel it against your skin as I do.” He says, whispering in your ear. You nod, feeling the sharp cool silver digging in, as the beads dig into your bound wrists. “Good girl, spread those thighs.”

You do as he says, and then his tip is in, stretching you, and you’re shivering, breaths coming faster and faster. Satoru shoves his cock inside you, tearing at your little barrier. You cry out at the pain, and he pauses for a moment, moaning, letting you adjust. “H-hurts…”

“Just a moment of pain to fill you with my light.” He murmurs, sinking deeper, and your walls are fluttering around his cock, earning his groan. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you? Did you want me to take it, your innocence?”

“I’ve w-wanted you, so long… played with… a long ah- time.” He moans now, sliding back out and in, you’re so wet and ready the pain eases quickly, as he takes you from behind now, pulling on your neck, pressing your bound hands firmer against your back, whispering in your ear.

“You sinned so long, playing with this pussy thinking of me?” You nod weakly, hiccuping on a cry as he’s pumping now, taking you over, stretching your tight cunt out so much, your skin burns, but you crave it.

You’re going to hell, surely.

But it seems worth it to be stretched by his cock so well.

“Y-yes… a long time. S-sorry Father…”

“Just Satoru when you cum all over my cock, hmm?” You nod weakly, then he fucks you harder now, thighs smacking your skin, his pelvis smacking your now sore ass cheeks, balls smacking your clit. “Ah, and you’re close already and your first time? You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Satoru!” You scream out so loud he’s palming your mouth with his huge hand, taking over your face, shoving his cock in and rolling his hips, making you climax so hard you cannot see. You weakly drool out of your lips onto his hand, as he feels your velvety walls fluttering around him.

You are made for this, for his cock, to take him. Your sweet virgin pussy is getting so filled by Father Gojo’s huge cock, but you’re already taking him so well. Father Gojo knows then that your dreams and his must be for a better purpose, to fuck you and fill you with all of his light, surely. You’re taking him more and more, cumming so hard your cunt is drooling everywhere.

He lets your face go, looking at your fucked out expression, your mouth is wide open, that drool dangling out the corner, your eyes are rolled back, lashes fluttering, your ass arching up for more. You’re such a sinful creature, but he knows your innocence was made for just him, clearly. You would not have anyone else, he would surely see to it.

It’s God's calling.

You’re pounded and stuffed by his huge cock, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, ass jiggling with the force, then Satoru pulls your chin to face him, he’s so fuzzy, you keep shutting your eyes.

“Look at me, my child, now.” He whispers, and you open your eyes, staring into his weakly as his thrusts slow.

“Y-yes, Satoru…” He moans at the use of his name from your pretty lips.

“I’m saving you, through… mmm… God’s wisdom.”

“Thank you, thank you!” You’re trembling, he’s rolling his hips and that tip is dragging on your spot, you struggle to focus on his pretty face, the sun from the blinds filtering in behind his head, and then he looks like an angel. The cross is digging in so much your hand is bleeding just a bit, but you truly couldn’t care, his cock feels too good inside you.

“Do you want me to… fill you…” He’s crying out then, grabbing you so tightly you can’t breathe. “With God’s love… and light?”

“Please, fill me Father- ah!” Satoru starts pumping faster and faster, yanking on your rosary so hard it breaks as he begins to cum, the beads flinging and clattering all over the wooden floor, the cross still digging into your broken palm.

“Going to put… so much… light in you… fill you-” He moans loudly then, and you feel hot liquid pumping inside, bringing you to cum with him, as it coats your walls, hot and sticky. “Feel it? Feel me filling you with it?”

“I do! I do… Father Gojo… feel it.” You whine out, rolling your hips to milk him for every bit of his hot white ropes.

“Oh… Mmm…” He’s pumping more cum inside you now, but you’re so wet and still convulsing, so it’s dripping down his cock with your arousal. Satoru exhales, pulling out and then wiping you up, turning you gently, gulping as he kisses you once more. “You were sent here to destroy me.”

“Father, I’m afraid… I only want to do it more.” You whisper, he groans, cupping your face, as you bring up your hand to him, where the cross has left red marks on your palm, he traces it, the perfect symbol of the cross, with little blood drops streaking. You wince in pain.

“I see, it’s a sign we must continue.” He says, and you nod eagerly, as he holds your hand in his.

“We must, Father Gojo.”

*****

The next Sunday, you’re sitting in the very front for the sermon, watching as Father Gojo is licking a thumb and turning a page, his blue eyes darting to your thighs, today you’re wearing a pink summer dress. Father Gojo has stolen a pair of your panties, he thinks you don’t notice, but you do, so you decide not to wear any again, opening your legs for a moment.

Father Gojo gets a glimpse of your bare, glistening pussy right in that church, making his cock hard in front of a room full of hundreds of his followers. Luckily the brown stand in front of him covers up such evidence, as he looks over at your face when you cross your sexy legs, you smile up at him, blinking innocently.

But you’re not innocent, not anymore, are you? No, you’re the worst sinner he’s tried to save, and he thinks he’ll have to work harder to save you. And when you’re riding his cock in the confessional later that evening, and he’s biting on your breasts, you’re riding him so well, moans muffled in the tiny room, he’s not sure he can save you truly, you’re too full of sin.

Father Gojo enjoys your slutty soul and your soaking wet pussy on him far, far too much, especially filling you with his cum light.

Serving Father Gojo is perfectly fine, it's God's will after all 🙏 Nanami and Geto drabbles coming some time too <3 Reblog if you're a sinner <3

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60569476

[supernovalcholism]

Academic rivals Viktor and reader who do not like each other at all but have a strong sexual tension that neither of them wants to admit. Plzzz🙏😭

Absolutely babei love this idea sm heres a small portion cus I'm drunk and if yall hype it up I'll make a part 2

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Unspoken Rivalry

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ɢɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ: ɴᴜɴ ᴇxᴛʀᴇᴍᴇ, ʜᴏꜱᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ????. ɪᴅᴋ

The library buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of paper. Viktor sat at his usual table, hunched over a stack of notes and textbooks. He was the definition of composed—sharp cheekbones, immaculate posture, and an air of self-assured arrogance that grated on your nerves.

And, unfortunately, he was the only other person in your advanced theory seminar who matched your academic prowess.

You strode into the library, your eyes narrowing the moment you spotted him. He glanced up briefly, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of annoyance before he returned to his work.

"Didn’t know the library allowed distractions," he said smoothly, his voice laced with faux politeness.

"Funny. I was just about to say the same thing," you shot back, taking the seat directly across from him with more force than necessary.

This was your dynamic—constant barbs, veiled insults, and an unspoken competition for every academic accolade. You couldn’t stand him, with his perfect grades and that maddening smirk he wore whenever he outperformed you.

But what was worse? The way your stomach flipped every time he leaned closer to point out a flaw in your argument or the electric heat that sparked whenever his hand accidentally brushed yours during group discussions.

The tension crackled between you now, thick and undeniable. You opened your laptop, pointedly ignoring him. Except you couldn’t. Not when the subtle scent of his cologne drifted across the table or when he leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly, exposing just a sliver of toned skin beneath his sweater.

"You know," Viktor said after a moment, his voice quieter, "if you spent less time glaring at me, you might actually win the next debate."

"Bold words coming from someone who barely edged me out last time," you snapped.

His smirk widened. "Barely? I seem to recall the professor using the word resounding."

You clenched your jaw, hating how much you wanted to wipe that smug expression off his face—and hating even more how your mind wandered to other ways to shut him up.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was charged. Your eyes met his again, and for a brief second, something flickered in his gaze—something raw, intense, and far too dangerous to acknowledge.1all

You broke the eye contact first, heat rising to your cheeks. Viktor didn’t look away, though.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "You’re starting to look at me like you don’t hate me."

"Don’t flatter yourself," you snapped, hastily gathering your things.

You stormed out of the library, your heart pounding. Behind you, Viktor chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t go back to the library for the rest of the week. Not because you were avoiding him—of course not—but because the thought of seeing Viktor again made your chest feel too tight, your thoughts spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

Unfortunately, fate wasn’t on your side.

The next seminar session started with the professor announcing a new assignment. “A research paper, due in two weeks. To make things more interesting, I’ll be assigning partners.”

You stiffened in your seat.

“Viktor and—”

No. Please, no.

"–you—"

Your stomach plummeted. Across the room, Viktor glanced over at you, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. He gave a little wave, clearly reveling in your discomfort.

After class, you cornered him in the hallway.

“We need to set boundaries,” you said sharply.

“Boundaries?” Viktor tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Is that what we’re calling the tension between us now?”

You bristled. “There is no tension.”

“Hmm. If you say so.” He leaned against the wall, entirely too close. “But I hope you don’t mind working late. I find I’m most productive at night.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came. His gaze was locked on yours, his expression a mix of challenge and something else—something darker, something that made heat rise to your face.

“Fine,” you snapped, stepping back before you could betray yourself further. “Tonight. My place. Seven."

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Hype it up soon and I'll drop a pt2 for yall XPP

- enya

edit [12/12/24] heres the 2nd part!!

[rottiens]

WHISPERS OF RECONCILIATION ┊S. GOJŌ

✮ word count: 1.8k

✮ summary. your husband is less and less at home due to missions he can't turn down, so every time he comes back, you feel him more distant.

✮ tags. . husband gojō x afab reader, they have a daughter, marital problems, angst to fluff, canon au, the struggle of being a first time mom. divider creds: cafekitsune.

You turn on the faucet, releasing the stream of water as you hear the front door open.

The noise doesn't scare you or stop you from your task since you know it's him. As you cover the sponge with the fun bubbles from the dishwashing gel, you hear his footsteps like a muffled distant noise, in the passage from the main entrance to where you are, his presence looms like lightning warning of a storm. All the lights are off except for the one in the kitchen which makes gojo trace his path directly towards you.

It doesn't take long for his arms to wrap around your waist from behind. You don't flinch, unlike when you did at the beginning of the relationship.

"What?" Gojo laughs at the line of your neck, it's a snort that denotes weariness. He smells of beer, far beneath that are traces of the perfume he had soaked himself in this morning when he left the house. "No reaction now?" Gojo breathes your skin, you smell of sweat and dirty clothes and the kisses he leaves on your neck make your stomach clench.

You do your best to pretend that his touch doesn't set your skin on fire, that his long fingers slipping under your nightgown have no effect on you.

The grip on the innocent plate tightens, a little, then tighter. Gojo keeps breathing into the shell of your ear, just behind the cartilage where he manages to bristle your skin until you can pretend no more and set the plate aside causing a clatter in the puddle of water, your fingers form fists under the warm spray of the faucet.

"Stop." It's not a command but a gentle request, you press your lips together and gojo stops right away.

"Are we still fighting?" Gojo sounds like a puppy you just kicked to the curb and yet he doesn't insist, pulls his hands off your body and takes a step back, you almost instantly regret it.

"Yes," you reply after a while, to a question he forgot he asked.

You hear him sigh heavily, then you feel him grab you by the waist and with your help you allow him to turn around until you are facing him. You refuse to look at him however after a while you give in, his tousled hair falls like snowflakes across his forehead, his eyes are naked, blue and alert staring at you. On top of his uniform he had a denim jacket on, you're sure it didn't cover him much from the winter cold and that probably geto lent it to him when they went out drinking because your gojo always forgot his coats.

You imagine him going reluctantly, just not to say no to his best friend, because your gojo hates the taste of alcohol as much as you do.

Gojo doesn't move, he lets his hand seek yours without detaching from your eyes. His fingers are icy cold and you shiver at the sudden touch, suddenly Gojo is taking your hand into his mouth. His lips rest on the back of your wet hand, droplets of water manage to reach the floor and his shoes and you let him do it because the scene is too commniveddorative to damage the moment.

His mouth murmurs a sorry for each kiss he deposits. Immediately your damp skin releases him from the cold of the street and when he kisses you a fourth time, you can feel them grow warmer. Gojo suddenly stops from the task and looks up at you from his position raising his eyebrows, your hand still close to your mouth, so close that his next words brush your skin. "I don't like it when we fight."

You don't like it either. But you had no choice but to stop talking and frown as you gave him a killing look when he told you he couldn't say no to a mission. What did he mean by that? you wondered. His daughter was three months old and all he did was miss her first babbles, not being home when you needed him, barely changing her diapers and barely feeding her.

Your feet are killing you, your muscles looked like they had been bitten by a giant monster and the circles under your eyes were getting darker with each passing day.

"You're frowning." When gojo speaks again, you notice that his back is straight now.

Slowly you move away from his touch and your arm returns to you, dangling beside your body.

"I don't want to talk about it."

You get ready to turn around to focus on washing the dishes, including his because his dinner got cold in the dining room, next to yours, while you were feeding your little girl, however gojo interrupts you by returning to make prey to your hips with his hands and thus sticking you a second time to his body. 

"Leave it. I'll do it." 

Your lungs fill and soon empty with another exhalation. And before gojo can respond to anything else you were already leaving the room.

You were tired, you could feel it in the way your bare feet dragged the floor beneath them, swollen and full of calluses. Gojo watches you as you turn the corner and lose yourself in the hallway with a dark aura surrounding your whole figure and your shoulders being pulled by the force of the floor.

Gojo returns to the dishes in front of him. Only his, a glass and a pair of forks remained, which he washed without haste.

The silence of the kitchen serves as an executioner that punishes him along with his thoughts for his actions. Gojo thinks about the day, thinks about his girl and thinks about you and how unfair it must be for you to have given up these months of being a sorceress who risked her life every day to be a full-time mother while the drab and boring walls loom over you.

His footsteps are long and silent, Gojo crosses the hallway where he can hear water spurting from part of the guest bathroom. He thinks about stopping at the door and asking you if you need anything else, however he leaves you this moment alone and heads towards the baby's room. Gojo pushes the door causing a rustic scream from the wood, in the background there is an acoustic melody playing and a bluish night light carrying in them figures of stars and moons swaying on the walls of the room. Gojo had bought it especially for her, it was the first gift he bought when you told him you were pregnant. The memory makes him smile, nostalgic.

Gojo restrains himself from stretching his arms and pulling her to his chest. So he just bends his back until his spine complains and deposits a soft kiss on her forehead that his girl never feels, since he activates his technique in time to not touch her and prevent her from waking up.

Just as he came in, he left. He no longer hears you in the hallway, there is no more water dripping from the shower, yet there are wet footsteps going towards the shared room that give away that you were done.

Gojo slips into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and contemplates himself in the mirror for a moment, still the same as always, with a couple of black spots under his eyes and the occasional irritated red vein in the infinite sea of his blue eyes. He fills his lungs with your scent, the liquid gel of vanilla flowers bounces inside the four walls of the bathroom, he drops his eyelids and buries his fingers in the ceramic of the sink.

Gojo takes off his jacket and lays it on the floor, then discards the rest of his clothes. His fingers curl around the faucet and he lets the hot water wash away the traces of the day from him as he relives over and over again the arguments you’ve had these past months. 

The soap scrubs away the weariness of the day along with his dreary thoughts, these run down the drain along with the dirty suds that the water bathes off his body.

Once he is done, he wraps a towel around his hips. He turns off the rest of the lights and goes to bed.

You are on your side of the mattress with your back to the door, everything is dark except for the moonbeams that manage to enter through the crack that the curtains cannot protect. He closes the door with a soft sound and turns to you, leaving the towel hanging behind the door, gojo climbs into bed with his body and soul naked.

He knows you're not sleeping. It takes him a moment to find his voice, lost in the spots on the ceiling, he searches for the right word he should use instead of "I'm sorry."

"I," he clears his throat, one finger tapping his own rib. "I'm not going to school tomorrow."

At first gojo thinks you are sleeping, you say nothing and your breathing is slow and steady.

"And?" That's all you say, encouraging him to keep talking.

"I will tell Yaga that I need a couple of weeks off, I want to have these days together with my wife and daughter."

You don't answer again, you let your body do the talking. You push further into him, your ass collides with his side and he laughs softly, improving his posture to better embrace you from behind. His arms immediately cling to your waist in a possessive manner, drawing you to his chest where you feel his ragged breathing.

"I'm still upset," you finally say, feeling him smile against your ear as he squeezes your body tighter. "But I guess that's a start."

"You have worked so hard these days and I am sorry to leave you alone, I promise I will make it up to you, there is no justification in having left you alone these weeks." You force your lip between your teeth to keep from giving him the pleasure of making you smile. "I'm going to start with cooking tomorrow."

You laugh instantly, gojo pulls you further into his body, threatening to tickle you and you raise your hands in submission.

"You cooking sounds very tasty, satoru. It's just..."

"Hm?" 

"It's just that you haven't done it in a while." Then you add, "It's been a while since you've been home."

Gojo merely kisses your bare shoulder and plays with the skin on your abdomen.

"I'm sorry," he says, after a while. You nod looking at his hands, looking at how pretty the engagement ring looks on them. "I love you so much, I love our daughter, I love what we have. I don't want to ruin that."

You bring his hands to your mouth, your stomach swelling with tension, your gut roiling as you bring them close enough to kiss his knuckles and then assure a barely audible, "I love you too. Let's talk about it tomorrow, shall we?”

[heizlut]

Closing the Distance

ꕀ cw: mention of blood/injury (nonsexual related)

ꕀ tags: fem!reader, inexperienced and possibly ooc!calcharo, oral f!receiving, first-time sex, breeding kink, creampie, mostly proofread

ꕀ nsfw under the cut

ꕀ m!list here

Calcharo didn't expect this at all. He only agreed to help you find and fight against the tacet discords that had sprung up from a particularly strong tacet field. But here you were, laying underneath him and looking up at him with big eyes, your chest heaving with heavy breaths and your lips looking quite inviting.

All he was trying to do was get you out of harm's way by practically tackling you to the ground and caging you in with his own body as the final tacet discord emitted an explosive energy as it was struck down. It wasn't anything special, he swears it's not.

You clear your throat awkwardly, blush evident on your cheeks, "You can uh... get off me now..." You avert your gaze, unable to properly look him in the eyes, not now, and not since you felt something particularly...hard brush against your stomach. Your words snap Calcharo out of his daze, heat rising to his own pale features, "Ah, y-yes. I apologize..." He moves off of you and stands up, extending his hand towards you to help you up as well.

You take it, pulling yourself up and let go abruptly, "Thanks for your help today." Calcharo looks down at his hand where the warmth of your touch still lingered, then curls it into a fist, "It was no problem." The air felt heavy and awkward. There was something bubbling up inside of him that felt wholly unfamiliar. He rolls his eyes at himself and he turns away from you. Why was he acting like this? As if he's never seen a pretty girl before... How pathetic.

He peeks over at you as you absorb the echoes, taking in your strong but soft form. Calcharo could at least admit he found you to be a strong fighter, you were part of the Ghost Hounds after all. He was familiar with you, so why was he feeling like this now. He's never had time to form a romantic relationship with anyone nor has he ever felt the need to. He had more important things to worry about than getting his dick wet and being all soft with someone.

You meet he gaze, noticing that he's staring at you again with his intense blue-grey eyes. You raise a brow as you walk back over to him, "What's the matter with you today? You seem off." Calcharo huffs, looking annoyed as he turns his face away from you and crosses his arms, his voice deep and monotone as usual, "I'm fine." You study him for a moment and then shrug, "Whatever you say. Let's get going." As you move past him, Calcharo notices your gait, "You're limping."

You freeze in your tracks, having hoped that whatever was bothering him would keep him distracted enough to not notice. He already did so much for you today, you wanted to handle your injury yourself. You feel his large hand on your shoulder as he stops beside you, "Why didn't you say anything?" You want to shrug off his hand, but you don't; instead you sigh, "It's not a big deal. Let's just-" "No", Calcharo cuts you off quickly, moving in front of you, "At least let me take a look."

"I don't think that's such a good idea...", you say a little softer than you had liked. Remaining stern and stoic as ever, Calcharo crosses his arms as he looks down at you, "And why would that be?" His question sounds icy and he must've realized it because he tone softens when he speaks again, "You're injured and I wouldn't be a very good leader if I didn't look out for another member." Thunder rumbles in the distance, a sure sign that a storm was on its way. You look down and then grab his arm, surprising him, "Fine. But let's not be out in the open..."

⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁

If you hadn't been injured and limping, the two of you wouldn't be soaked from the rain you had gotten caught in. Slamming the wooden door shut of the run-down cabin you found in the woods, you immediately sink down onto the floor. "How did you know this place was...", Calcharo's voice trails off as his blue-grey eyes find the growing patch of blood on your upper thigh, immediately crouching down to your level.

His intense eyes take in your features, your face flushed red from a slight fever and a couple droplets of water run down your face to your neck. Calcharo's hand reaches for your wounded thigh before pausing, hovering right over the wound, "May I?" You grit your teeth and nod. With uncharacteristically shaky hands, he undoes your pants and helps you lift your hips off the ground as he lowers them. In his head, he repeats over and over that this is just to treat you. That's it!

But he can't help glancing at your cotton panties... There was nothing particularly special about them, but the way they hugged your hips, pressing close against your pussy underneath; it had him inadvertently licking his lips. Calcharo shakes his head and looks to the open cut on your thigh. He does his best to make sure his voice comes out even as he speaks, "It's not too deep. There's just a lot of blood from straining yourself." You point to your bag, "There's a first aid kit in there..."

With a single nod, he grabs the bag and rummages through it til his fingers brush against the small first aid box. He grabs it and mentally prepares himself to give you stitches while also trying so damn hard to stop from popping a boner at the sight of you.

You were injured, for fucks sake! Now wasn't the time to suddenly sprout inappropriate thoughts that he had never had an issue with before. Sensing his hesitation, you practically snatch the kit from his hands, making him blink in shock.

Though flushed with a bit of a fever, drenched from the rain, and injured, you still have the nerve to narrow your eyes at him, "I can do it myself." His jaw hangs open for a moment but he quickly shuts it, returning to his usual cold demeanor, "Fine." He sits back, watching as you thread the curved needle and piece your own flesh as you stitch yourself up. Mentally he cringes on your behalf, but you barely react as your skin closes with the thread.

If anything, seeing just how strong you are, not just physically, but mentally, it makes things even harder for him, quite literally. His cock throbs in his pants and he presses down on it, willing it to just go the fuck away. After tying up the thread and cleaning off the remaining blood, you look his way, noticing his hands pressing down in his lap and you raise a brow, a weak smirk playing on your lips, "Are you seriously hard right now?"

Calcharo's eyes flick to yours, all wide-eyed as he looks at you, then he frowns and looks away, "No, I'm not." You breathe out a laugh that does nothing to help the ache in his pants, "Really? Then move your hands." Calcharo grimaces, his nose scrunched in what looks similar to a snarling dog, "I don't want to." You just shrug, looking amused albeit still a bit weak from your condition, "Suit yourself then. It just looks like you're having a bit of a rough time."

He turns his body away from you, not wanting to listen to anymore of your teasing. "It wouldn't be very nice of me to not show my gratitude to my leader for helping me so much today...", you trail off with a teasing lilt in your voice. Calcharo straightens up and peeks at your over his shoulder, "What do you mean...'show your gratitude'?" Hook, line, and sinker. You put on a more nonchalant look and sigh heavily, "I'm simply saying that since you helped me out..." You look into his eyes again, "I could help you out as well."

Too many thoughts race through Calcharo's mind. How could he even take you up on that offer, especially when you're injured. Especially since he shouldn't be having thoughts like this. Especially because you were special to him. Wait... You were... special to him? When did he feel this way towards you? I mean, sure he always went with you whenever you were itching for a fight and he did talk with you a little more frequently than the others, albeit not too much.

You can tell his mind is racing, so you lean forward, ignoring the bit of pain in your wounded thigh, and place your hand on his shoulder, "Just quit thinking, Calcharo." Your hushed voice and hot breath fan across his ear, sending tingles straight down to his cock. Fuck it. He turns around and faces you once more, his face close to yours as he speaks low and deep, "I don't want to hurt you." His eyes are on yours, but yours are on his lips as you speak again, "You won't."

Before he can protest again, your lips are on his in a soft, but demanding kiss. Calcharo is frozen for a moment, having never done this before. Hell, he's never done anything romantic or sexual in the past. But the plush softness of your lips on his has him beginning to melt. He returns the kiss hesitantly at first, but once he finds the right rhythm with you, he finds himself leaning into you more. His hands are on your flushed cheeks and your heat radiates into his palms.

Your tongue prods his lower lip, begging for entrance to which he allows, parting his lips as you tongue slips in and moves against his. It's a slippery feeling, but you taste so sweet.

Without having realized it, Calcharo has you caged in underneath him yet again, although this time is was special. Your legs are spread to accommodate his body between your legs and your fingers are tangled in his wet, but long silver hair.

Your lips brush against his, "As much as I'd like to help and take things over, my injury-" Calcharo cuts you off with a kiss, "I know. Tell me what to do and I'll do it." His voice sounds husky and breathless, needy for more of you. You grab his hand and place it on your breast, making his breath hitch, "You can touch me."

He looks down at where his hand rests on your breast, taking in the way it fills his palm so perfectly, and he squeezes lightly. Truthfully, he wants your shirt off so he can feel the soft skin against his own calloused hands.

Calcharo's eyes go to yours and his fingers hover over the buttons of your shirt, "May I?" You chuckle a little at his formality, "Please do." With your affirmation, he unbuttons your shirt, tugging the material gently down your shoulders. He takes in the sight of you under him in just a bra and panties. You truly were a sight to see. Without asking for permission again, he fumbles with the clasp of your bra before eventually unhooking it and sliding it off.

Calcharo licks his lips again when he finally sees your bare breasts, so round and perfect. His hand makes its way back to your breasts, gently palming them. His thumb flicks over your nipple, making you draw in a breath. His gaze break away from your chest and back up to your face in alarm, "Did I hurt you?" You smile tiredly at him and shake your head, "No, it felt good." Calcharo visibly relaxes and returns his attention back to your chest.

Leaning down, he captures one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue sliding over the pert bud as you let out a soft sounding moan. His eyes flit up to watch your reactions as he continues with his ministrations. All he wants is for you to feel good even if he's not entirely sure what he's doing. But from the look on your face, your lips parted and brows knitted together, he can tell he's doing well so far and that's all he needs to know to keep going.

Calcharo presses little kisses from your breasts, to your stomach, then pauses above your covered cunt. Without a word, you shakily raise your hips, signalling him to remove your panties and continue on. He bites his lip, nervous as hell, but he didn't know when he would get an opportunity like this again. So he slides your panties down, ever so careful to not have the material rub against your wound on it's way down your legs.

With you panties off and your pussy now exposed to him, Calcharo feels like he's in a daze. You raise your hips yet again with a raised brow, "Well? Haven't you done this before?" Calcharo looks away from you, not wanting to confirm nor deny, feeling too embarrassed to say you were his first everything.

Your sweet voice pulls him back in, "You're so unlike yourself right now. Where'd my confident leader go, huh?" You were only half teasing as you spoke, just wanting him to move on from your first quip.

Hearing you call him your leader stirs something inside of him. Calcharo feels like he has something to prove. You were right, he did everything with a cold confidence, so he could certainly do this. Calcharo lowers himself to your pussy, his lips so close to touching. With a quick look back up to you, he lightly licks at your clit. It's experimental at first, just small little licks to test out your reaction. But once he sees how turned on you are, he dives right in.

It's sloppy and wet, but Calcharo has no intention of stopping now. His tongue prods and licks at your entrance, lapping up your arousal as it coats his tongue. His cock twitches as he mindlessly grinds against the floor. Your beautiful moans and shaky breaths only spur him on and make him feel even more brave. His calloused thumb rubs at your clit in time with his tongue lashing between your folds.

Your hands fly to his hair, pressing his mouth further into your pussy as you cry out his name, "C-calcharo! 'm cumming-ngh!" The taste of you flooded his senses and he simply could not get enough. He grips your hips, keeping his mouth latched onto your soaked cunt as though it was his first and last meal he'd ever have, groaning as if he were the one on the receiving end. You try to push his face away, "S-stop! Too much-ngh!- 'm sensitive!"

Calcharo knew he should stop, but your moans and the way your arousal flowed from you was way too delicious. His tongue flicks over you clit once more, making your legs shake as you moan loudly, releasing on his tongue once more. Finally being merciful, Calcharo removes his mouth from your pussy, your juices and his own saliva glisten on his lips and chin, but he doesn't have a care in the world right in this moment.

Your breasts move in time with your heavy breathing and you narrow your eyes up at him, "You're so lucky I'm injured right now..." Calcharo's eyebrows furrow, cocking his head to the side slightly, "But you liked it." You can't keep your glare when he's looking at you like some confused puppy, although quite the scary looking puppy... You look down, spotting the wet patch on his pants, "Just take your pants off. It looks like your cock is ready to burst."

Calcharo's eyes widen at your straightforwardness, but he immediately schools his expression, "...Right." He undoes his belt harness, letting it drop to the floor with a soft clank of the metal. Next, he pops open the button of his pants and lowers the zipper, tugging his pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock. His cock springs forward, large and veiny, twitching and leaking profusely.

You're in awe of his size and if you had known he was packing that much down there, you would've intentionally tried to get yourself in this situation much sooner. With one hand, he holds his aching cock and covers his face with the other, "Why are you staring so intensely?" Seeing the state he's in makes you laugh. The sound of it makes his length twitch and he peeks at you through his fingers, sounding a bit annoyed, "What's so amusing to you?"

You give him a genuine, yet cheeky smile, "I just... Never thought I'd see such an intimidating guy like yourself get so flustered." Calcharo groans at your teasing remark and lowers his hand from his face, his other hand absentmindedly stroking his cock, "Enough of your teasing."

You spread your legs a little more, careful not to strain your injury, "By all means, please continue. I promise I won't tease you anymore." "Hmph...", Calcharo does his best to look displeased, but there's too much longing and desperation in his eyes for it to be even remotely convincing.

He lines his leaking tip up with your awaiting entrance, but pauses, "Just tell me if it's too much, alright?" With a nod from you, pressure begins to build as he pushes his length slowly inside of your tight, wet cunt.

Cacharo's face scrunches with pleasure and he sucks in a breath, the feeling of being inside of you, inside of anyone for the first time has him struggling not to cum right then and there. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you, speaking softly, "It's okay. You can move now."

He whines at the affirmation and begins to thrust slowly, trying to keep himself calm so as to not cum immediately or hurt you from going too hard too fast. His muscular arms cage you in and his silver hair cascades over his shoulders.

His blue-grey eyes lock on yours as he keeps his steady pace. Calcharo's voice is strained when he speaks through gritted teeth, "This feels too good..." He groans as his hips make contact with yours, his cock pressing deep inside of you.

You press a kiss to the corner of his lips, whispering against them, "Then keep going." Calcharo's cock jumps inside of you and he starts thrusting a little faster, a little harder, "F-fuck..." He kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as his cock fucks into you. All you both can do is whimper and moan between relentless kisses as he comes closer and closer to orgasm.

His thoughts are only on how fucking good you tight pussy feels squeezing around his cock and how badly he wants to breed you with his cum. Gods, what he wouldn't do to see your stomach growing round with his kids.

Fuck, what the hell is even thinking right now. He can't even own a dog, let alone raise a kid, it was too dangerous. But your pussy and your hold on him was way more dangerous to him. He had to keep going.

Calcharo growls out a low groan, "I'm gonna cum -fuck- take it all. Please, please take it -ngh- all!" With a harsh, deep thrust, he releases his warm seed inside of you. His cock throbbing as his cum pours from his tip and the excess drips down to the floor.

He presses his sweaty forehead against yours, the heat from your fever seeping into his skin. Fuck, you had a fever and were injured... He pulls out of you, making you whimper at the feeling of emptiness.

His eyes flick over to your stitched wound, eyes wide as he sees some of the stitches had popped open and fresh blood was trickling down the side of your thigh, "I-I apologize. I shouldn't have-mmph!" Your lips on his shuts him up and when you pull away, you only smile tiredly at him, "I'm fine. Quit worrying about me." Calcharo's expression shows just how much he's struggling with all of this. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you or make anything worse.

You tug a strand of his long, silver hair, bringing his attention back to you, "If you really feel that bad then I guess you'll have to make it up to me another time." Calcharo's eyebrows furrow, but then his expression softens slightly, "Of course. As your leader, I-" You cut him off quickly, "No, not so much as my leader. But as my partner. How does that sound?"

He's stunned for a moment but then clears his throat, trying to keep his typical brooding expression, "We can't. I don't want you to get hurt." You roll your eyes and look up at him, speaking in a resolute tone, "This is different. I'm not just some civilian, I'm part of the Ghost Hounds just like you. I can handle whatever danger comes my way or else I wouldn't be here right now." Calcharo processes your words for a second, then sighs, "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Your expression brightens, "I'm pretty sure that's similar to what you said to me when I first joined." Calcharo rolls his eyes as he gathers your clothes and his, "Whatever. I meant it as much then as I do now." You just breathe a small laugh, "Of course. I think we'll be just fine."

⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ༒︎ϟ⌁⌁ϟ

a/n: calcharo is a cutie patootie under that tough exterior, i just know it🥺

[greengoblinswifey]

Silken Punishment—Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

summary— you and bucky have a petty argument that leaves you upset and defiant. he finds you at a club, upset by your behavior and outfit and takes you home to teach you a lesson.

warnings— brat!reader, spanking, praise kink, slight degradation, face fucking, cock worship, sergeant and sir kink, fingering, katoptronophilia, orgasm denial, edging, choking, unprotected sex, spit kink, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— my first bucky fic on here, i’ve only ever written for him on my ao3 @/greengoblinswhore. comments and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy <3

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The fight between you and Bucky had started over something trivial. He’d been more protective than usual lately—maybe too much. You’d gone out with some friends, and he didn’t like how late you were staying out or the company you were keeping. Tempers flared, words were exchanged, and before you knew it, he stormed off to the Avengers Tower, muttering something about needing space to think.

But space wasn’t what you needed. Frustrated and defiant, you slid into a delicate, lace overlay garment with dress, if you could even call it that. Its semi-sheer design subtly revealed your figure underneath, giving it a bold yet elegant allure. The white lace contrasted beautifully against your dark skin, creating a striking visual that you knew would draw attention to your curves and ass. The club down the street beckoned, and within minutes, you were there, moving to the rhythm of the music under the pulsing lights. You knew heads turned as you swayed your hips, your dress catching the strobe light, revealing your bare ass and your boobs but you didn’t care. Tonight was about you.

The air shifted suddenly. A familiar presence sent a shiver down your spine before you even saw him. Bucky. You felt his icy blue gaze cut through the crowd, pinning you in place. Turning, you saw him striding towards you, his jaw tight and his expression unreadable.

“Let’s go. Now,” he growled, his voice barely audible over the pounding bass.

You tilted your head, smirking defiantly. “I’m not going anywhere with your bossy ass.”

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped closer, his metal arm glinting under the club lights. “We’re not doing this here. Let’s talk at home.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like going home,” you shot back, taking a step toward the dance floor.

Before you could blink, Bucky had you over his shoulder, his vibranium arm holding you securely as he made his way through the stunned crowd. “You’re testing my patience, doll,” he muttered.

“Put me down, Bucky!” you squealed, pounding at his back, but he didn’t flinch. You knew better than to think anyone would intervene—who would dare challenge the Winter Soldier?

Once home, the door barely clicked shut before Bucky carried you straight to the bedroom. He set you down briefly before sitting on the edge of the bed, his intense gaze never leaving yours. “Over my knee,” he commanded softly but firmly.

You blinked, your defiance faltering for a moment. “You can’t—”

“Now.”

His voice left no room for argument. You hesitated, your heart pounding as you realized exactly what kind of punishment he had in mind.

He smirked as his metal arm rested on his thigh, the other guiding you firmly over his knee. His fingers skimmed over the hem of the dress you’d worn to the club, shaking his head. “This little thing leaves nothing to the imagination,” he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. “Back in my day, they’d have called you all kinds of whore for showing this much skin.”

You twisted your neck to look at him, a small, teasing smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe, but I’m your whore, aren’t I?”

“Not the time,” Bucky snapped, his tone cutting enough to make your smirk falter. “You scared me half to death tonight, and this is how you decide to act? Think you’re getting off easy, doll?”

Before you could respond, his warm flesh hand came down against your ass with a sharp smack, making you gasp. The sting wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough to make you feel it. He never used his metal hand for something like this—it wasn’t in him to ever risk hurting you, even when he was upset.

“Count,” he instructed, his voice low but commanding. “And if you mess up, we start from one. Understood?”

“Yes sergeant,” you murmured, your voice soft but shaky.

“Good girl,” he replied. His hand came down again, and you squealed, “One!” He continued, the sound of his hand meeting you filling the room. Between each smack, you counted, your voice wavering as you tried to hold back the little sobs spilling from your glossy lips.

By the time you reached twenty, your protests were softer, your words nearly swallowed by your tears. “I didn’t mean it,” you whispered, burying your face into your folded arms. “I just wanted to have fun—I didn’t think it’d turn into all this.”

“It’s too late for that, doll,” Bucky said, his tone firm but laced with the quiet concern he was trying to mask. He helped you up after a moment, pulling you close against his chest. Your arms wrapped around his waist as you let out a soft sniffle, your cheek pressing into his shirt.

“You were scaring me,” he admitted, his voice finally softening as he stroked your back. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Can you hold me? Please?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly. He wanted to scoop you up and tell you it was all forgiven, but you weren’t off the hook just yet. “When you’ve learned to be a good girl,” he replied. He tilted your chin up, meeting your watery gaze with his piercing blue eyes. “But you’re not there yet.”

Guiding you gently down to your knees, Bucky settled back into his seat on the bed. “If you’re really sorry, show me. Worship my cock,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small smirk. “Show me just how much you mean it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you lowered his pants, the heat of his gaze making your skin prickle. He didn’t rush you, his metal fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch cold yet grounding. When his cock was free, you paused, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him, hard.

“Don’t stop now, doll,” he said, his voice low and husky. The way his thumb grazed your bottom lip sent a shiver down your spine. “You’ve got something to prove, don’t you?”

You nodded, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his tip, murmuring, “I love how perfect you are.” Your lips traced a slow, deliberate path, and you could feel the weight of his stare on you. “So big sergeant, so beautiful,” you whispered, your words a mix of praise and awe. You knew he liked hearing it, the way his jaw tightened and his fingers threaded through your hair told you so.

“That’s enough talking,” he said, his tone more commanding now. “I don’t need you to tell me, you’re gonna show me.”

Your lips parted, and you took him in your mouth, your movements deliberate and careful, your gaze flicking up to meet his. His hand tightened in your curls, guiding you just enough to remind you who was in control. “That’s it, doll,” he murmured, his voice dark and rough. “Keep going, just like that.”

You continued, your focus entirely on him, feeling his quiet approval in the way he relaxed, though his hand remained firmly in your hair. He let out a soft grunt, his other hand brushing against your shoulder as if to steady himself. “You’re doing so good for me,” he murmured, his words sending a wave of warmth through you. “Sometimes you can be a good girl.”

When you pulled back briefly, you kissed along his length, your lips soft against him, your voice barely above a whisper as you said, “I love making you feel good.” Your fingers traced gentle patterns on his cock, adding to the warmth of your affection. He groaned in response, his hand tugging lightly at your curls.

“Don’t get too cocky,” he warned, his words carrying a teasing edge. “You’re still making up for earlier.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied with a soft smile, letting your lips and hands continue their work, eager to earn his forgiveness.

You took him deep into your throat, gagging as you did but it only turned him on. His grip on your curls remained, pushing your head down then thrusting when you got too comfortable. You swirled your tongue around his shaft, saliva and pre cum dripping down your chin, and you made sure your eyes looked up at him, full of admiration.

“So fucking beautiful even when you’re a brat,” he moaned. He began thrusting faster, ready to shoot his load down your throat. “Get ready, and you’re going to swallow every drop.” You hummed in response, the vibration sending him over the edge and he pushed your head all the way down until your nose touched his pelvis. His cum shot down your throat and you swallowed every drop like the good girl you aimed to be.

His hand slipped under your chin, lifting your face to meet his eyes. He pulled you into his arms, his kiss firm and possessive, but the warmth behind it told you everything you needed to know. “You’ve got a lot to learn about behaving,” he said, brushing his thumb across your cheek, “but you’re lucky I’m a patient man.”

Bucky pulled you up effortlessly, his grip firm but careful as he placed you in front of the tall mirror. His sharp gaze met yours in the reflection, and you felt a flush creep up your neck when his hands slid down to your hips. With a slow tug, he removed the delicate fabric of your G-string, letting it fall to the floor.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low as his fingers brushed against your inner thighs. His vibranium arm encircled your waist, holding you in place. “Soaked already? Really?” His tone was dripping with mockery, his smirk widening as your eyes darted down, embarrassed.

“Sergeant, I—” you stammered, but he cut you off with a shake of his head, his flesh hand slipping between your legs.

“Quiet,” he said, his lips close to your ear. “You’re going to take everything I give you, understand?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers moved against your clit, skilled and purposeful, drawing moans from you that you couldn’t contain. His vibranium arm tightened around your waist, keeping you pressed against his chest when your knees began to weaken. “Stay still,” he warned, his voice firm. “You wanted to act out? Now look at the mess you’re making—on me, on the floor, everywhere.”

Your head fell back against his shoulder, his fingers plunging inside your pussy deeper, each movement making you squirm against him. “Stop squirming,” he growled, his tone almost mocking. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

“Sergeant, please,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as you felt your orgasm building inside you. Just when you were teetering on the edge, his hand stilled, leaving you desperate and trembling.

He stopped abruptly, taking his fingers into his mouth to suck off your juices before leaning down to spit it in your awaiting mouth. “Thank you sir,” you moaned, “can I cum now?”

“No,” he said, his voice cold and unyielding. “Brats don’t get rewarded.” He turned you to face the bed, guiding you forward. “Now, get up there. Face down. Ass up. Move.”

You obeyed, biting your lip as you crawled onto the bed, positioning yourself as he instructed. Your heart raced as you glanced at the mirror, where you could see the reflection of the both of you. Bucky stood behind you, his intense gaze fixed on you as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the muscles of his torso.

“As much as you look like a damn whore in that dress,” he said. “You look so sexy, it stays on.” His smirk was almost cruel, his hands brushing along the curve of your hips as he positioned himself behind you.

“You’re going to behave now, aren’t you, doll?” he murmured, his voice low but commanding. “Or do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

You rolled your eyes and he slapped your ass in response, making you yelp.

Bucky didn’t hesitate, gripping your waist tightly before plunging into you with a force that left you gasping. Your face buried into the pillow instinctively, but his low, commanding voice brought you back. “Uh-uh,” he growled, his fingers tightening around your hips. “Look at yourself. Look at what happens when you act out. Watch me punish you.”

You turned your head toward the mirror, catching sight of him in all his glory. His sculpted muscles rippled with every movement, his biceps flexing as he held you in place. His sharp blue eyes met yours in the reflection, a look of dominance swirling in them. “That’s right,” he said, slamming into you harder, his voice a mixture of mockery and authority. “Watch. Don’t you dare look away.”

Your breath hitched as his pace quickened, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “Sergeant, I’m sorry,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“It’s too late for that,” he said sharply, his lips curving into a smirk. “You’ve been a brat and a damn whore all night. You don’t get to apologize now.”

His rhythm didn’t relent, his grip firm as he hit that spot inside you that made you tremble uncontrollably. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing as he noticed the way your pussy soaked his cock. When you clenched around him, he let out a low groan, his hand coming down to your hip. “Are you gonna cum?” he asked, his tone dangerously low.

“Yes sir,” you admitted breathlessly, your body on the verge of giving in.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he snapped, his tone a warning. “You better hold it.”

“I—I can’t,” you stammered, your voice breaking as your body betrayed you. “I’m sensitive, sir. Please—”

“You better,” he interrupted firmly, not letting up for a second. The sound of his voice made it clear he wasn’t going to let you off easily.

Without warning, he switched positions, lifting you effortlessly and laying you on the bed. Your upper body dangled off the edge, giving you a full view of the two of you in the mirror. His hands gripped your curls, holding you steady as he leaned in. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice low. When you obeyed, he spat into your mouth, watching as you swallowed before letting go of your head.

Your vision swam as your head hung back, the view in the mirror giving you a dizzying look at him in control. Bucky’s pace was relentless, each movement rough, his body moving with a confidence that left you breathless. “Look at me,” he said sharply, his hand coming down to your thigh to steady you. “Keep your eyes open. I want you to see how hot this looks.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible as you struggled to keep up. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, his smirk widening as he continued without pause. “You’ve got a lot to prove.”

The sight of him, his sharp jawline clenched, his muscles taut as he worked you over was almost overwhelming. His focus never wavered, his gaze flicking between your reflection and your trembling form beneath him. The mix of roughness and control left you unable to look away. Your body bounced wildly as his hips snapped against yours and you weren’t sure how long you could take as the blood rushed to your head.

Bucky’s grip was firm around your throat as he pulled you up, his fingers brushing against your flushed cheeks before guiding you to straddle him. His broad frame sank into the mattress, his gaze flickering to the mirror in front of you both.

“So fucking sexy,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, an edge of possession lacing his words. “That dress, you know how many looks you got tonight? Too many.”

With a sharp tug, the delicate fabric tore easily under his hands. You gasped, eyes widening. “Bucky! That was my favorite!” you protested, pouting.

“Too bad,” he replied without hesitation, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re not wearing it again, not out there, not for anyone else. You’re mine.”

Your skin prickled under his gaze as he adjusted your position, his hands steadying you on his lap. In the mirror, the two of you looked like something out of a dream, his powerful frame grounding you as your reflection showcased every subtle movement.

“Move,” he instructed, his tone soft but demanding. “Ride me like you mean it, doll.”

You obeyed, slowly at first, your hands bracing against his chest. His grip on your hips tightened as he guided you on his thick cock, his voice softening with praise. “That’s it, just like that. You’re doing so good, baby.”

As you found a rhythm, his eyes stayed locked on you in the mirror. “Fucking look at yourself,” he said, his hand tilting your chin so your eyes met his reflection. “Look how gorgeous you are, bouncing on my cock like that. All mine.”

You bounced on his cock faster at his praises, the sound of his voice spurring you on. “Faster,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower. “Come on, doll. I know you can do better than that.”

You whimpered, your legs trembling with the effort. “I’m trying, sir,” you whispered breathlessly.

“I can see that,” he replied, a flicker of a smirk crossing his face. His hand moved to your throat, tilting your face toward him for a soft kiss. “But you’ve got to earn it. Don’t stop.”

As exhaustion set in, your grinding on his cock slowed, and he steadied you, his fingers trailing gently across your skin. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Good girl. That’s my good girl.”

You gripped his muscular body for dear life, doing your best to grind against him to give you both the pleasure you needed. “Aww, that’s my girl, you’ve earned it, cum for me.”

His words were all you needed, your body shook on top of him, and your orgasm took ahold of you. Babbling incoherent words, you squirted on his cock, the sensation so intense that his cum spurted inside you. You both panted in each other’s arms as you rode out your high, Bucky laying kisses all over your face as he tried to ground you.

When it was all over, he laid you gently on the bed, his movements uncharacteristically tender as he grabbed a warm cloth and began to clean you up. His hands worked with care, his voice softening as he murmured, “I was worried about you tonight, you know. Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

His gaze softened as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you into his arms. “Just don’t let it happen again, doll,” he said with a small smile, wrapping you in his warmth.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Baby Blues || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

Summary: motherhood has not been kind to you, neither has Coriolanus.

Warnings: r is implied to be young, toxic, mean Coryo, r experiencing post-partum depression,

Wc: 794

A/n: I’m always gravitating to write these type of coryo fics for some reason…. I hope you like them! Apologies for lack of Tom Blyth/Coryo content, I promise I have some coming!!

You sat in the sunroom, the weight of your 5 month old daughter on your hip, while Coriolanus read his newspaper, seemingly unfazed by his daughter’s cries that filled the room.

Your hands shakily pick up the delicate china tea cup, bringing it to your lips and taking few sips.

You stared at nothing in particular, feeling the weight of both youth and motherhood. You subconsciously start to bounce your leg, all while your daughter wails in your arm, begging for attention from her own mother.

Coriolanus sips at his black coffee, trying his best to drown out the cries as he tried to focus his attention back on his newspaper. Your concerned servant in the room exchanged worried glances with Coriolanus, and finally, he glances at you, frustration etched on his face.

“Y/n, tend to her,” he instructed, irritation evident in his voice. “Don’t just sit there like a mad woman, do something,” He hissed as your gaze moved to him. Your eyes seemingly empty as you stare at his icy blue ones.

At an attempt to soothe her down, you stand up to bounce her on your hip, hushing her. Your daughter’s cries only intensified, drawing Coriolanus to his feet.

The rustle of the newspaper ceased as he took his daughter into his arms. Almost magically, her cries subsided in the secure embrace of her father. A wave of inadequacy washed over you as you witnessed his effortless ability to calm her.

~

You stand infront of the large floor to ceiling window that overlooked your courtyard, gazing blankly at the last few socialites leaving the presidential mansion after a soirée that Coriolanus hosted.

Your once vibrant, youthful eyes now dull, overshadowed by the weight of motherhood. Coriolanus, sat on one of the chairs, watches you from where he was. “You’ve been standing there for about 20 minutes, sit,” He says, gesturing to the seat beside him as you turn your head, lightly biting your lips before moving.

“It’s like you were in another world tonight, what ever is the matter with you now?” Coriolanus remarks, frustration edging his tone.” You feign a smile, “I’m just tired, Coryo. That’s all,” but your eyes betray the facade, revealing a profound weariness that transcends mere fatigue.

“You always seem tired,” Coryo scoffs. Your gaze flickers towards the nanny, cradling your daughter in her arms. Your heart aches with a mixture of guilt and relief as you observe the bond forming between them.

Coriolanus’s gaze follows your eye line, “Perhaps you’ve been focusing too much on your duties and not enough on our daughter,” He suggests, unaware of the storm raging within you.

“I’m doing my best, Coryo,” you respond, voice barely audible as Coriolanus lets out a tired sigh, massaging his forehead.

The baby’s cries cut through the air, and you flinch as if struck—something Coriolanus observed. He glances at you, a mixture of annoyance and concern etched across his features.

“Can’t you tend to our daughter? You’re her mother, after all.” You nod absentmindedly, standing up and making your way toward the source of the cries.

The nanny, a woman just a couple years younger than yourself, hands over your daughter, a look of sympathy etched on her face.

You clear your throat, feeling Coriolanus’ eyes on you. You cradle her awkwardly, attempting to soothe her, but your efforts were feeble. Coriolanus observes, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“You’re always like this. Will you always treat our child as if she’s a stranger?” He spat, and you bit your lip, glancing down at your daughter whose features closely mirrored yours, except for her eyes and blonde hair.

Your eyes well up with unshed tears, swiftly wiped away. “I just… just need time, Coriolanus. I’ll adjust,” you stammer, seeking to reassure your husband and, more importantly, convincing yourself that you will.

Nearly half a year has passed since you gave birth to her. Skillfully, you’ve evaded numerous public appearances with your daughter, fully aware of the pervasive curiosity surrounding your role as a mother.

You were aware of their judgments. The notion that you were too young to be a mother echoed in your mind, a sentiment you shared as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your stomach swollen with the imminent arrival of a child into the world.

Coriolanus sighs, a blend of disappointment and impatience coloring his tone. “Pull yourself together, for both our sakes. The people want to see their First Lady and my heir. You can’t keep hiding away. There are already whispers going around,” he admonishes sharply, and you gulp, your baby cradled in your arms as you turn to face him.

Coriolanus couldn’t deny the noticeable change in you since giving birth. When he married you, the youthful aura enveloped you, a stark contrast to the transformation he now witnessed.

The aura had dissipated entirely. Despite your youth, you appeared to have weathered a lifetime. Fatigue etched into your eyes, weariness evident in your mental state.

“It’s wise for you to step back from the public eye for a while, away from your duties. You need to rest,” Coriolanus states firmly, his gaze fixed on the world beyond the window.

Your gaze shifts to your baby in your arms, her doe-blue eyes locking onto yours. Unaware, Coriolanus discreetly signals the nanny to take your daughter.

Caught off guard, you hesitated when she reached for your child, desiring to hold her longer. Reluctantly, you allowed her to take the little one. With a heavy heart, you observed the nanny exit the room, and Coriolanus broke the silence, reassuring you, “Don’t worry about her; go rest.” Slowly, you nodded in agreement.

[thekitsunesiren]

Dc x Dp #45

Danny becoming Jason's mom!

Because picture it! Jason, though been out of the Lazarus Pits for so long, fought against his entire being-his core! And because all of the fighting and resisting his new self caused it to repress into a smaller state. Thus, he had the core of a child, despite being an adult. It also doesn't help that he died as a child and clung unto his trauma.

But Jason didn't know this and continued with his former crime lord/vigilante lifestyle. Thinking that the rage pits was the only thing he had to be wary of and not what happens if he meets someone else that was from the Lazarus Pits or something similar.

He experienced this phenomenon when he took a walk through the park in his civilian attire as a change of pace and to clear his mind for the moment. The last mission he had with Bruce

As he walked, the sound of children laughter caused him to look up and see what was going on. In the park, two kids-siblings no doubt, were having a ball in the park simply chasing each other in their own version of tag. It was domestic enough to smile softly at the sight, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

Jason looked around to see if their parents were around watching them. And right on a bench was no doubtedly their parent. With black hair that seem to gleam in the direct light and blue eyes that seemed to be an impossible shade of blue. And those eyes were fondly watching the children laying around the park on their own.

Suddenly, Jason found himself under the heavy gaze of those eyes. Fondness turning to curiosity and hostility to longer he stared.

Snapping out his thoughts, he believed it was best to make a bit of small talk after no doubt seeming like a creep staring at them so intently.

Casually, or trying to seem casual, Jason approached them keeping his shoulders lax as not to seem as not too much of a threat. But the closer he got, the more this unfamiliar feeling bubbled within his chest. It wasn't the blinding rage that he usually associated with the pit. No, it was something different. Something positive.

It felt like a bubbling warmth that had the pits screaming for more. That the warmth was there. This person would take care of them. This person could help with the pits. This person was his-

"Momma." Jason murmured as he stared at the male, eyes widening with mortification as he realized that he said that out loud for the person to hear. He also realized that the pits had him in such a daze that he didn't realize that he had walked right over and sat next to the mystery person without a second thought.

Jason waited for them to react. To be called a creep or for them to storm away after gathering their children from where they were playing. Hell, he even expected them to scream and hit him in some manner.

Instead, he was met with eyes of confusion as well. The person beside him tilting their head as if debating something.

Then, Jason would've thought he imagined it if he wasn't looking at them, his eyes flashed green. The familiar pit green that Jason hated seeing. But his green held no anger or hatred that he was familiar with.

After their eyes returned to their icy blue, the person gave Jason an understanding smile. As if they knew why he called them that.

"Well, you're a bit older than my kids, but I'm sure we could work this out." The person said with a chuckle, reaching up and affectionately patting his shoulder. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Jason felt as if his mouth dry as thought of how to answer. Was this weird? How could they be so calm about him walking up and calling them momma? Was this something pit related? How did this person know about the pits?

"Jason, mo-" He bit his lip as the name momma almost slipped out again. Instead, he coughed into his hand before looking at them again. "It's Jason."

The person chuckled affectionately at his hesitance. "Jason." The repeated with a fond smile. The way they said his name causing a familiar warmth to flutter in his chest that he hasn't felt in a while.

"I bet momma is a bit sudden since we just met and all." The person teased, smiling up at him. "But instead you're free to call me Danny if you want."

[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

and how they deal with their children and domestic life.

pairing: dad & husband! wriothesley, lyney and neuvillette x fem! reader.

cw: original characters, slightly ooc to fit the plot, domesticity, fluff. pregnant reader is mentioned to introductions but not too elaborated. not beta read.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

kazuha’s part. | part. ii

WRIOTHESLEY

If outsiders had once been intimidated by the Duke's mere reputation, the announcement of your pregnancy elevated that fear to an entirely new level. The very mention of Wriothesley’s name was enough to unsettle even the bravest of men.

It was no surprise, really—Wriothesley’s demeanor during those months was enough to terrify anyone. He was often seen patrolling the corridors of the Fortress of Meropide with a perpetual frown and clenched fists, as if prepared for battle at a moment's notice. New prisoners, who already dreaded the idea of crossing paths with the Duke, now did everything in their power to avoid his gaze entirely.

What they didn’t know, however, was that beneath the icy exterior, Wriothesley was a bundle of nerves. The mask of aloofness he wore so convincingly was the only defense he knew against the overwhelming fear brewing in his soul.

Fortunately for everyone in the prison, including Wriothesley himself, you were there—attentive, reassuring, and endlessly confident. Your steady presence and unwavering support helped him find calm amidst his storm of insecurities. With your encouragement, he overcame his fears and finally allowed himself to celebrate the arrival of his son.

When that day came, even the guards seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. They silently thanked you, the Duchess, for the sudden shift in their boss. You merely winked in acknowledgment, sharing the unspoken understanding.

Little Cameron’s entry into the world was far from smooth, arriving during one of the most tumultuous times for your family and Fontaine alike. Your own health had been fragile during the pregnancy, leaving you weak and bedridden despite Sigewinne’s best efforts. To make matters worse, the political upheaval in Fontaine added layers of stress and uncertainty.

Wriothesley’s fear of losing both you and the baby loomed large, but deep down, he knew better than to underestimate you. His wife was nothing if not resilient. He held onto that faith as tightly as he held onto you.

Thankfully, Wriothesley’s faith was not misplaced. Against all odds, both you and Cameron emerged victorious from the harrowing ordeal of his birth.

“Please don’t scare me like that again,” Wriothesley said, his voice trembling with residual fear. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you both.”

“You really need to start giving me more credit, Wrio,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Your wife is far too stubborn to let herself be beaten by anything, even illness.”

Though Wriothesley had his doubts about fatherhood—his own troubled upbringing having left deep scars—he turned out to be an incredible father. His gentle affection was boundless, and not only you, but the entire Fortress of Meropide began to notice a softer side blossoming in him.

That didn’t mean he let his guard down completely. As the prison's director, he remained unwavering in his enforcement of the laws and its administration.

Still, it was a sight both comforting and amusing to see Wriothesley patrolling the production zones or administrative areas with a baby carrier strapped to his chest. Cameron, a tiny replica of his father, sat calmly nestled against him. Of course, no one dared to comment on the endearing scene, much less approach the new father uninvited.

Cameron, for his part, was a remarkably calm baby. Rarely fussy, he spent most of his time quietly observing his surroundings, his icy blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. Wriothesley found this trait endlessly fascinating and would often spend hours simply watching his son’s inquisitive nature at work.

You and Wriothesley were a seamless team when it came to parenting, balancing your responsibilities to both Cameron and the Fortress of Meropide. When Wriothesley was busy with his duties, Cameron was perfectly content in your care. Likewise, when you were called to perform your job as an interrogator, Wriothesley often retreated to his office with Cameron sitting on his lap. There, father and son would share quiet moments—Wriothesley sipping his tea, Cameron clutching a toy as he mimicked his father’s serious demeanor.

Like every first-time parent, Wriothesley experienced the highs and lows of fatherhood. Some nights, his past demons would awaken him, flooding his mind with fears of inadequacy. But those fears always dissolved as he watched Cameron grow—celebrating his son’s milestones, witnessing his small successes, and marveling at the honorable young man he was becoming.

In those moments, Wriothesley knew he had done well, that there was nothing to fear.

“Well, since we have nothing to fear,” you said one evening, a playful glint in your eye, “I suppose it’s time for me to announce that I’m pregnant again, huh?”

LYNEY

Lyney liked to believe that even if you hadn’t met in this life, your souls would have found each other in another. Even if you belonged to different worlds, the thread of fate that bound you both would transcend time and space, drawing you together. It felt as though an invisible red string—one only the two of you could see—connected you, weaving a tale written by destiny itself. For Lyney, it was undeniable that the stars had aligned perfectly to lead him to you.

The love he held for you was unconditional, unwavering, and unshakeable—an immutable truth in the fabric of his universe. But that certainty deepened, expanded, and transformed the day you gave him the greatest gifts of his life: your twin babies, Quentin and Corinne.

Everyone in Fontaine already knew Lyney was a devoted husband. From the earliest days of your relationship, he had made your connection known, never shy about showcasing his affection for you, whether privately or in public. When your pregnancy was announced, his pride only grew. His characteristic smile became brighter, his steps more buoyant, as he walked through the streets of the hydro nation with you by his side, radiating joy and treating you as if you were the most precious treasure in the world—much to your delight.

His affection for you remained unchanged during your pregnancy, but now it was accompanied by an even greater attentiveness.

Lyney anticipated your needs and desires before you could voice them, always eager to ensure your comfort. His innate talent for understanding people made him not only a caring husband but also, as you would soon discover, an exceptional father.

And exceptional was truly an understatement.

You had only ever seen Lyney’s tears once—on your wedding day, when his eyes glistened with barely restrained emotion. That changed with the arrival of the twins. As he cradled his newborn children for the first time, tears streamed freely down his cheeks, his voice trembling as he whispered, “They look so much like you. They’re beautiful.”

Indeed, Quentin and Corinne inherited almost all their features from you, save for Lyney’s striking violet, cat-shaped eyes. Far from being disappointed, Lyney was overjoyed—he believed no one in the world was as beautiful as you, and he was delighted to see that reflected in his children.

Fatherhood transformed Lyney into an even more devoted man. Despite the challenges of balancing his duties with the House of Hearth and his magic performances, often requiring him to travel far from home, Lyney rose to the occasion with grace. He made it a priority to support you, especially during the sleepless nights. Whether it was feeding, changing diapers, or comforting a fussy baby in the early hours, Lyney was always there, sharing the responsibilities of parenthood without hesitation.

From the start, it was clear that Quentin and Corinne had distinct personalities. Quentin’s boundless energy reminded Lyney of his own enthusiasm, while Corinne’s calm, quiet demeanor mirrored Lynette’s. Lyney adored them both equally, cherishing the moments when Quentin’s giggles filled the air or when Corinne snuggled into his embrace for a nap.

While Lyney relished the thought of showing off his children to the world, he prioritized their privacy while they were young and vulnerable. He kept his family close, shielding you and the twins under his protective wing while teaching them to care for each other and grow into independent individuals.

Magic and illusions were constants in your household, with Lyney delighting in performing small tricks for the twins. Their wide-eyed reactions and gleeful laughter were the highlights of his days. As they grew, Lyney made it clear that his love and support were unconditional. No matter what paths Quentin and Corinne chose to walk, he would be their greatest supporter.

Though Lyney sometimes feared that the world might dim the sparkle in their eyes, he vowed to do everything in his power to protect their innocence. His actions, words, and unwavering love ensured that they knew, every single day, just how deeply he cared.

NEUVILLETTE

In the beginning, it was a surprise for the people of Fontaine to see their reserved and dignified Iudex walking through the capital’s streets at your side. That shock only deepened a few years after your marriage, when the front page of The Steambird featured you with a slightly rounded belly, accompanied by an exclusive interview about your career and personal life. The issue flew off the shelves, with sales as abundant as the waters surrounding the hydro nation. Charlotte, ever the savvy journalist, wasn’t the least bit surprised—Fontaineians, after all, had an insatiable appetite for juicy gossip.

While the interview revealed little to sate the public’s curiosity, it didn’t stop them from spinning wild and absurd theories about your life. You, of course, found their speculation amusing and even played into it for your own entertainment. Neuvillette, however, didn’t share your sense of humor. Rumors about his supposed "lack of sensitivity" or imagined scandals involving his name often resulted in rainclouds replacing Fontaine's sunny skies.

The truth, hidden from prying eyes, was that you and Neuvillette had been planning to start a family for quite some time. However, the uncertainties surrounding his draconic heritage made the journey a cautious one. Neuvillette’s greatest fear was putting your health and safety at risk for a selfish dream. It was only after much reassurance, support, and medical guidance from Sigewinne that the two of you felt confident enough to take the leap. The result? The arrival of your beloved daughter, Éveline.

To say Neuvillette was a helicopter husband during your pregnancy would be an understatement. His meticulous care and constant attention, though rooted in love, sometimes left you feeling smothered. His devotion to even the smallest details, while appreciated, occasionally pushed your patience to its limits. Yet, when the time came, and you saw him cradling your newborn daughter in his arms, all the frustrations melted away.

At that moment, Neuvillette revealed a side of himself you had never seen before—a serene, passionate love that only his daughter could inspire.

Fatherhood, unsurprisingly, suited him perfectly.

In those early days, he rarely left Éveline’s side, instinctively anticipating her every need. Whether it was his centuries of caring for the Melusines or simply his natural instincts as a father, Neuvillette’s devotion was unwavering, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

Éveline inherited much of your physical appearance but unmistakably carried Neuvillette’s draconic traits, including his calm yet commanding personality.

Unsurprisingly, Neuvillette was fiercely protective of your daughter, allowing only a select few to meet her during her first months. His philosophy was simple: love meant protecting, and he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.

One secret you cherished—shared only through photos and private moments—was Neuvillette’s tendency to transform into his draconic form during his rare nights off. The sight of his massive dragon figure curled protectively around tiny Éveline as she slept was enough to melt your heart. Though she was growing older, these tender moments continued, with Neuvillette showing no signs of wanting to let go of such precious rituals.

Neuvillette’s love for his daughter was evident in his every action. Though a man of few words, his affection was shown through countless gestures, whether it was a comforting hug, a gentle pat on the head, or quiet moments spent together. Under his guidance, Éveline grew up in an environment filled with warmth, where affection was as natural as breathing.

Even with the immense responsibilities of his role as Fontaine’s Chief Justice, Neuvillette made sure to be present for every milestone in Éveline’s life. Patiently and lovingly, he guided her, teaching her to become a person of integrity, fairness, and a noble heart. Through it all, his devotion as a father shone brighter than any duty or title—a testament to the boundless love he held for his family.

.

.

a/n: i intended to rewrite kazuha's part, delete his solo post and add it here but it'd be very troublesome because some people has read already. even though i wished to let it all together i'll let it like the way it is already. furthermore, i don't know if it's gonna turn into a series since my will to write disappears as fast as it appears. but if so, i'll only write for these four men.

please let me know if there are any mistakes ;)

edited: nov/2024

[trashmouth-richie]

ad caelum vel ad inferos, tecum sum to heaven or hell, i am with you

the final part [4.6k] geta x reader summary: death, smut, GORE

🥀dulcis ut rosa 🥀dulex 🥀vitiosis + deliciosus 🥀frangere me

s/o to my beta @rxqueenotd , and anyone else i’ve screamed at with over this fic 🤎

Blue skies could never compare to the icy hatred that filled Caracalla’s eyes as he stood above you, flanked by soldiers on either shoulder. “Perhaps the dungeon will help you remember which Emperor you are to be serving? Hm?” 

Blood trickled down your hairline, collecting in a slow drop from your chin onto the dirty floor. The cell was barely wide enough to lay down in. A piss pot stood full in one corner, its odor still more pleasant than the sickly aroma of Caracalla’s breath when he found you waiting for Geta. 

You had been startled seeing him instead of the man you had spent the last many nights crying for. Trying to run you were hit hard and the rest was gone until you woke up here. 

A swift kick to your legs and chest, had you doubling over, the pain boiling hot in your veins. 

“How incompetent do you think I am?” Caracalla spit. “My brother doesn’t move throughout these walls without me knowing. Months! He’s been fucking your mouth raw, spilling his seed down your throat after nights spent in luxury with me!” A giggle bullies out from his lungs, “did you think I hadn’t a clue? An inkling as to why his chamber stood empty at the same moment that you left mine?” 

You haven’t said a word and you refused to, he didn’t deserve an explanation. 

A tear slips down his rouge painted face, “I confided in you, we were soulmates you and I. Geta is nothing! He feels nothing!” 

You shook your head, unable to accept his words. “How did you do it, magae. How did you bewitch my brother to fall for your wickedness?” 

Raising your chin in spiteful defiance, you glared into his disgusting putrid eyes, “You pathetic, sniveling swine— I am no such witch, but I can not wait to witness the carnage Geta will bestow upon you.” 

Caracalla giggles in a high pitched tone, “oh my dear, he will be long dead before that shall ever happen,” he looks around at the moldy holed dungeon, “maybe you can charm the rats while you’re rotting away waiting for your precious Geta.” 

—

Wind and insects scratched at his face as he pushed his horse faster, hooves kicking up sand and rocks in a storm as they raced for Palace Hill. Geta screamed with rage when Acacius told him of your demise, knowing exactly who was behind it. What a fool he was for leaving you unattended. Caracalla must have found out, and maybe he himself was too blind by Cupid’s lust to notice the changes within his own kingdom. 

Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes as he imagined the perils of danger you were now in— because of him.

His reins slapped sharply against the muscled backside of his horse as he pumped every ounce of strength from the mare to get home- to get back to you.

Whatever Caracalla had done, heads would fucking roll once he got back. That was a promise. 

—

How many days had it been? Four? A week? The dark had made you lose count. 

At times you weren’t sure if your eyes were open or closed, the pitch black was endless, curling around you like smoke and suffocating any happiness you had tried to muster. 

The dungeon was crawling with vermin, caked with disease and body fluids from decades before you had been tossed in here like a rabies riddled dog. Food had stopped coming, water was scarce except for the trickle of fresh springs that siddled down the stone wall. At least you told yourself it was a fresh spring that you were consuming, but more than likely it was tainted water that kept you alive. 

You prayed to the Gods that Geta would come for you. That he wasn’t head first into a war that he agreed to when you pushed him away. You were so stupid for doing so, but you couldn’t help the racking sobs when you pictured how hurt he was… and crying harder yet when realizing, that was the last time. 

Days had passed and you could feel your mind slipping from you. Exhaustion, dehydration settling in had you hallucinating images of the Emperor. It was almost comforting the way your mind was protecting itself, throwing you into an alternate reality of laying in his lavish bed instead of the hard shit-soaked stones. 

You could feel his blunt nails tickling your sides, but in truth it was beetles gnawing on your bare skin. Geta kept you warm and safe in your head, even though it was apparent from the lack of food, proper sunlight, and clean water—that you were falling ill. 

—

It hadn’t been that long since Geta had left, but approaching the Hill had his skin crawling. Dismounting his mare, everything seemed odd. 

It was unusually quiet. The air felt sharp against his skin. Smelled of pungent rot, souring his nose. The wind seemed to howl a song he hadn’t recognized— the sickly tune of a kingdom at war with itself. 

His father had trained them both on how to rule with force, how to command an army, to hold rank and battle to the blood flowing end—their enemies head on a stake. 

Caracalla by himself was juvenile when it came to war tactics, knowing the basics of stationing men on watch, high in the walls on the terraces. Two men for each direction, pointing their noses North, East, South and West. A handful of guards on the entrance. 

If this was a war with any other enemy— Geta would have spent a full sun tracking their movements meticulously. But never had his enemies captured something so dear to him. 

Acacius landed from his own horse beside Geta’s kneeled form, knowing his thoughts before he could even act on them. 

“It’s unwise, my lord…” he said carefully, placing a weathered hand on Geta’s shoulder, “we cannot risk the element of surprise when our emotions are clouding our judgment.”  

Geta’s eyes twitched as he stared ahead at the palace, his mind traveling to where you were being kept, knowing in his heart it was in the deepest part of the palace, the south dungeon.

He breathed raggedly through his nose before he spoke between gritted teeth, “I will paint all of Rome with their innards for what they’ve done, and I will not stop until their bodies are drained of all their blood.” 

Acacius shook is head in worry, clearing his throat, “you’re mind is unclear, you should rest before—”

Adrenaline raced through Geta’s veins as he mounted his mare, “I’m going, with or without your help. What good am I to her waiting for calculated time?” 

Acacius threaded a hand through his salty peppered hair, eyeing his emperor— his friend. His voice was riddled with pain when he spoke, “what good are you to her if you’re dead?” 

Geta pondered this, but his reply was simple, and he said the most truthful thing that has ever passed his lips, “I’ll be the man she makes me want to be.” 

—

“Up! Get up!” 

Caracalla had figured once Geta found out that his precious whore was locked away and starved that he  would be on his way to come and rescue you. He waited day and night for his brother’s return. And finally— there was a spec in the distance. His brother returning in all his glory. 

He skipped down to the dungeon— literally skipping and hopping on one foot in glee as he came down to the depths of the palace to retrieve you for the final act.

A hand clasped harshly in your hair, yanking you from a deep sleep, followed by a taunting giggle.

You had grown weak in your time secluded from light and clean air. Unable to stand on your own properly, Caracalla brought you to your feet like you were a doll, the flame he held showed just how manic and possessed he had become. 

He was like a poisoned animal practically foaming from the mouth with insanity. Biting his lip constantly, chewing and gnawing, infesting it with sores. He wore his best robes, bangles jingling as he brought you closer to his face. 

Jumping back, he lets your body slump against the bars, a hand to his chest, “Yuck— you smell like horeshit! Maybe we should have fed you more, bathed you… I’ve never been very good with keeping pets…” 

Caracalla rubs his chin for a moment, then as if he is brought back from a different time, he claps twice,  “oh well, time to go, your precious Geta is here and it’s time to play!”

You try to fight back feebly, trying to shove his face away from you, your filthy fingernails clutching at his doughy powder coated flesh.

“C’mon!” he pleads like a child, pushing your hands down and bringing a blade to your neck, “you’re going to be the star of the production and you simply can’t miss the show!” 

When sunlight hit your skin it was like you were being burned alive. Your feet scuffed against the stone steps, and you were winded from the climb. Everything was so bright as if you were looking directly into the suns beams. 

Caracalla hissed into your ear, the pungent smell of fruit and fish combining into a stomach twisting aroma as he whispered, “you’ve been such a delight to us here, I will be so upset to see you dead… I’ve been practicing my tears and cries of mourning for when you’re laid to rest with my brother.”

“You won’t be triumphant against him,” you croaked trying to wiggle free from his hold. 

Caracalla giggled before winding back and slapping your cheek, “why do you have to speak such lies? You will die by his hand— squashed like the gnat you’ve become.” 

—

The palace walls roared. 

Thundered like a storm of bees defending their hive. Clashes of swords and weapons gleamed like lightning against a dark sky. Amongst the clouds of dust from the lack of harvest rain, blood splattered the stones like oil paint to a canvas. 

Geta’s revengeful carnage had begun. 

Carnage was colored with maroon and deep sets of rubies in a hilt. Specs of pinkish brain membrane laid out like flower petals at a wedding. 

Carnage was the sound of teeth chipping at the root being ripped away from the gum line, the sheath of a knife embedded into a lung, an abdomen, the muscular thigh of one of Caracalla’s more prominent men. 

Carnage reeked of shit and death. The humble hands of Pluto himself, stretching his claws to welcome home another victim. 

Carnage was Geta, annihilating anyone who stood in his way to get to you. A force built with bared teeth and rippling muscles, sweat dripping from his honey hair. Eyes as black as coal— soulless in every sense of the word. 

The men falling dead by his hands trembled in cowardice when they saw him coming, forgetting how powerful he was with a sword. 

Swords drew silent, the only sound being the pooling fountains now tainted with blood from the dead. Everyone in the palace was either lying deceased or were in hiding, waiting for this hell to end. But Geta had only just begun. 

“Brother!” he shouted, his voice echoing against the marble stone, deep and ragged with exertion. He was standing at his throne then, bodies laying at a heap by his feet, his body covered in their blood, “I know you’re around, Caracalla—answer me!” 

Beyond the pillars behind the tapestries, Caracalla stood with a knife pressed into the meat of your neck, his breath hot against your cheek— a giggle forming in his throat like a child tucked away during a game of hide n seek.

“It’s a shame, Geta,” he announced, his voice ricocheting off the walls, “a fucking shame that you are so soft for this common whore when you’ve had so many, father would be disappointed.” 

Geta’s eyes narrowed, listening for any bit of noise underneath Caracalla’s feet to give him away. He moved on nimble feet, each move more quiet than the next as he waited with trained ears for Caracalla to speak again. 

“What is between you and I, has nothing to do with her— she is merely caught in the middle of our feud— let, her go.” 

Caracalla’s laugh pierced your ear, ringing loudly like a hyena as spit flew from his manic mouth. “She is much more than a simple bystander dear Geta… otherwise you wouldn’t care so proudly.” 

Geta strode towards the direction of his brother’s voice, waiting in the shadows. “You have always been less, why do you think mother and father had me? I was to make up for your shortcomings, so that Septimius Severus would have a decent heir. One who could actually keep the family name in Rome.”

“Enough!” Caracalla screamed, shoving you forward into the clearing, his blade still pressed into your neck, a line of crimson dripping from it, his frantic panicked laugh bubbling behind a shriek, “there will be no heirs for you, brother! I was going to offer her life in place of your crown, let you both be on your merry little way but you just don’t get it do you? I will rule on my own, and you will both be left to rot in the dungeons. Poetic isn’t it?! Two lovers dead by my hand.” 

With the way your head was arched toward the ceiling, you couldn’t see Geta. You could only hear a hitch in his throat at the sight of you. The sodden robes you wore, the filth caked to your skin. 

Geta didn’t move, knowing that Caracalla would be more likely to accidentally cut you deep enough to kill you if he tried to do anything drastic. But the look of you made his stomach curdle like cows milk left in the summer heat.  

The once plump and luscious curves you had were gone. The robes you wore were next to rags. You had been locked away far longer than he had imagined. Possibly weeks before he had even got word of it. If you truly had been with child, there was no tell of it now. Tears stung behind his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them drop.

“Mother should have drowned you in the river like a litter of pups,” he nearly whispered, eyes trained on his brother, “release her or I will slaughter more of your men leaving their poor wives to be widowed.” 

“Now why would I do such a thing? I’m having the time of my life orchestrating this production.” They both moved then circling like the gladiators would in the coliseum, baiting one another to strike first.

Geta’s eyebrows furrowed at Caracalla’s choice of words… production? 

“Must you be so dense? So surface leveled?” Caracalla answered, “Jessaphina, that wart—terrible actress but she did the job, made this concubine believe every word.” Caracalla grinned like a opossum eating a pile of shit, dragging you with him, your hair wrapped tight in his clutch.

Geta’s eyes never leave Caracalla, his movements smooth and languid as he counts his steps, seconds. 

“Pliteus, the guard who told her to meet you at ‘your spot’ another spy, made actor by yours truly, for the Theatre, of course. And all that leaves is you, Geta. You will be the widower, the brute left in tears of sorrow pleading for a whore’s life. Gods!— I shall be famous when this is through!” 

“You’re demented,” you managed against the sharp blade, cutting yourself in the process, “sickenly so.” 

Caracalla wretched his hand twisting your head back with a snap, causing you to yelp, ”I’m an artist you rancid cow! Can’t you see that?! This was all a form of expression— your uneducated brain would never be able to appreciate such a thing— it’s why I put this all into motion!” 

��So what?” Geta spit,  “you were bored? Needed an activity to keep your cogs oiled enough for you to not slit your wrists in the baleneum, again? You’re a child!” 

Caracalla giggled wickedly mad, “People will write about me for the end of time and how I bested Publius Septimius Geta! You will be nothing more than a myth—erased from memory entirely!” 

Geta stopped, his sword pointing toward his brother. The wind didn’t howl, silence fell between them.

“It will be a true honor to breed my empress in a bed of your blood while she wears her crown.” 

With a jerk of his head, Acacius moves, causing the distraction they had planned. The arrow missing Caracalla’s foot purposefully, causing him to lose his balance and hold on your body. You fell to the ground taking advantage of his blundered state, crawling on all fours away from him. 

Just as the swing of Geta’s blade was centimeters from the skin of Caracalla’s neck, it was stopped with his knife, a crude smile licked onto his lips. “I know your moves dearest brother, you forget it was you and I as children playing these games.” 

Caracalla pushes the sword from him and jabs the tip of the knife into Geta’s bicep. Tearing through tendons and muscles with each twist of his hand. 

“War is not a game,“ Geta gritted, tripping Caracalla with a swipe of his foot until he was on his knees before him, “…and it’s time you realize that.” 

A toss of Acacius sword into Geta’s open hand, and he pressed two blades crossed beneath Caracalla’s chin. 

Caracalla’s throat bobbed against the sharp steel, accepting his defeat, “make it swift precious brother, I intend to see father before the sun sleeps.” 

The blades sung as they severed his head from his spine. Blood sprayed and pooled from the limp teetering body of Caracalla, swords clattered to the ground as Geta stumbled to your side, holding you to him in a bone crushing grasp. 

“You’re safe now.” A tear fell onto your head as he cradled your body into his. 

Your body was still weak as you clung to him practically lifeless as he lifted you from the ground. He instructed Acacius on what to do with the mess. Geta carried you to his private bath, stripped you gingerly of your clothes and bathed you with exceptional care. His lips kissing tenderly to every scrape, every bruise. 

He tutted through his teeth and hissed when your tears fell as he gently wiped the dirt and infection from your cuts. His own tears flowing down his cheeks, mumbling how sorry he is how stupid he was for ever leaving. 

When you tried to speak he shushed you quietly, “not now my dulcis rosa,” he soothed as he scrubbed soap into your hair, you lifted a hand to caress his cheek, coaxing a small smile from him.

Geta called to his servants— that weren’t killed—to gather fresh robes and to fix you something warm and easy to eat. 

He dried your skin once you were cleansed. Rubbing oils and ointments into each ache and pain, dressing the wounds in such expertise you wondered if he had done this often, probably to his own scars. 

Up those winding stairs he carried you to his quarters, never wavering, never once adjusting you in his strong arms.

The room was thrown into its usual cozy dark ambience. His bed was made with enormous feathered pillows, a tray next to the bed with a plate of porridge dressed with honey and figs. 

Once Geta had set you gently onto the pillows propping you up so you could eat, he shook his head when you reached for the spoon. 

“Let me,” he commanded quietly, his eyes large and wet. 

More tears slipped past your lashes as he sniffed largely, blowing gently on the bite of food. “When was your last meal?” 

“I’m not sure of what day we are in,” you answered quietly, “or how long I was there… I lost track.” 

Geta bit back a sob as he brought the spoon to your lips, “It shouldn’t have happened, I shouldn’t have left you so vulnerable.” 

“Please,” you practically begged, swallowing the warm sweetened wheat.  He looked broken, his under eyes dark and his eyelid twitching uncontrollably. Weeks the two of you had been separated and you couldn’t bear the thought of him spiraling for what had happened.

“We are together again,” you whispered, “I do not want to live in past mistakes. Caracalla is gone now, we must move forward, no dwelling.” 

“Forgiveness of thyself has never come easily for me,” Geta admitted wiping a dreadful sigh from his face, “but I can only hope you now know that there has never been another for me—I am so deeply in love with you, gnat.” 

You reached for him pulling him into you until the weight of his body melted with yours. Feverish lips tasted the sweat from his neck as you desperately ached for more of it, pressing your own devotions into his skin, your own words of cupid's love.

Geta’s strong arms wrapped around your back, holding you tenderly as if you were glass. pressing a single searing kiss to your collarbone before leaning back, his eyes staring into yours, “In this lifetime and the one that follows, I will forever be yours— ad caelum vel ad inferos, tecum sum.”

“Ad caelum vel ad inferos.” 

—

Caracalla’s room was sealed off. His belongings burned in the coliseum along with his body, as if he were a monster that could only be considered dead by smoldering licks of flame. 

Geta left the fate of the others up to you. He had wanted them dead the next day, hung from a rope by their necks as they swung with the breeze, paraded around behind his team of horses until they’re skin was pulled from their bones. But you… had other plans. 

Animals from other territories were brought in by the shipload, each more vile and vicious as the next. They were hungry, trained to attack at the smell of garments worn by a certain woman with a healing broken nose. 

It was maybe a bit too grotesque, maybe a bit unhinged the way you had Acacius’s best men tie Jessaphina up from her ankles and wrists one to each post in the center of the coliseum.

And maybe it was a bit over-the-top when you personally rubbed greasy fat and cow entrails all over her body to taunt the beasts on even further. 

But Geta only smirked at your own impressive drive for bloodlust when you stood before your throne hollering for the men to open the gates, releasing the hungry scavengers one by one letting them sniff out their meal. 

Geta watched in admiration as your eyes turned dark, black pools taking over your pretty gaze as Jesspahina’s screams rang through the air

You couldn’t get your hands off of him when her body lay ripped to shreds, her bones being tossed around between snarling teeth and sharp black claws. The sand colored in her crimsoned blood. You pulled him from his own throne by the front of his shirt, yanking him into a small private room covered by a drapery for a door.

“My little demonic empress,” Geta growled as he pushed himself further into you, groaning when you whimpered out, your lip bit between your teeth, robes rucked up to your chest, “you just might be more evil than I am, have my ways rubbed off on you?” 

The passion between you two had never dulled. Each day it seemed to grow with fervorous desire. Some days Geta fucked into you until you were too sore to walk. Your bodies were both painted with stains from sucking mouths and marks from gnashing teeth. Each time better than the last. 

You were soaked when Geta knelt before you, his nose pressed into your sex as you circled your hips onto it. He stood and shoved his clothing out of the way, yours already stuffed beneath your chin. and when he slammed his fat cock into you the darkness returned. Two demons fucking at the loss of life and smell of blood in the air. 

“Practically getting off to a hideous murder in front of my mother and the others, my my…” he hissed, wrapping a hand around your throat squeezing until your breath rattled beneath his palm, “you truly were sent to me from the Gods weren’t you?” 

You nodded, moaning when he attached his lips to your neck, pinching your nipple until it purpled. “Nothing makes me happier than seeing the deserved slaughtered.” 

Geta groaned as your clenching pussy gripped him as you came undone, his own release following closely behind, yelling out your name. 

“I have a surprise for you,” he breathed raggedly into your neck, adjusting your robes back into place, sweat pouring from his brow.

Your smile squeaked against his ear, “it is not even my birth date, Geta, you are spoiling me.” 

Leaving the room Geta kisses your palm, “no,” he agrees, “it is not, but am I not allowed to gift my wife with divine luxuries?” 

“You are, but you don’t need to give me anything…” you say, holding your belly with which the healer confirmed that you were indeed with child all along. Something Geta never let you forget that he knew you better than you knew yourself. 

His lips pressed to your cheek, his hand laying delicately on your stomach as you whispered, “you’ve given me enough as it is.” 

He smiled wickedly pulling back to lace your fingers with his own, “come,” he commanded, pulling you back towards the palace. 

—

The great stone table stood bare except for a golden cloth. Acacius proudly stood guard next to it, bowing upon the sight of you. 

“My lady,” he greeted, smiling at the sight of your radiant face, then facing Geta with the same warm smile, “Emperor.” 

“Thank you,” Geta said, rubbing his hands together excitedly, “hope you didn’t have any trouble getting it?” 

Acacius smirked and adjusted his sword on his belt, “not at all, they were quite thrilled to be rid of it.” 

Geta rippled out a laugh from his throat as he stood behind the table, his large hands pressed into it, “I can only imagine… Gnat, my love, are you ready?” 

“As I will ever be,” you said cautiously, stepping up to the table. 

Acacius stood back as Geta pinched a piece of the cloth between his fingers, “presented to you, my undying devotion,” he said sweetly before pulling the cloth revealing your present. 

Anyone else would have ran and screamed, damning him to hell. But you were unlike everyone else, and you saw the beauty in his gift and the meaning behind it. 

Blood had been drained, the smell minimal, and judging by the way the darkness that filled Geta to the brim and now poured into yourself was clouding your eyes, the mad tick of your lips as they perked up in greed: you were pleased. 

“It is exquisite, amor meus,” you smiled wider, getting closer to your present. 

Geta looked at you proudly, his eyes inky and shining. His gnat, his dulcis, his wife, his empress— his tainted heart content for the first time in his life, and it was all thanks to you. “Where shall we put it, the mantle?” 

You picked it up, holding it high to the sky for the Gods to see, “a gift more precious than gold deserves to be seen, for all—don’t you think?” 

Sat on a pedestal, his name engraved on a piece of wood, a large red rose sewn between his lips, was the severed head of Caracalla. 

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[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty two ⭐︎ Let the world around us just fall apart

Warnings: no warnings, I am not gonna spoil anything, read at your own risk and minors, get outta here as always

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 10.5k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult can you believe we made it here?... feels like we just started planning this story! anyways thank you for helping me proofread and perfecting the story ♡

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

“I don’t know if a dress would make him say yes to a date with his mortal enemy.” 

Billy scoffed at your words, rolling his eyes. 

“Mortal enemy, my ass.”

You were fidgety as you were walking towards the GAP store with your best friend by your side. You looked around you and stopped at the entrance, a sudden nervousness came over you when you looked inside. 

This was insane and it didn’t even feel right. You knew he would say no, not even a pretty dress could change his opinion of you. 

Steve couldn’t stand you, it felt ridiculous to even think of asking him out, knowing how it would end but your best friend put so much hope in you, he encouraged you so strongly, how could you not try?

Billy stood before you, a comforting smile crossed upon his features. 

“I– I can’t…”

You looked into his blue eyes, the kindness that was shining just for you, making your lips twitch. 

He took your hand in his and squeezed it, tilting his head down with a nod, he gestured to the store. 

“You can do it, sweets…”

His words echo in your mind, repeating over and over again, blurring your vision further as you look at the man before you with tears rolling down your cheeks and rain pouring down on you, you’re shaking like a leaf, not from the coldness that envelopes your body like an icy blanket but from all the emotions inside of you. 

And Steve, he stares at you, eyes blurred with tears that even you can see through your own. 

His head is pounding from all the sobs that left his lips, from all the tears he shed over you after what Robin told him about you, about your feelings for him. He feels ready to crumble to his knees as he looks at you now, ready to let those tears spill again, ready to take you back into his arms and try to forget. 

But despite the sadness, the brokenness in him, he also feels anger, not even for you but for himself. 

“What do you want?”

Tears spill from your eyes and your chest aches in pain and fear as you look at the heartbroken, angered boy in front of you. 

You have not heard that voice from him in a long time. That voice that had venom in it, directed only at you. The voice that held dislike, disgust, hatred. The voice that Steve once had towards you… and this time it hurts even worse than it ever did before. 

You see the way he looks at you, so different from how he did this morning and it makes you feel small, just the way it always did and suddenly you want nothing more than to turn around and run again, to leave and spare yourself more pain. 

But this can’t be the ending. 

It just can’t be. 

And the pain in his eyes, his reaction to whatever Robin had said to him fuels the hope that began to dwindle. If he didn’t feel anything for you, he wouldn’t stand here like this. 

Thunder crashes behind you so loudly that it makes you flinch and shut your eyes tightly, for only a second but a second enough for Steve to snap and truly look at the sight before him – the storm that rages behind you, the wind that curses through the forest, the lightning that surges through the sky, illuminating everything around you as loud rumbles vibrate against the ground while the rain pours down on you. 

You are standing here, in the middle of a storm, caught in the rain, you are standing here before him. 

His heart lurches to his throat when he hears your sniffle, sees the tears in your eyes and the way you are shaking as your bottom lip trembles. A broken cough falls from your lips and he instantly steps forward. Worry crosses out every other emotion in him as he reaches for your hand, his gaze softening the longer he looks at you. 

“Blondie! What the fuck are you doing here!? It’s— It’s storming!” He yells through the rain and tries to pull you into the house but you shake your head at him and take a step back, refusing to step inside. 

All the words, all the sentences, everything you had rehearsed and looked forward to all day flet away from you, the confession you planned no longer exists in your mind, it’s all blank. 

“I–I… I need to know… I need to ask… I-I never asked and I feel like I’m losing my mind now–”

A desperate sigh falls from Steve’s lips, he shakes his head at you, begging with his eyes as he moves closer to the doorstep, not understanding a single word you are saying. 

“What…? Blondie, you need to get inside, you’re fucking soaked–”

“No!” You shake your head at him, feeling uncomfortable beneath the pouring rain but refusing to give into the warmth just yet. “I need to… I need to tell you something!”

He can see the way you try your hardest not to cry, the way your glassy eyes look into his so brokenly, the way you look as though you will fall to your knees any second and it only makes the aching in his chest so much worse. 

“W-What?”

You take a deep breath and you almost choke from the sob you have kept inside for too long, that you can no longer hold as it falls from your lips so brokenly. 

“It’s all my fault! All this time, I blamed time and I blamed bad luck but never myself! If I only had said something to you, if only I had even shown you a little bit of what I truly feel, you may have noticed! I-I never tried! I never fought! And I am the only one to blame if I end up broken in the end!” 

Steve shakes his head at you, his tears falling yet again at the sight of you crying and speaking so desperately through your cries. 

“Blondie– you’re– you have to get in–”

He tries to reach for you again but you swat his hand away, sniffling and shaking your head. 

“For years I held it in! Even before the upside down, before joining the group and quarreling like never before with you! Even before any of what we had been doing for the past few months! When you passed me in the hallways, when you sat behind me in science class, when you had your basketball matches and even when I went to parties, I always looked at you!” Your voice cracks when another sob escapes you, and then another before they continue falling uncontrollably, feelings overwhelming you as you finally let them out after years of keeping them locked away. 

And Steve, he stares at you with wide glassy eyes, feeling stunned and frozen in place as his heart stops beating for a moment. 

“And– And now– I can’t hold them in anymore, because I feel like if I keep going like this I will explode– but my gut is telling me that I have to say it… but I’m so afraid… I’m so fucking afraid! I-I can’t lose you, not you, Steve.” 

His knees nearly buckle at your words, at his sudden movement as he finally rushes forward, stepping under the rain with you, not letting you move away from him again as he cradles your face with his hands and tilts your head up to make you look at him. 

It all moved so quickly, he didn’t have the time to properly digest everything that just left your lips but it all was enough to bring him back to you, to start his heart again, to fill it with the hope that he thought was burned to ashes only hours ago. He already saw his grave, he already saw his demise, the death of his heart when he thought that he found out what you had really felt for him. 

But you are here, not caring about the storm above you, not caring about the vulnerability you’re letting come through, not caring about anything but him at this moment. 

He grows desperate too and so does his heart as it calls your name. 

He rubs his thumbs against your cheeks, holding you so tightly as he fears that you will slip through his fingers at any moment, that he might wake up to an empty bed after sobbing himself to sleep, thinking about you but then you wrap your hands around his wrists, clutching them tightly as you cry. 

Now he can see it in your eyes, the look he always searched for but couldn’t find, now he can see it all so very clearly but it still isn’t enough, he needs to hear you say it. 

“Please… Please I beg you to say it… I need to know, baby, please. Y-You don’t have to be afraid anymore… not with me… So please, say it.” 

Your body trembles like it never did before, your heart pounds so strongly in your chest, you blink through your tears and stare up at him, into his hazel eyes that beg for you, the eyes that look at you with so much hope and desperation as tears cascade down his cheeks along with the rain that crashes down on the both of you. 

The boy you never thought could ever feel a sliver of what you feel for him stands in front of you, holds you so tightly as he pleads for you, for your love. 

“Please,” he whispers so brokenly, like your words, your love is the only thing he wants and needs. 

He begs for you and no one else, only you. 

The one you always wanted, the one you would give your life for, the one that had your heart from the very start. 

You take a deep breath and hold onto him tightly, your heart jumps to your throat when you finally, finally whisper those three words. 

“I love you.” 

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat, a weight he didn’t even realize he was carrying falling off his shoulders, his brows furrow as his lips part, fresh tears well up in his eyes and his heart starts beating again. 

He can’t believe that this is real, he can’t believe that he just heard those words coming from your mouth, he can’t believe that you are here, standing right in front of him with no walls built around you any longer, he sees a side of you that he wasn’t sure was there but it is and you let him see, you let him see all of you, the real you, the vulnerable girl that hid from the world, from him.

And now that those words have finally left the sacred place in your heart, you feel an overwhelming sensation taking control over you, your body begins to shake harder than it did before, tears are flowing and sobs continue on falling. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you!”

Your voice is so small, yet so loud as you chant those three words through your cries, clinging to him so tightly so you don’t fall to your knees. 

Words that Steve never thought he would hear echo through his driveway, falling from your lips so beautifully, nothing but the truth lingers in your eyes, nothing but vulnerability, nothing but a love he had never thought he would get to feel in this life, let alone from you, you who he had fallen for so unconditionally, so deeply that it hurt not only in his heart but in his soul when he thought that you didn’t feel what he does. 

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” you whisper, sniffling. “I love you so much, I always did, I–I loved you from the moment I first saw you, I have loved you for more than you can imagine! I have loved you for–”

A choked sob falls from his own lips before he pulls you tightly against him and smashes them against yours, kissing you with everything that he has, pouring every ounce of love into it, enveloping you in his arms, in his embrace, in his warmth. Holding your face in his hands is no longer enough, he wraps his arms around your body, pulling you tightly against him so your chest is pressed against his own. 

You lift your arms up and cup his wet cheeks, kissing him deeply, holding him tightly, not caring about the salty taste on your tongue or his. 

Steve cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss and getting lost in it, not minding the rain or the storm and you don’t either, you don’t even flinch when the thunder crashes. He kisses you hard and he makes you forget about everything around you, everything ceases to exist, everything but him. 

He murmurs something against your lips when you both grow too breathless to continue the kiss. 

He could not begin to describe the emotions that exploded inside of him. 

You love him. 

You love him just the way he loves you. 

You have loved him for absolutely nothing, when he was cruel to you, when he mistreated you, when he gave you nothing but cold gazes and his cruelty. 

You have loved him during times when he felt most unlovable, when he thought he had no one, when not even his parents wanted him, when his first love lied to him, betrayed him, left him only to come back and fill him with false hope again, only to leave him once again. 

You have loved him when you showed up at Scoops Ahoy that day, you have loved him when you jumped into the water to save him, you have loved him through it all, when this started, and when he began falling, you were already in it so deeply. 

But you were so good at hiding it, you were too good, too good at making him and everyone else believe how great your dislike was for him but you were such a good actress, why else would he have believed Robin’s words?

His hands settle on your upper back and he slowly brings them back to your front, sliding them upwards to your shoulders and then your neck. His brows pull together so strongly as the kiss slows down when the lack of air gets to both him and you. 

Your lips tremble against his, your lashes flutter when you open your eyes again, you trace his bottom lip with your thumb, still sniffling, still crying as you look at his pretty face. You feel so relieved now that it’s all said and done, that your feelings are out in the open and no longer hidden underneath all your layers that you protected yourself with, all these years. 

But you don’t know what this means for you now, not even the kiss could lay it out for you. 

But Steve, he stares at you in awe, at the girl he fell so deeply, unconditionally, otherworldly in love with. The girl that stands under the pouring rain with him, the girl that lets nothing stop her from confessing her love to him, not even the thunder, the storm she fears so greatly, the girl that stands in front of him isn’t the one he started this affair with, the one he bickered with, the one with the harsh words, no, this girl is the real you, the one that lost but still gave love a chance, the one that loved despite the blows to her heart he caused, despite the hurt he put her through. 

You felt that way during his worst days, you felt that way when he loved another, you felt that way when he was with other girls, you felt that way when he spit mean words into your face – all these thoughts overwhelm him, a mix of emotions flood through him, he is not sure if he is even deserving of this, of you but he would be a damn fool if he didn’t fight for you back. 

Steve stares at you through his tears, he leans down closer to you, taking shaky breaths as he finally says the words he never thought would leave his lips again. 

“I love you,” he whispers and cradles your cheeks again, “I love you so much and I’m stupid for not saying anything either–”

Your eyes grow wide, shock freezes your whole body as you stare at him. 

You knew there was something, there had to be but love? Love isn’t something you expected him to feel for you. 

“Y-You love me?” 

Your voice sounds so broken, so small, your eyes well up with more tears, your lips tremble harder than before and somehow you look even more vulnerable than you did seconds ago. 

How could he not love you? 

How could he not give his heart to you?

How could he not imagine a future with you? 

You are everything to him, you are his everything. 

His heart melts at your gaze, at the way you're clinging to him, looking at him wide eyed like you are afraid that he isn’t real, that this isn’t real. 

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Blondie,” he whispers, his voice cracking and tears continuing to roll down his cheeks, “keeping it a secret was tearing me apart, even more so when I thought that you didn’t feel the same.”

You can’t name the emotions that burn inside of you, not right now, at least. 

But all that you know is that you feel joy and happiness, like you have never felt before. 

Your heart feels alive. 

You feel alive. 

He loves you, Steve loves you, Steve is in love with you. 

His kind, soft eyes look into yours with nothing but adoration, love and affection. His hair clings to his forehead, his clothes wet just like yours are, he is crying, not from sadness anymore but from happiness, just like you are. 

You can’t help but kiss him again, slamming your lips against his shaky ones, you kiss the man who confessed his love for you, the man you never thought would feel the same. 

He wastes not a single second to kiss you back, your noses bump harshly together but it only makes you smile, it makes you both giggle against each other's lips. Feeling your shaking body against his, Steve wraps his arms around your waist and he pulls you back, leading you into the house without breaking the kiss. 

Your sneakers squeak against the tiles in the hallway, water drips down from the both of you, needy whines and huffs fall from yours and his lips, echoing through his house when he finally closes the door to the storm, he pushes you against the red door, caging you in against it as you grab at the collar of his shirt, pulling him tighter against you as the kiss grows more desperate and hungry. 

Steve feels it too, he feels the desperation, the need to feel you closer than this. Your body against his, your hands in his hair, your tongues clashing together through the feverish kiss isn’t enough, he needs to feel your skin on his, he needs to feel your warmth, he needs to hear your sweet moans, he needs to be inside of you. 

But first, he needs you to know. 

He can feel your tears on his lips, hear your sniffles, feel your pounding heart beneath his palm as he touches your chest. 

You have loved him for so long, you have suffered for so long and he knows that you didn’t understand yet just how deep his feelings are. 

Steve pulls away from the kiss, only enough so he can speak, close enough to still feel your lips against his, he leans his forehead against yours, keeps his nose nuzzled with yours, he rubs your cheeks, wipes your tears away as he pecks your lips again and again. 

You are both panting, both clinging to one another, gazing at each other lovingly. 

“You need to hear this, Blondie,” he whispers, not feeling scared or nervous any longer. “You need to understand my feelings for you. They’re not small, they’re not in the slightest. You are the one I imagine myself buying a white picket fence house with, the one I imagine myself marrying, the one I imagine having a family with, no matter if big or small, anything you give me I will take. You need to know that you’re my future, that I have been wanting you in my future for a long while now. There is no one else for me but you.”

Steve watches the way your eyes brighten, the way they almost turn doe-eyed, a shaky breath escapes you, like you can’t believe the words that just left his mouth. You blink at him, lips curling. “Y-You want kids with me?” 

You have been by his side for so long, you have been his girl from the moment you decided you wanted to be, you have always been the missing puzzle in his life, you have always been the one that was supposed to be here, with him. All this time, you waited, waited for him and he was so blind, so unaware, so focused on anything but the love of his life. It took him time to realize that, it took him too long but he knows now, he knew for a while. 

He smiles, wiping the falling tears from your cheeks as he leans in to give you a soft peck, “as many as you’re willing to have.” 

A giggle falls from your lips and you nuzzle your nose against his, leaning your forehead to his as you wrap your arms around him tightly. 

“I can’t believe that this is real.” 

And you mean every word of that. 

Steve can’t believe that someone could love him like this, so strongly, so unconditionally, not even expecting anything in return, loving him through the war between you, loving him through heartbreak, loving him through it all. 

You have been there. 

You have always been there. 

Tears spill over his lashline and down his cheeks, a watery giggle falls from his lips, the hurt in him disappearing more and more as the light seeps back in, a brighter one that his soul had ever seen before, his heart no longer twists in pain, it beats so strongly, so lively, so happily as nothing but love and joy shines in him. 

“Me neither,” he whispers against your lips, voice shaky and filled with tears, “I can’t believe that you love me, Blondie, that you want me like this.” 

You can’t help but kiss him again, again and again. You cup his cheeks, smiling through your tears as you do something you always wanted to, kiss his pain away, kiss the tears away that stream down his cheeks. You kiss his jaw, his chin, his cheeks, every inch his tears have stained, you kiss it all away. 

“I want you more than anything, Steve Harrington,” you murmur into his skin, making the boy sob against you as he holds you tightly, tighter than he ever did before. You grab his hand and pull it towards your chest, placing it above your beating heart, “my heart belongs to you.” 

Steve could never find the right words to tell you how he felt, no matter how long he’d look for them, he would never find them, they didn’t exist, and no words that do come close to explaining just how deeply he felt for you, not even the I love you’s he gave you already come close. 

So he decides to show you instead. 

He bends down and hooks his arm around the back of your knees while the other comes to rest on your back, he tears a squeal out of you when he picks you up bridal style and carries you upstairs. 

You throw your arms around his neck and hold on tight, giggling at his sudden move. 

He can’t help but smile at the sound that falls from your lips, his heart moving in a way it never has before, a whole new rhythm taking over when he feels the shift of energy in you, when he sees the look in your eyes changing, when you let all your guards down, stripping yourself off each layer. 

You press your lips to his, pecking them softly before you move onto his cheek and then his jaw and finally his neck, kissing him while he continues his way up the stairs, trying not to get too distracted by your touch. 

“I love you, Stevie,” you whisper into his skin, “I love you so much.”

You can’t stop saying those words now that you have finally allowed yourself to let them free. 

Steve has to swallow down the sob that threatens to spill from his lips again, your words bring him so much happiness but he is also so emotional.

Rain water drips from the both of you as he walks through his dark hallway, he is careful not to slip with his wet sneakers, he kicks open the door to his room and walks inside, shutting it again, making it slam. The only source of light now being the lightning that still illuminates the sky every few seconds, the rain paddles down harshly against his windows.

Steve puts you down again so he can undress both you and himself and rid you of the soaked and cold clothes but not before cupping your cheeks and kissing you again, rubbing your wet cheeks as your lips and tongues mingle together in a feverish but passionate kiss. 

He brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ears, he slips his hands down to your shoulders, removing your jacket and letting it fall to the ground, his fingertips grazing your bare arms that are littered with goosebumps. 

You hum against his lips, hands reaching for his belt, clinking as you unbuckle it. You then pop the button of his jeans and move on to his shirt as he does the same to you.

You both only break the kiss to take the chosen clothing item off, your eyes flutter open, instantly locking with his warm brown ones. You smile at one another as you help each other. 

You raise your arms up when he starts taking your white, now almost see through shirt off, he drops the material and wastes no second to touch your bare skin, staring at you with nothing but awe and adoration, like it is the first time he gets to see you like this. He touches you so delicately, so softly and gently that it brings a new wave of tears to your already sensitive eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers those words to you, followed by your name that always sounds so pretty rolling off his tongue. 

Your heart flutters in your chest, your cold skin heats up beneath his warm touch. 

You take a step closer to him, almost pressing your chest against his now as you go to take his shirt off too, he looks down at you and bites his lip, eyes flashing with a deeper adoration when you rise to your tippy toes to roll the wet material off his skin, messing up his hair further when his shirt gets stuck around his head, making you both giggle. 

You rise up further, trying to pull it off when he mumbles, “don’t say anything now.”

When you finally free him from it, you throw it on the ground next to yours, smiling brightly, “there was a reason I called you Lego–” 

You gasp when he kisses you roughly, not letting you finish the sentence. You don’t hesitate to kiss back, placing your hands on his neck, touching his wet skin and raking your nails down his chest and his stomach, you reach for his belt while he kisses you breathless. 

His own hands travel down to your hips, leaving no space untouched. He feels the way you suck in a sharp breath, hears the way you whine against his lips as you tug at his pants just the way he starts working on popping the button on yours. 

You pull away from the kiss and breathe heavily against his lips, something that makes his heart flutter in his chest. 

He starts pushing down your pants when you stop him by grabbing his wrists. 

“Wait,” you whisper, worrying him with the tightness of your hold on him.

“W-Why? Is something–”

Before he can even question you, you stop him once again by pressing your lips against his, “everything is perfect,” you murmur against his skin, making his heart skip several beats as you continue kissing him, “you’re perfect.” 

He is so close to tears once again, your words match the look in your eyes so perfectly, the love that is and was only ever reserved for him is so strong that he can’t help but wonder how he never saw it before, it’s so clear and so evidently there. 

Steve never saw himself as anything perfect, not even when everyone else thought that about him throughout his short lived ‘reign’, he always had flaws, always saw them in himself, always felt like there was something wrong with him deep inside. But you make him feel special, you make him feel like he is truly something perfect, like he is worth something with the way you look at him and touch him so delicately as you reveal the side of you that wanted to love so desperately but never felt safe to. 

“I want to make you feel good, Steve,” you whisper as you latch your lips onto his neck, slowly kissing your way down to his chest and stomach before you begin to sink to your knees, “please let me.” 

Steve’s eyelashes flutter as his eyes close for a moment, the feeling of your lips kissing his wet body making him shiver in pleasure. He opens his eyes again when you hook your fingers around his belt loops, trying to tear his pants down but he stops you just the way you stopped him, the look you give him nearly makes him crumble, the big and pleading eyes, the pout on your lips, the desperation written all over your face. 

He wants to sink to his knees for you. 

He wants to make you feel good. 

So he leans down and grabs you beneath your armpits, picking you up with ease and throwing you on his bed and despite the sound of your whine, he pulls himself together and takes the rest of your clothes off, tearing off your shoes before he works his way up to your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear. 

He stares at your body in awe and in love, tracing every inch of you with his eyes as he quickly rids himself of his clothes and kicks off his shoes hastily before he gets down before you, wrapping his hand around your ankle, he looks into your eyes and he presses his lips to your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your thighs. 

“Steve,” you whine with a whisper, eyebrows furrowing and pleasure already seeping into your bones. “Please… I want to–”

“Shh, I want to taste you, my love.”

My love. 

My love. 

He called you my love. 

Your heart could burst right this second, it could explode, from joy, from happiness and love. 

You hear nothing but his voice, the smacking of his lips against your skin and the beating of your heart as he loves on you. You no longer hear the howling wind or the crashing thunder, the bolts of lightning only add to the rush you are feeling right now as you look down at him, at the pretty man between your thighs. You throw your hand into his hair, tugging at his wet strands.

“Please, Steve… Baby, I want to taste you too, I want to make you feel good, please let me…” You whine, not feeling ashamed for the desperation in your voice. “W-We can do it at the same time, please…”

Steve’s stomach flutters at your words, he stops moving and looks up at you with a blush making its way up to his cheeks. 

That is something you haven’t done before, not with each other, not with anyone else. 

His blood rushes to his core just at the image of it, his stomach burning with lust as he looks into your eager eyes. 

“You can’t say shit like that, darling,” he nearly growls and pulls away from you to take his boxers off before he moves on top of you, stealing your breath by slamming his lips back against yours, kissing you needily. 

Your moan echoes through his room, getting louder when he grinds against your center, he pushes his hands beneath you so he can unclasp your bra, ridding you off the lacy material, he throws it on the ground before he moves on to your panties. He pulls away for just a second, hooking his fingers around the elastic and helping you get rid of them in a quick motion. His lips slam against yours again as his hands move back up to your waist, grabbing it with both hands, he flips you over so you’re the one on top. 

You press your hands against his shoulders, whining when you feel his cock pressing against your center, thighs already sticking together. 

He moans loudly when he feels your warmth against him, lust swirling inside of him. 

You pull away from one another and he pushes his hands down to your butt, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Turn around, baby…” He whispers and you don’t waste a second to comply.

You take a deep breath and cup the side of his face, pecking his lips softly before you turn around, your knees dig into the mattress, your hands grabbing his thighs roughly when you feel a sense of nervousness rushing through you, your cheeks heat up at the position you are in, fully exposed to him in a new way but that feeling in you subsides and turns into something else when you see his erection, pre-cum rolling down his length and making your mouth water as the need to taste him, to pleasure him grows stronger than before. 

And Steve, his eyes darken with lust and he grabs your hips tightly, already leaning forward, he can’t wait any longer when you’re like this in front of him, fully exposed, your folds soaked with your slick and thighs already glistening too, you are so wet that he can smell it. He gives you a rough squeeze before he leans in and licks a stripe from your clit to your hole, making you gasp out in pleasure, a sound that shoots straight to his dick. 

Your eyes nearly roll back at the feeling of his tongue, of his mouth on you as he dives right in, devouring you so desperately as though he needs it, needs you like air. 

And you need him too. 

You press kisses along his shaft, teasing him by massaging his balls and you slowly flick your hand up and down around him, humming against him as his moans sound through the room, getting more desperate the longer you continue this. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” you promise before you spit down into your palm, wrapping your hand back around his length, a little firmer this time, you jerk him off and swirl your tongue around his leaking tip before you finally wrap your lips around him and take him deeply into your mouth, closing your watery eyes and hollowing your cheeks around him. 

Steve moans loudly against you, sending vibrations through you, he slips his tongue inside of you, holding you tighter than before as he laps at your pussy with desperation, getting lost in the pleasure of tasting you and feeling your warm mouth around him. 

You look so perfect, so fucking sexy with your hair falling down your arched back, your skin glowing beneath the flashing lights of the storm, he can’t help but run his palm up and down your butt, squeezing and grabbing at your skin, moaning even louder when you grind back against his face as you take him deeper and deeper until Steve can feel the back of your throat. 

He whimpers your name, eyes rolling back as he delves deeper into you, slipping two of his fingers into you along with his tongue, he scissors you, spreading you open for him. He can feel you clenching around his fingers, he can feel you drooling all over him. 

Your moan vibrates all around his cock, making you pull it out of your mouth in order to take a breath. Your concentration starts to fail you as his fingers move rapidly inside of you, his tongue lapping at everything he can take that is dripping out of you. You keep moving your hand on him as your hips twitch. 

“S-Stevie…” He doesn’t care that you are not sucking him off right now, he is only caring about your pleasure. He needs you to feel treasured, cared for, and he needs you to feel it with him only. That he is the only one that can bring you all of this, even if it sounds possessive… He wants to be the only one, forever.

You feel your belly burn and you look down at his cock, trying to pull yourself together, trying to forget about the throbbing happening in your pussy. You want to make him feel good. You want to hear him come undone as well. So you open your mouth once more, licking at the head and pressing the tip of your tongue right on the slit. You feel Steve groan against you, and then you finally take him inside once more.

You bop your head, swirling your tongue around him as tears fall from your eyes, you are so deeply lost in the pleasure, you forget everything around you, only he matters. You can feel him twitching in your mouth, you can hear his moans and how much louder they get and you feel your own release approaching as he flicks your clit with his thumb and curls his fingers inside of you, using both his digits and his tongue to unravel you. 

“I know you want to let go for me, darling,” he murmurs against you. 

You can only hum around him, wanting to feel him cumming down your throat. 

“Please do it, cum on my tongue,” he whispers as he drags his fingers in and out of you, making your stomach tense up hotly. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, twisting your wet palm around him as drool continues to roll down his length. You want him to find his release, you want it so badly. 

You grab his knee, holding on tightly as a cry tears from your throat and your legs nearly give out when your high washes over you, shaking through your core and making your body feel tense yet released all at once. His other hand gripping your hip tightly to keep you pressed against his mouth, not letting you move away.

“Mmm,” Steve hums against you as though you are the sweetest thing he ever tasted. 

You wish you could see his face. 

“Just like that,” he praises, giving your butt another squeeze, he laps at your pussy, dragging his tongue along your folds, teasing your already sensitive clit before he moves back to your entrance. 

His own hips almost buck up when you hollow your cheeks further and take him deeper, nearly making him cum too soon for his liking. 

“W-Wait, baby, please… I wanna cum inside of you,” he says with a shaky, pleading voice as he tugs at your waist, trying to pull you off him so he can have you back in his arms, so he can see your face again and feel you around him differently. He would’ve chuckled at the whine falling from your lips if he wasn’t so emotional right now. “Come here,” he whispers, holding you tightly as he turns you around and pulls you onto his lap, straddling him. 

Meeting his eyes again, your lips part when you see the burning desperation in them, his cheeks are flushed and his chin glistens with your release. He looks so beautiful. 

Steve’s hands move from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as your own hands reach for his shoulders. 

No words need to be said, you both know what you want, what you need as your eager hands reach for one another, trying to pull the other closer and closer until you’re skin to skin, closer than you have ever been before. 

“My beautiful girl,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours and wrapping his arm around you, hugging you against him as you place your hand between you both and wrap it around his length again, teasing both him and yourself when you slip it through your sensitive, wet folds. 

Your bottom lip trembles, emotions running deep because of his words. 

You never thought that you would ever hear such words falling from his lips, you never thought you would ever be this blessed. 

You throw your arm around his shoulder and press your lips against his as you slowly sink down on his length, taking him deeper and deeper until you’re fully seated on him, making both yourself and him whimper in pleasure. His fingers dig deeper into your skin, holding you tighter than ever, he stops breathing when he feels you clenching around him, whining as you adjust to his size. 

His heart skips a beat when you place your palm on his chest, resting it there as you press yourself even tighter against him and it hits him – this is it, everything he ever wanted now belongs to him, it’s all his, you are his. 

And he is yours, wholeheartedly and unconditionally yours. 

You start rolling your hips slowly, breathing heavier, holding onto him tighter, gasping and sucking in sharp breaths when he moves with you, pushing his hips up as he fucks into you deeper. 

A sniffle falls from you when you pull away from the kiss, breathing in shakily, you open your eyes slowly to find him looking at you already, a loving, soft gaze flashing in his honey eyes, the love in them not hidden at all, it’s all open for you now, all there for you to see and to feel as he leans into you, pressing his lips to your chin and peppering kissing along your jawline, making his way down to your neck as he murmurs your name sweetly. 

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, followed by your name that rolls off his tongue so beautifully. “I was going crazy, thinking that I didn’t stand a chance with you, honey.” 

He was the only one for you, from the moment you laid your eyes on him, he was the only one. 

“S-Steve,” you whisper as you feel yourself nearing another sob, his words and his touches overwhelming you.

You bury your hands in his hair, combing your fingers through it before you grab it tightly. 

“I don’t think you understand,” he whispers against your collarbones, leaving tender kisses and marking your skin with love bites, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Your bottom lip quivers, your chest contracts and you can’t hold it in any longer. 

Years of pining and longing, of feeling hopeless and unworthy of him and his love while watching, admiring from afar and wishing for nothing but a chance with him, a piece of his heart, all while losing yourself in a darkness you have found home in, a darkness he took away again. 

He gave you light and warmth and now he gave you more, not only a piece of his heart but he gave you his whole. 

Your tears spill just as strongly as before, an uncontrollable sob falls from your lips, leading you to bury your face in his neck, you wrap your arms around him so tightly, hugging him strongly, breathing in his scent and letting your heart match the beating of his own. 

“I got you,” Steve whispers as he blinks through his own tears, “I got you, darling and I’m not letting you go, not ever.” 

You press your lips to his skin, shutting your eyes tightly. The burning in your chest, in your stomach all feeling too much, you hold onto him, you cling to him, scared of letting go. 

Steve’s heart could burst at any second now, feeling your tears rolling down his skin, your hands, your body clinging to him like you’re afraid to lose him because you are, you are afraid to lose him. 

Someone is afraid to lose him. 

And he nearly let you slip through his fingers. 

A silent cry falls from his lips this time, tears pool in his eyes and he pulls you closer and closer until you’re completely flush against one another, pushing in deeper and deeper to feel you closer, to feel you in the most intimate way as he spreads you open and you pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, whimpering and gasping into his neck. 

“Please don’t let me go,” you whisper, pressing kisses to his hot skin, “please don’t ever leave me,” you beg despite the promise he just made to you. 

The brokenness in your shaky voice only makes him more desperate to show you just how deeply in love he is with you, how he would do anything for you, how there is nothing and no one that could take him away from you, how he would come crawling back to you over and over again even if you didn’t love him. 

He slides his hand up your body, cupping each side of your face, he urges you to face him, wanting to see you again and you look at him, with big and glassy eyes, you look into his eyes. 

“I will never leave you,” he whispers softly, wiping your tears before he reaches for your hand, bringing it back up to his chest, he places it over his heart, “I’m yours, my heart belongs to you, darling.”

Steve sees it in your eyes, just how long you have wanted this for, how special this moment is to you, how special he is to you, how much love there was hidden in your heart just for him. 

He will worship the ground you walk on for the rest of his life. 

“I love you so much,” you sniffle, unable to say anything else. 

His lips curl into a smile despite the tears that fall down his already wet cheeks, he pulls you against him, bumping his nose against yours accidentally as he pecks your lips, “you make me so fucking happy,” he kisses you, “and I don’t think you even realize that.” Kiss. “I’m so in love with you, honey.” Kiss. “I love you with my whole heart–”

You smash your lips against his, kissing him with everything that you have, moving your lips softly yet roughly with his, parting them with your tongue as you slip it into his mouth, deepening the kiss further. 

He moans against you, placing his large hand on your cheek, he matches your pace and kisses you back hungrily, getting lost in the feeling of you, of your heat and your burning skin against his, your walls that tighten so strongly around him that it makes his mouth water and his cock twitch inside of you, his body screams for release but his heart aches for this moment to never stop, not realizing yet that this is only the beginning of your story. 

Your hands grab at whatever they can reach, his shoulders, his biceps, his face, his messy hair and finally his hands as you pull them away from your chest so you can intertwine your fingers with his. You feel the coil in your stomach growing bigger and bigger, the burning in your thighs intensifying by the second. His moans and whimpers vibrate against your lips when you keep clenching around him.

Filthy sounds take over the room, your whines of desperation, the slick noise of his cock slipping in and out of you as you ride him, the sound of your lips smacking against each other. 

But nothing, nothing about this moment is filthy or dirty. Everything about this is more than special, more than what words could describe this very moment. Your hearts beat the same rhythm, finally finding each other, your souls entwine as your bodies meet in the most intimate way, you are both overwhelmed by the feelings that rush through you and yet you feel peace because you finally are where you were always supposed to be, in each other’s arms, holding one another and making love to each other as everything fades to nothing but the two of you. 

And it feels like forever, neither of you no longer wet from the rain but from the sweat that coats your foreheads, your moans turn into weak whimpers as you’re both panting, your kisses never stopping, not even when you lose your breaths, you are aching, you both are, you are sensitive and in need of release. 

You are shaking and so is he, his cock so hard inside of you, your walls so sensitive as you are twitching. 

He holds you possessively, from the strong hold on your waist to the touch of his hand on your cheeks, he is showing you with his touch that you are his, only his. 

No words need to be shared, no warnings, nothing, you both feel it, you both know what you want, what you need. 

Despite the lack of air, your kiss deepens, your lips moving roughly and needily as his digits work on your sensitive nub, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. You wrap your arms around him again, hugging him so tightly as you and he finally let go, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure of coming undone. 

Steve moans so needily, pressing his palm so strongly against your shoulder blade, he keeps you close, whimpering your name against your lips followed by not one but a few ‘I love you’s’ as he fills you up to the brim. 

“S-Stevie,” you whisper shakily, twitching and clenching around him still, even as you slow down, more and more. “I love you.” 

And even when this moment felt forever, it still wasn’t enough, how could it ever be? Not even forever would be enough with you, he needs more, so much more. 

You fall limply against him and rest your head on his shoulder as you try to catch your breath and he holds you through it all, panting just like you as he lies back, taking you with him, and rests his head on the pillows behind him, playing with your hair and running his fingers through it, tracing your skin with the tips of his fingers, making no moves to pull out of you just yet. 

The heat of your skin burns against his own, your hand lays over his heart so perfectly and he takes it in his, raising it up to his lips and kissing your bare ring finger. 

In the arms of the man you love is where you found your home a long time ago but now it no longer feels cold or lonesome, one sided or saddening, it truly feels like home now, filled with light and warmth, love. He found a home in you too, he finally did. 

Seconds and minutes go by and you stay like this, clinging to one another and loving every moment of this. Your cheek is squished against his chest, you are breathing him in, your heart fluttering at the thought that this is the true beginning of it all. 

You open your eyes, your lips curling into a smile when you find him looking down at you, adoration so deep in his beautiful features, his hand still holding yours. 

It’s so dark in the room, the lightning no longer flashing, thunder no longer rumbling, the storm has passed and only the light rain remains. You still see his handsome face, the color of his cheeks, the pretty brown eyes that you adore so much, his kissable lips. 

You cup his cheek and tilt your chin up, moving closer to him so you can press your lips against his cheek. 

“You’re so pretty, Steve Harrington,” you whisper and kiss the corner of his mouth, “pretty baby.” 

Steve doesn’t know why out of all the words you have called him, these are the ones that make him blush the most, his cheeks redden and he feels grateful for the darkness in the room. 

“That’s you, darling,” he whispers and steals a kiss from you, snaking his arm around you further, he smiles when you press your palms against his chest and lean your chin down, staring up at him with love filled eyes. 

“Darling,” you whisper, lips curling into a smile, “I love that.” 

His hands squeeze your waist, his eyes not straying away from you, not for a single second, “yeah?” 

You nod and lean closer to kiss his chin, “mhm.” 

As you lay here on top of him, showering him in kisses, gazing up at him starry eyed, he feels comfort and warmth blossom in him thinking back to a time when he wasn’t even aware of all this, when he didn’t think that it was even possible for anyone to love him, to find out that you did, you out of all people, you who he thought hated his guts more than anything but loved him in secret, a secret you nearly took to your grave. 

Oh, he would have suffered, he would have felt such a tragic loss if you had died that night but it wouldn’t have hit him until weeks or maybe even months later, when he would have finally allowed himself to look at your picture, to remember the memories of you, to remember your voice and your beautiful face, remember the few gentle moments you had with each other, only then would he have felt the truth coming to life, the feelings he always refused and denied, he would have realized that it was you, that it should have been you, that it was always supposed to be you but it would have been too late, you would have been gone and it would’ve broken him, he would have never recovered, he would have never forgiven himself for finding his love for you when it was much too late.

You would have been the loss of his life. 

That thought shouldn’t even plague him right now because you’re here, in his arms, tracing his skin with your finger as you smile up at him. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers instead of tracing those words into your skin like he had gotten used to doing. 

This all still feels like a dream, a way too good of a dream.

The smile that reached your eyes wasn’t one he had ever seen before, no matter how happy, how comfortable you were around him, he had never seen such a bright, happy, relaxing smile on your pretty features. 

He had never felt the touch of your lips in such a soft way, a kiss so delicate that it made his chest vibrate with a new wave of emotions. 

“And I love you,” you murmur against his lips, “I hope you don’t get sick of me saying that.”

Steve scoffs at your words, raising his brows as he stares at you in disbelief, his hand moving up to your upper back, resting them on your shoulder blades as he presses a kiss to your nose, “honey, this is all I ever wanted.”

To hear him say such words only makes the dream-like state you are in much more intense. 

Who would’ve thought that you would hear these words from him? 

“I always had a crush on you,” Steve whispers, admitting something to you that he himself struggled to accept only a few months back. 

This time, it’s your eyebrows that shoot up in surprise, shock flashing in your eyes, “w-what?”

There is no way that Steve ever felt anything other than dislike for you, especially before the upside down. 

Steve chuckles to himself, moving his hand up to your face, he tucks your hair behind your ear and smiles at you. 

“I always watched you too, Blondie,” he admits, watching the way your softened eyes fill with confusion, “but I was an idiot, I-I didn’t know how to talk to you, I knew how to talk to every other girl but you? Fuck,” he sighs, furrowing his brows as he takes a deep breath, “I didn’t know how to talk to you because you made me so fucking nervous, it’s like all my confidence slipped away the moment you looked at me with those pretty eyes.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat at his eyes well up with tears again, words he had kept inside for so long now finally slipping from his lips. 

“And you weren’t… you weren’t–”

“Nice?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, your heart starts pounding again. 

He chuckles for a moment and shakes his head, “no, I– you weren’t supposed to be nice to me, I wasn’t nice to you, but that’s not what I mean, I… You just, I don’t know how to– I always messed up around you and it kept happening so I put on this King Steve persona, especially when I was around you and fuck… Honey, I tried to impress you but I always felt like you weren’t looking at me, no matter what I did, you were never looking at me.”

You don’t know what hit you harder tonight, the three words he repeatedly blessed you with or this revelation. 

All you know is that you feel it in your core, the shock and the confusion. 

You shake your head a little, like you don’t understand a word he said. 

“When we wrote notes to each other, I-I didn’t want to admit it to myself back then but I really fucking hoped that something would come out of it but nothing did… I know you thought that Tommy set me up to it but he didn’t.”

You don’t know what to say, you don’t even know what to think, it’s all so much, it’s all too much for one night. 

“I-I don’t–”

Steve cups your cheeks, shaking his head as he isn’t done yet. 

“No, I waited for you… I waited for you at every game, I always looked around trying to find you in the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of you, even when I didn’t want to admit it to myself, I always waited for you.” 

Your eyes crinkle though they well up with tears again, you couldn’t describe the feelings in you, not even if you tried. 

His hands on your skin feel softer than ever, his eyes shine with tears and his bottom lip quivers.

“I was there, Steve,” you whisper, blinking through your tears, swallowing the nervousness, “I was there.” 

He nods, lips curling into a soft smile, “I know that now b-but I wish I knew back then, I wish I wasn’t so hard on you…”

You know the look in his eyes, the regret, the guilt he feels from that day at the mall and the few other bad ones. 

But they don’t matter anymore, they haven’t mattered for a while now, and they especially don’t matter now. 

Shaking your head, you lean up, cupping his cheek too, you kiss him sweetly, softly, stealing his breath away with tenderness. You place your hand over his, guiding it down to your chest and placing it over your heart. 

“Those days are over, they don’t matter anymore,” you whisper and keep a tight hold on his hand, “you have me now.”

And you have him. 

He is yours, he wants to be yours so badly. 

Steve nods, leaning into the touch of your hand, he blinks his tears away and moves his head, pressing his lips against your palm, and he kisses you there, making you smile. 

“And you have me,” he whispers softly, watching the way your eyes sparkle with happiness, with love. 

You catch him by surprise when you start showering him in kisses, pressing your lips to his face, to his cheeks and his forehead, to his nose and his chin and then finally his lips, making him giggle at the sudden sweet affection and then, you cutely nuzzle your nose against his, giggling through it all yourself. 

You only did this once, on the fourth of July, when you were wasted. Your lips went crazy across his whole face, you kissed him all over, complimented him and looked at him as though he was your own personal sun. 

How could he not see back then? 

How could he not see that it wasn’t the alcohol but the love you already felt for him, the love you couldn’t contain in that moment. 

Steve makes you squeal when he moves too suddenly, grabbing your waist and flipping you over so he is the one on top, he cups your cheeks and leans down, doing what you just did, leaving no spot unkissed. 

“Steve!” You giggle, squeezing your eyes shut as he trails kisses down to your jaw and your neck, tickling you with his hair and the light stubble around his mouth. You grab at his waist, holding on tightly. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” he murmurs into your neck, kissing you there over and over until you grab his face and pull him back up to you. 

He looks down at you, moving his hand up to your face, he tucks away your hair and caresses your cheek, admiring your puffy lips, your beautiful eyes as you look at him with nothing but love in them. 

Everything he ever wanted is now right in front of him, in reach and now all he needs to do is ask. 

“Do you want to go on a date with me, Blondie?” He asks, unable to contain the smile on his face as he watches the way your eyes crinkle and a giggle falls from your lips, you cup each side of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, answering him in the sweetest way.  He only chuckles against your lips, pulling away for just an inch in order to mumble against your lips, “I need words darling…”

And that little word that will change your life forever finally comes out of your lips,

“Yes.”

 ♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

[bandsofmarv]

Venomous hearts

Mattheo and Theo have both set their sights on you igniting a rivalry.

I might make this a series.

No warnings.

The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the emerald glow from the fireplace casting an eerie shimmer over the cold, stone walls. You sat in your usual spot by the window, attempting to focus on the Potions essay Snape had assigned, but the atmosphere in the room was far too tense for concentration.

Mattheo Riddle lounged across the couch, his dark eyes locked on you like a predator watching prey. He twirled his wand lazily, but his jaw was clenched, betraying the storm raging beneath his cool exterior. Across the room, Theodore Nott leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His icy blue eyes flicked between you and Mattheo, his expression unreadable yet charged with unspoken challenge.

The tension between them had been brewing for weeks, and you, the unwilling centerpiece of their silent war, were caught in the crossfire.

“Is the essay really that interesting, love?” Mattheo drawled, his voice dripping with a mixture of arrogance and irritation.

You glanced up, trying to ignore the way his lips curved into a smirk, though his eyes held a sharper edge. “Unlike some people, Mattheo, I prefer to pass my classes.”

Theo let out a soft scoff from across the room, drawing both your and Mattheo’s attention. “Maybe she just prefers spending her time with people who don’t treat everything like a game,” he said coolly, his tone a deliberate jab.

Mattheo sat up, his smirk vanishing. “Careful, Theo,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Theo pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. He looked calm, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands twitched at his sides. “What are you going to do, Mattheo? Hex me because she’s tired of your theatrics?”

“Guys—” you started, but your voice was drowned out by Mattheo’s sudden rise to his feet.

“You don’t get to talk about theatrics, Nott,” Mattheo snarled, his wand now pointed at Theo. “You’ve been circling her like a bloody vulture for months. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Theo didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, his lips curling into a taunting smile. “And what about you? Acting like you own her, like she’s some prize to be won. That’s not affection, Riddle; that’s obsession.”

Your heart pounded as you stood, placing yourself between them before things escalated further. “Enough! Both of you!”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked to you, softening slightly, but his grip on his wand didn’t loosen. Theo, however, stepped back, though his gaze lingered on you.

“You’re not some pawn in their game, Y/N,” Theo said quietly, his voice laced with an unexpected vulnerability. “You deserve someone who sees you, not someone who uses you to stroke their ego.”

Mattheo scoffed, but you caught the flash of hurt in his expression. “Don’t act like you’re some kind of hero, Theo. We all know you’re no better than me.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension and unsaid words. You looked between them, your heart aching at the pain they both carried, the pain they were now projecting onto you.

“I’m not a prize,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “And I won’t let either of you turn this into a competition. Figure out your own issues before dragging me into them.”

With that, you grabbed your essay and stormed out of the common room, leaving them both behind.

As the door slammed shut, neither Mattheo nor Theo moved. For the first time, they were forced to confront the truth: their feelings for you weren’t just a game, but the scars they’d leave might be too deep to repair.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Pietro Maxmioff x fem!reader

Summary: You don't want to share a bed with Pietro. He wants nothing more than to share one with you.

Prompt: one bed - "Don't bite your lip, bite mine."

Warnings: again, I use Czech as 'Sokovian', swearing, flirty!pietro, anxious!reader

PIETRO MAXIMOFF MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

"Which asshole gave Pietro and me a room with only one bed!" you hiss, standing in the small living corner that is in the hotel, your arms crossed.

Steve and Tony glance up from their m friendly game of pool while Natasha smirks from where she is on the couch. Wanda, who is watching Steve and Tony's game, laughs and you snap your head around to glare at her. 

"What's so funny? Can't I switch with you? He's your brother!"

Wanda shakes her head, still smiling. "Rooms are rooms."

You huff. You're not stupid. Everyone on the team thinks you and Pietro have some romantic thing going on, which means they'd most likely done this on purpose.

"Well, fuck you all," you say and storm back into the elevator, angrily making your way up to your hotel room again. 

You open the door and almost slam into Pietro, who is walking out of the bathroom, with only a towel loosely hung around his hips.

He curses in Sokovian as his eyes widen. "Miláček (Sweetheart)," he says, finally registering it's only you, and that familiar annoying play-boy smirk curls his lips. 

"I leave you alone for barely five minutes and you've already finished your shower?" you ask in disbelief, ignoring how water still drips down his torso and over his toned abs.

Pietro makes it so damn hard to be mad at him when he looks this good. 

"I'm quick," he shrugs and walks by you, ruffling your hair with a grin. He turns and walks into the main room, calling out behind him, "Plus, now you have more time to shower yourself. You're welcome, Princezna (Princess)."

You roll your eyes and storm into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you as you pretend you're not completely flustered by him or his pet names. 

Once you've finished your shower, you leave the bathroom dressed in your pajamas. Your hair is dried and brushed and your skin smells like the vanilla body wash you'd used.

Pietro is lying on the right side of the bed, his arms folded behind his head as he watches a comedy movie and chuckles along. 

He perks up when he sees you and smiles. "Hey, drahoušek (darling)," he says, his voice hoarse and raspy. 

"That's three," you hum and walk over cautiously, sitting on the other end of the queen-sized bed, staring at Pietro like he's some scary unknown. "You have any more cheesy pet names I can't understand up your sleeve, Maximoff?" 

Pietro chuckles, very amused. "How do you know they're cheesy if you can't understand them, moje srdce (my heart)."

You narrow your eyes at him defiantly. "I just know," you say. "I know you."

Pietro hums and looks at you, his silver hair falling over his icy blue eyes for a moment. "Wanna finish the movie?" he asks. 

You shake your head and climb under the blanket. You hear Pietro's laugh and then he turns off the T.V. He speeds up to turn off the lights, tucking himself into the bed next to you in a blur. His body feels so warm, so close, and your head spins as you try to stay as far away from him as possible. You hate these feelings. You hate them more than anything. 

"Princezna (Princess)?"

You tense. 

"Y-yeah?"

You hear the shifting of sheets and then he's even closer, his hand coming up from behind to brush some strands of your hair as his fingertips then linger on your cheek. "Look at me, will you?" he asks seriously. 

You hesitate, not wanting to turn around. Pietro hums again and whispers something in Sokovian in your ear. His breath is warm on your skin and as if in a trance, you turn around. Your noses almost touch, causing your eyes to widen. The curtains aren't drawn closed so you can see him easily in the moonlight. 

He's gorgeous. 

You bite your lip, the action almost uncontrollable. 

Pietro's gaze hardens and without much thinking, he leans in and takes your chin in his hand, kissing your lips. In the process, he opens your mouth to disconnect your teeth from your lips as he deepens the kiss. As startled as you are, you kiss him back and pull him closer to you. No lips have ever felt softer than his.

Pietro pulls away after a moment and grins. "Don't bite your lip, next time drahoušek (darling), bite mine." 

His words cause you to halt, your body feeling weak as you look at him with wide eyes and a shiver runs through you when his thumb traces your lips.

You find yourself nodding, your shyness appearing as you realize Pietro fucking Maxmioff had just kissed you—while in the same bed—you know have to share.

Pietro is looking at you like he adores you, his eyes tracing every blemish and insecurity on your face with a look that makes your heart flutter.

"I like you," he tells you. "A lot." 

Your mind is unable to conjure up any coherent words but it's screaming at you to return the feelings. 

"You don't need to tell me now, Princezna (Princess)," he whispers and kisses your forehead. "Miluji tě (I love you)," he adds, knowing you can't understand him. His arm wraps around you and you let him, nuzzling into him. His chest fills with pride.

Your mind has only calmed down a little, or calmed down enough, that the one thing you can think is thank god for the team and their weird sense of intuition. 

tags: @tansgirlfriend, @princesssunderworld, @lqrlei, @brokeaesthetic, @sayitlikethecheese

[tsumuus]

just shoto todoroki being so in love with you that it hurts

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the park, illuminating the serene landscape with a warm, amber hue. Shoto Todoroki stood at the edge of the small lake, watching the ripples dance across the water's surface. His dual-colored eyes, a striking contrast of icy blue and warm gray, reflected the gentle movement. The world around him seemed to fade, the only clear image in his mind being you.

You were a beacon of light in his life, a warmth that thawed the ice within his heart. He observed you from a distance, your laughter echoing through the air as you played with a group of children. The sight of your radiant smile sent a pang of longing through his chest, an ache that was both sweet and painful. Every gesture, every laugh, every moment spent with you intensified the feelings that threatened to overflow.

Shoto's love for you was a silent storm, a force that he kept hidden beneath his stoic exterior. He watched you with an intensity that bordered on reverence, as if you were the most precious thing in his world. You had a way of bringing light to the darkest corners of his mind, filling the void left by years of turmoil and loneliness.

He remembered the first time he realized the depth of his feelings for you. It was a quiet afternoon, much like this one, and you had been sitting beside him, your presence a soothing balm to his troubled thoughts. The way you looked at him, with such genuine kindness and understanding, had stirred something deep within him. From that moment on, his heart had belonged to you, even if he couldn't find the words to express it.

Shoto's love was a constant, unwavering force, yet it was tinged with a bittersweet agony. The fear of losing you, of never being able to fully convey the depth of his emotions, gnawed at him. He wanted to hold you close, to whisper his love into your ear, to make you understand just how much you meant to him. But the words eluded him, caught in a tangle of hesitation and uncertainty.

As you turned to him, your eyes meeting his, Shoto felt his breath catch in his throat. The warmth of your gaze, the softness of your smile, was almost too much to bear. He clenched his fists, the pain of his unspoken love a sharp reminder of his vulnerability. Yet, in that moment, he found solace in the simple act of being near you.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a final, fiery glow over the park. Shoto knew that his love for you was both his greatest strength and his deepest sorrow. It was a fire that burned within him, a fire that he would willingly endure for as long as it meant you were a part of his life.

For now, he was content to watch you from afar, cherishing the moments that you shared, even if they were filled with unspoken words and hidden feelings. Because loving you, even in silence, was a gift he would never take for granted.

'as long as youre next to me, just the two of us'

masterlist

[deunmiu-dessie]

���▬ ⁽ 𝓋𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒⁾ ¹

part two

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₅˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : slightly edited, talk of past sexual assault ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : i had to split this into two parts! it’s giving very much manhwa vibes!

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : your elder half-sister is to be married to the mysterious and supposed tyrannical duke kallisto de ardelean, on word of the emperor. with your sister no longer having her chastity and being scared to lose his daughter, your father, marquis bastian, and your elder half-brother, tommen devise a plan to send you in her stead.

꒰m!vampire₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

 the sound of cutlery grating against one another makes anxiety coil taut within your belly, the emotion mischievously swimming its way upwards to form a burning mordant taste within the base of your throat; bile threatening to ascend and expel from your mouth. your nerves are strung tight like a bow, bending, pulling, hurting- waiting to be disentangled from its stretch; but to no avail. the persistent, uneasy ache pulsing through your veins causes your head to throb and pound uncomfortably - the onset of a migraine looming.

    the clinking of silverware becomes a symphony of discomfort, each scrape, and clatter adding to the cacophony that fills the room. it becomes increasingly difficult to focus on anything else, as the unease consumes your thoughts and senses. the atmosphere feels suffocating, as if the tension in the air is tangible.

  you find yourself longing for a moment of respite, a break from the relentless discomfort. but it eludes you, leaving you trapped in this sea of unease. the storm within you rages on, its intensity growing with each passing second.

      'when will this be over?' you muse sourly, stumbling to hold in a huff of frustration and discomfort; the stinging, scalding gazes of your siblings and attendants are alight with contempt and taunting humor- directed at you. the sensation sends a chill skittering down your backbone, a chill so frigid that goosebumps begin to blanket your skin like a fresh layer of december frost; intricate and icy.

  as you sit there, the weight of their judgment bears down on you, pressing against your chest and making it difficult to breathe. the room seemed to close around you, the walls closing in like a vise, trapping you in a suffocating bubble of scrutiny. the air is heavy with tension, each second ticking by like an eternity, as if time itself had slowed down to magnify your discomfort.

    and you find that removing your eyes from the bowl of lukewarm soup in front of you to meet their disdainful faces, was nigh impossible. unthinkable. so instead you remain fixated on the porcelain dish, undisturbed by the tiny grains of sand scattered at the bottom, swirling lazily in the stew.

 'this again?' you ponder silently, before being startled by the tinkling laughter that fills the room.

     for a fleeting moment, your gaze flickers upward to scan the dining hall at the soft, girlish snickering; finding the venomous eyes of your elder sister staring right back at you. your glossy eyes quickly find solace in the sandy, savory depths of the bowl of soup below you once more. your fingers weaving jointly underneath the table, nails turning pale as the vice grip of your extremities coil, trying to strangle one another. you felt like a rat trapped within a burning bucket with nowhere to go, fated to die-but how badly you wanted to gnaw your way out to freedom.

 "oh my, dear sister, you've hardly touched your food."

  your back molars clench against the tender flesh of your cheek at the attention, your body cowering back into the delicate velvet chair underneath you, praying to be devoured whole. with trembling hands, you nervously rub your dewy palms against the faded blue fabric of your dress, causing it to darken with the touch of moisture. it was as if your very nerves had been set ablaze as you could now feel the disconcerting stare of your father branding the side of your cheek.

your soft but prevalent ebbeton accent cuts through the tense atmosphere like a sharpened blade, the gazes of the room bleeding into your skin.

    "i find myself lacking an appetite this evening," you emit softly, offering a forced smile to your elder sister in an attempt to pacify her. you’re not surprised when aerith’s thin upper lip curls into a snarl, downturned eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. anything that you did; that defied her orders, usually triggered aerith to taunt and beat you. there was no winning when it came to the girl, you had figured that out when you were just a child.

     not expecting your reply, aerith’s narrow upper lip curls into a vexed snarl, downturned eyes tightening and eyebrows drawing near to each other. 'who the hell does she think she is?' a forced, cruel smile encases aerith’s mouth, golden spirals of silken hair dancing over her shoulders as she slants her head in an opposing manner. the blonde is only aggravated further at your curt, almost blank expression. "it'd be a waste for you to not at least take a bite, don't you think?"

  she leaned in closer, her eyes boring into yours, daring you to defy her. the room seemed to grow colder, the atmosphere heavy with tension. aerith knew that she had the upper hand, that she had the ability to make your already hellish life, worse. and she reveled in it. the power she possessed, the control she exerted over others, was intoxicating. she was not one to be underestimated, and she made sure you knew it.

    the intense thrumming of your fearful heart reverberates throughout your body, anxiety substituting the boiling blood surging through your veins. you swallow the orb of tension that's wedged its way into your throat and dig your almond-shaped nails into your thighs, a flimsy smile painted onto your lips. "i simply do not feel hungry tonight, sister," you reply calmly, though your heart pounds in your ears. "surely that is not a crime."

    your sister's eyes narrow, her fury evident in the furrowed lines on her forehead. you can almost taste the outrage, mingling with the metallic tang of fear on your tongue.

"(y/n)."

    you flinch back into your seat at the boisterous sound of your father's voice, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow, shakily you pick up the rickety spoon, a far cry from the elegant silverware adorning the table. with trembling hands, you cautiously dip the spoon into the soup, the loose pieces of sand giggling at your misery. slowly the spoon ascends to your lips- before three sharp knocks echo throughout the dining hall. every malicious, joyously cruel gaze, flits to the door. your father, never one to be unnerved, dabs at his lips with his napkin and clears his throat. "enter."

    the heavy oak doors are gradually pulled open by two knights who stand guard at opposing ends. the assailant quickly waltzes into the room, his face, pale and drawn, betrays the weight of his duty. beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, glistening like tiny diamonds in the candlelight. his disheveled attire, once pristine and regal, now hangs loosely on his frame, evidence of the tumultuous journey he has endured to reach this moment. settled upon his spindly hand is a slender silver tray, which carries a letter.

“-and what is the cause for you interrupting the household dinner, boy? "

  the man choked back a shuddering breath and with a graceful yet urgent stride, he approaches the grand mahogany table at the center of the room, halting just in front of your father, lowering into a ninety-degree bow and thrusting the salver forward.

     "a letter from the imperial palace..." the boy's tentative voice trails off for a moment, hesitant to declare the rest of the announcement. your father observed the scene with a stoic expression, his piercing gaze fixed upon the man before him, before he rolls his eyes, picking up his utensils once more. "well? out with it then.”

“- it's closed with the emperor's seal, my lord.”

    all respire within the room seemed to come to a standstill, the birds did not dare to chirp and the wind was not brave enough to howl. the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of your father's labored breaths. as the seconds ticked by, the room seems to hold its breath, waiting for marquis bastian to break the silence. finally, your father gently places his utensils aside and swiftly grasps the letter, his fingers trembling with a mixture of anticipation and unease. clearly, some things could unnerve marquis bastian, you thought, as you surreptitiously returned the spoon to its rightful place upon the table.

     popping the seal, your father glides the letter from the envelope delicately, unfurling the piece of paper to allow his eyes to glaze over the contents. yet, with each passing second his eyelids draw back to showcase the whites of his eyes, his fingers digging into the paper with a mix of shock, disbelief, or perhaps even anger. you can't quite discern his emotions. your father, marquis bastian, was a man known for his unwavering composure and unshakeable resolve. his presence alone commanded respect and admiration, and it was a rare sight indeed to witness him unsettled.

   his usually stoic face contorted with a myriad of emotions, his brows furrowing and his lips trembling ever so slightly. the room seemed to grow colder, as if the air itself was affected by his sudden unease. you watched in silence, your heart pounding in your chest, as your father's grip on the letter tightened, his knuckles turning white. the seconds stretched into minutes, and still, your father remained frozen in his chair, his eyes fixed on the damning words before him. 

   tommen, your eldest brother, swallows thickly at father's silence, the hairs on the back of his neck at attention and his leg bouncing nervously underneath the table. "father, what ails you?" marquis bastian was distraught, so much so in fact, that he ran a wrinkling hand down his face, head falling into his open palm. the patriarch of the house clears his throat and sets the paper back onto the tray.

"a-aerith. your engagement has been decided by the emperor."

    tommen's heart sinks at his father's words. your elder sister, forever the oblivious blonde; and incapable of reading the room, beams happily and clasps her hands together, head tilting to the side with a whimsical, distant gaze in her eyes. "oh! who is it, daddy? a duke? a marquis?—" the girl trails off with a gasp and places a soft, small hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning a rosy pink. "could it be the prince?! oh, daddy, say something! who is it?!"

tommen's eyes follow his father's every movement, his own anxiety growing with each passing second. he watches as his father clears his throat, a sign of his struggle to find the right words. your father, still in dismay, doesn't even attempt to soothe aerith as he breaks the news to her, his gaze empty, like a vast, swarthy sea of water without end.

"duke kallisto de ardelean."

 you watch in confusion as her smile slowly fades, her pretty, sparkling jade eyes seem to dull, the vibrant hue that once adorned her rosy cheeks now fades away, leaving behind a pallid complexion that betrays the absence of her usual vivacity.

   the blonde's daze is shattered in an instant as she forcefully pushes herself away from the table, her hands crashing down on the sturdy oak surface, her nails leaving marks. "no! i won't do it, you cannot make me!" your father's lips are set into a thin line and despite aerith looking to him for answers, for hope that only his words can bring, his expression is unreadable; and for a moment, something dark and enraged unfurls within the blonde's stomach, threatening to consume her.

"daddy? say something!"

tommen, always the mediator, attempts to smooth over the situation. "aerith, sit, let father think for a moment— hm?" your eldest brother can't help but add an encouraging whirr at the end of his demand after seeing his sister's frightened gaze; a sight that tugs at his heart agonizingly. aerith reluctantly tumbles into her chair, reddened cheeks cushioned by clammy palms; her nails digging into her scalp worriedly.  "brother, do something."

tommen's jaw ticked in annoyance- frustration. there was no way aerith would survive at duke ardelean's home, particularly because of her licentious behavior and absence of subordination. with aerith's lack of chastity, she was nothing but used, damaged goods— not even a puppet to be utilized. ( she would've been better off marrying a count, someone she could manipulate and break faith with. ) sending her off to kallisto would do nothing but insult the ardelean household and bring disgrace to their family for generations to come. 

    tommen's love for his sister was undeniable, and he couldn't bear to see her endure humiliation or worse. he refused to stand idly by and witness the downfall of his family, the destruction of everything they had worked so hard to build.

   slight motion from his peripheral causes tommen's head to turn slightly in its direction, catching sight of your dingy garments and absence of etiquette. ‘ah, the bastard.' he thought to himself. watching as your back straightens immediately when his viridian-colored gaze flits to your slouched figure. there is a bottomless sea of revulsion whirling like a hurricane within its depths and you grip your right arm tightly, nails digging into your flesh; scarring it with crescent moons, a desperate attempt to maintain composure, to keep yourself afloat in the face of his disdain.

    but despite your best efforts- you seemed to drown. the contempt in tommen's eyes remained unwavering. his judgment was etched into his features, a constant reminder of the vast chasm that separated you. in that moment, you were acutely aware of your place in his world, forever relegated to the outskirts, forever branded as the outsider.

"father, if I may?"

   marquis bastian looks toward his son, lips thinned and face weary. he was without a doubt, lost on what to do the thought of losing his little girl to such a man, made his stomach churn and ache.

tommen drags his gaze away from you and locks eyes with marquis bastian; he's tentative, uncertain if the solution that he's come to would assuage his father. but, he takes a deep breath and explains.

   "aerith has been out of high society for years now, after the incident with count aslan's daughter, and there were only a few witnesses at the happening.” tommen begins gradually, making sure that his father is mindful of every little detail. "truly-she's not even talked about within social circles anymore."

   your father grunts in agreement, shooting a scalding gaze at his immature (but loveable) daughter at the reminder of the mishap. the blonde's pout deepens and she crosses her arms over her chest in childish defiance.

   “duke kallisto has never gone to any social gatherings before and he's been away at the northern border for about the same period, perhaps even longer, with his eldest son joining him only a couple of months ago. he would have no idea who aerith is." marquis bastian's eyebrows furrow deeply, producing wrinkles in-between his thick, graying brows.

    tommen watches as the cogs turns in his father's head. “'it's official only on paper and since duke kallisto has never come to any social setting and no one knows what he looks like, i doubt there will be a public wedding, especially since he's currently at the northern border leading the knights."

marquis bastian's eyes widen and he finds his son's viridian gaze. “are you saying—” tommen nods quickly, leaning back in his seat. “if we send the bastard, they'd be none the wiser."

all eyes narrow on you, calculating and cold, it raises goosebumps on your skin, hinders your breath, and makes you break out in a cold sweat. 

    a small voice inside you yearned to protest, to expose the sheer madness of their 'scheme', warning that it would only lead to the gruesome demise of the entire family for treason. but, what right did you have to speak? you were nothing but a bastard, a child conceived out of unwilling sex, brought into this world by a maid who was promptly cast aside the moment you took your first breath.

   you were raised in the shadows, hidden away from the prying eyes of society, forced to serve the family that had abandoned you. your existence was a constant reminder of their shame, a living testament to their sins. and yet, despite the cruelty and neglect you endured, a flicker of defiance burned within you. but fear held you back. fear of retribution, of being cast out into the cold, unforgiving world. fear of the unknown, of what lay beyond the walls of the only home you had ever known.

you were a mere puppet, a marionette manipulated by the hands of those who saw you as nothing more than a means to an end. your existence was reduced to a tool, easily discarded when it no longer served its purpose. it was a fitting fate, since commoner blood surged through your veins. you were forever destined to be overlooked and discarded.

     lips thinning you watch as your fathers face flushes with the color he lost while reading the letter, no longer tense as he nods his head in agreement with tommen. he lets out a deep hum before locking eyes with his son. “that might just work.” marquis bastian absently strokes his beard before giving a decisive nod. “we’ll have to start the process quickly. with how she is now…” he trails off prompting you to hastily blink back the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. 

 “hajorld, send a letter to madame kilsby.” 

  all eyes fix upon aerith as she emits a disbelieving whimper. “daddy! that’s not fair, you promised that madame kilsby would teach me! you swore,”  her voice, sharp and grating, causes marquis bastian’s face to pinch into one of anger. “had you not spread your legs like some common whore, aerith, i would not be forced to take this action."

  aerith's heart sank at her father's accusing words. she had been looking forward to learning from madame kilsby for months, only to have her hopes dashed in an instant. the disappointment was palpable in the air as she struggled to hold back tears, her rose-tinted lips pressing together as she slumps back in her seat. your father sighs deeply and picks back up his cutlery. “may the gods have mercy on us."

"chin up!"

    you wince softly at the abrupt pain that blooms bitterly across your calf, the skin puckering and swollen from the harsh, periodic whipping of madame kilsby. stiffly your chin lifts upwards. the heavy books that make a home on the top of your head for the time being, quiver- as if they are walking bare within the frigid december air; waiting to topple. 

     her aging hand presses deftly into your lower back, fixing your posture once more with a soft hum, assessing, watching. she observes as you prance forward, wobbly within your heels but nonetheless ideal, given the time frame in which your lessons had begun.

"to me."

   as gracefully as you can, you turn to face madame kilsby in all her beautiful glory and for the second time this lesson, your breath catches briefly in your throat. you gaze at her shamelessly, taking in her red tresses, which like a dancing flame, curl atop her head; her green eyes, the color of luscious green forests, are deep, enchanting, and dangerous.

    the smell of her perfume is sweet (but not too much so) and floral, with just a whiff of spice she is a woman to behold, and you do so often. with a barely-there breath, you walk back towards her, feet aching within the shoes given to you. if your form is off, it doesn't show on her face. you come to a stop in front of madame kilsby and she locks gazes with you, the corners of her mouth curl up, she's pleased— it makes her all the more inviting.

"good y/n, i'm impressed."

  an apprehensive smile caresses your lips, brightening your typical apathetic beauty, and madame kilsby, finds you charming even more so. the older woman clears her throat softly and gently removes the hefty books from the top of your head, setting them onto the table next to her with a thump.etiquette and most other teachings usually are taught to children at a young age; that way it evolves almost into a second nature for them. since you were born out of wedlock and worst of all to a maid, a woman of no noble origin- you had been cast aside, as there was no need for a bastard to learn anything.

     madame kilsby had been reluctant to teach you, the first couple of days you could perceive her ridicule, her apprehension. yet, just as quickly as it came, it went, the hostility, the backhanded compliments, every scornful thing she had done while teaching you the first three days, seemed irrelevant. 

  you, she concluded, are her most promising student. you heed her words, obey, and watch diligently. you emulate, take, and evolve her teachings to fit your technique. your unwavering, confident blank gaze and features add to the feminine, mysterious ambiance that seems to encompass you. seeing you take shape had been breathtaking for madame kilsby. 

     she had never seen such rapid progress in a student before, especially one who had been deemed unworthy of her teachings. your determination and quick wit impressed her, and she found herself looking forward to each lesson with you.

   "there is nothing left for me to teach you now. as you've soaked up every bit of knowledge that i could provide. and beautifully so." the curvature of your lips pull downward, and madame kilsby watches as your features return back to their typical apathetic look.

'i have two days left before being shipped off to duke ardelean's home.’ you think sourly,briefly escaping your anxious musings to offer a distracted smile towards madame kilsby. "thank you, truly."

     the woman inclines her head and gently rests a hand upon your cheek. "let me know if there's anything i can do for you, child, if it's within my power to do so, it will be done."

   'would it be wrong to ask her to stab me with a knife? probably.' and just like that, in two days, you would be shipped off to your death.

two days later

  the ride to the ardelean estate is hell on wheels, you believe. your body is sore from your unduly tense posture, and your bum aches continually at every hobble and wobble of the carriage, it doesn't help that the corset that you had been forced into (and not delicately either) makes it all the harder to draw breath. 

  the carriage had been riding all day to get to the estate on time, a staggering eleven-hour ride- where you most definitely couldn't get any rest even if you had tried. it feels like an eternity before the carriage pulls to a stop. 

"my lady, we're here." 

    your nerves are scorched, set ablaze with fear and unease and it engulfs your body in a flame so searing that you find yourself airing your face. the door opens slowly and you swallow down the squeal of dread that tries to claw its way out of your throat, you place your hands comfortably on your lap, back straightening despite the sting of pain it brings and face blanking.

    a large palm facing upwards comes into your peripheral and you place your own gloved hand into it, stepping out of the carriage door, on a stepping stool, and finally onto the gravel. your eyes adjust to the brightness of outside before the estate comes into focus, and it's enormous, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it. the structure is beautiful in its own haunted way.

   "welcome to the ardelean estate, lady fureio." 

    the monotonous chorus of voices surprises you, your body jolting softly, it leaves your heart to thump laboriously in your chest; eyes finally narrowing in on the attendants of the estate, the head maid and butler stand front and center, eyes cordial and seemingly all-knowing. 

   your smile is small, reluctant— yet warm nonetheless, you tip your head downwards in greeting, swallowing thickly, palms beginning to moisten and skin warming at your nervousness. "thank you." 

  a smile brightens the head maids face, her plump but sagging cheeks flushing a soft, lovely hue of red. "my name is esmerelda, i will escort you inside my lady, to get you settled in." she watches with rapt attention as you exhale shakily, nodding, "that would be great esmerelda, thank you."

   her countenance swiftly adopts a stern expression as she directs her attention to the two knights positioned behind her. if they have a problem with carrying your luggage, it remains imperceptible upon their visage. without hesitation, they proceed to retrieve your possessions from the rear of the carriage and carefully carry them into the grand estate ahead, their armor clanking softly with each step.

   you don't own many thing, only a few dresses (which weren't much to look at) a singular pair of worn shoes, and a couple of hairpieces that were fraying at their ends. while marquis bastian had paid for your etiquette lessons and other teachings— he was adamant about not spending much else after that. which was quite foolish of him now that you thought back to it.

    the woman watches them intently, her eyes sharp. as the knights disappear into the castle, the woman turns back to you with a slight nod of approval. "they will ensure your belongings are safely stored in your chambers," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. 

   you offer a gentle smile and a slight nod, gracefully aligning yourself with her stride as she beckons you to accompany her into the estate. she trails in front of you slightly, as you two walk past the maids stationed outside for your welcoming. 

 "where is the little lord?"

 "i couldn't find him this morning."

 "young master calix skipped sword training as well."

 esmerelda's stern gaze quickly has them hushed, their chins tucking against their chests pitifully, your lips purse softly as you comb through your head for lost details on the ardelean household, following slowly behind esmerelda.

    kallisto de ardelean is a father to three boys, the eldest son: azur, who recently turned seventeen, joined kallisto a couple of months back at the frontier to help with the north's demon subjugation. he, along with kallisto, wouldn't be home for a while.

   atreyu, kallisto's fifteen-year-old middle child is learning at the academy and finishing up his second year. and because winter is coming, atreyu's company would be expected in a couple of weeks from now.

    you pause momentarily in your thoughts. not much is known about kallosto's last son, as he is too young to participate in any social gatherings, and too young for the academy, not even his name is known, well, you supposed now that you knew it. 

calix de ardelean.

 "it's been a long ride has it not? shall i have a bath drawn for you?"

    you were exhausted, eyes laden, and breath slightly shallow from the ill-fitting corset that adorned your figure. you wanted to sleep, needed it even; yet the prospect of a warm bath followed by donning a comfortable nightgown seemed even more appealing.

   “that’d be perfect esmerelda, thank you.” you can hear the smile in her voice as she responds back to you. “of course, my lady.” 

     the two of you make your way through a corridor after a long trek up a flight of stairs, it’s adorned with paintings. they're eerie yet exquisite; gloomy and desolate. the paintings seem to come alive as you walk past them, their eyes following your every move. the brushstrokes are so vivid and lifelike that you can almost feel the emotions emanating from the canvas. it's as if the artists poured their souls into each piece, leaving a lingering presence that sends shivers down your spine. the colors are so vibrant and the details so intricate that it's hard to believe they were created by mere human hands. 

   however, one catches your gaze, steals your breath away even—  as if time stands still as you lock eyes with the portrait.

“who is he?” 

   your mouth opens before you can dissuade yourself and esmerelda turns to face you, watching as you shamelessly gaze deeply at the painting, lips parted and almost breathless. you're not sure how the painter is able to capture the aura that surrounds the man perfectly— but they do and it's monarchial... terrifying. 

    his tresses are long and ebony; framing his face delicately, his lips are ruby in color- inviting; and his skin is pale as porcelain. the man's eyes are the color of freshly spilled blood, they gleam with an all-knowingness that warms your skin and strips you bare. you find it almost impossible to drag your gaze away from the painting, he's quite literally the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

  "that is duke kallisto, my lady." 

   you whip around to face her, eyebrows furrowing and heart thumping desperately within your chest, nearly pounding out of your ribcage, your ebbeton accent thickens as you speak, a look of clear disbelief in your eyes. "truly?" when she nods in confirmation you step forward and touch the portraits golden frame, trailing your fingers lower to trace over the cursive letters of duke kallisto's name. realizing how peculiar you must look, you quickly pull your hand to your chest; face warming in embarrassment.

 “shall we get going?”

ardelean estate

        the next day

calix de ardelean was a curious child. 

 his transgressions usually got him into trouble with his father more times than headmaid esmerelda had been able to count on both hands— though, that never truthfully seemed to stop calix, not for long anyway, especially since kallisto is reminded often of his late wife whenever he sees that playful glint within calix's ruby-red eyes, and folds almost immediately.     

     sometimes calix's childlike antics were simply disregarded by kallisto because the boy was just a child. a child who had never gotten to meet his mother, a child who lacked the maternal love that his elder siblings grew up with. kallisto could not be irate with his baby boy, no matter what he did.

   so it’s not surprising that calix is currently skipping sword practice. not that he despised it in any way, truly it was his favorite thing as it helped past time as he waited for his father to come back from the northern borders. 

  he hadn't been told about the marriage, only deduced it after catching wind of the rumors from the maids. he was curious, perhaps even a bit scared, he didn't like change. he would chase her out no matter what, before his father could come home. 

  now, to search for the woman who infiltrated his h- 

"ahem, young master calix- enough of these childish games."

     the boy jumps, startled by sir. fjord's deep timbre. without a word, calix quickly takes off down the hallway with a bellowing, tinkering laugh. his cheeks are flushed the cutest shade of red and his obsidian hair is ruffled at the top of his head. 

     glancing over his shoulder to look for the man, calix rounds a corner and immediately bumps into a soft, thick fabric, that sends him crashing butt-first to the carpeted flooring, hands burning. the boy whines softly and pouts, gazing up and up until he locks eyes with a woman. 

pretty. 

   with a worried frown, the woman lowers down in front of him, she smells of honey sickle and sugared lavender and it has warmth unfurling languidly within his tummy, turning him to mush underneath her soft, amused gaze.      

     "you must be calix." he nods slowly, unable to look away from her observant- filled eyes, she smiles brightly, it's welcoming and genuine. "my name is aerith fureio." 

    her fuller lips pull downward as she notices the redness that envelopes calix's hand, she reaches forward to grasp his wrist softly, angling it so that his palm faces upwards to her gaze, a nervous gasp expels from calix's lips, he's surprised to feel that ‘aerith's’ hands are slightly calloused. though from azur's teachings, a woman of noble birth never does domestic work, that's what maids are for. 

    it was difficult for women to comprehend how to wield a sword and so they weren't taught to do so. instead, they lived a life where they needn't lift a pinky. 

  so why were such warm and delicate hands, bruised as if she'd been working? 

    "you'll need some ointment for your palms." aerith glances over her shoulder to a maid who stands nearby with widened eyes. "lily, could you please?" 

    calix glances at the maid whom he hadn't noticed, too caught up in the woman in front of him. he glared at her viciously, watching as she scampered away with a small squeal. "yes, my lady!" 

   calix quickly snatches his hand from the woman and clutches it to his chest, round eyes scowling at her. 'aerith' chuckles soft and low, resting her elbow against her thigh and laying her cheek on her palm— gazing at the boy. he shuffles backwards away from her.

     "you're that lady that moved in yesterday, huh?" his gaze is sharp and unwelcoming but the woman in front of him seems to brighten at the sound of his sweet voice. she inclines her head in affirmation, it's surprisingly elegant in calix's eyes. "i am."

   it's a simple answer, not one he's expecting but it makes his heart beat fiercely. 

  the boy finds that the ire he once held for this unknown woman slowly starts to fade away, no matter how hard he wills it to remain. her eyes are like pools of warmth that beckon him to swim within them and her smile is small, but genuine- and calix swears that it's the first one that he's seen outside of his family.

    he opens his mouth to say something but there is nothing. 'aerith', seeing him struggle, cocks her head to the right and lets out a soft hum. 

  “say, i've had a hard time figuring out these halls, i just keep getting lost no matter what i do." she trails off in faux hesitancy and watches as his face lights up slowly but surely. the boy clears his throat and toots his nose up in a haughty manner, a smug smirk hugging his lips, calix finds that though her accent is unfamiliar and slightly heavy, it's not unpleasant to hear.

    "i suppose i'll give you a tour, no need to beg." calix scrambles to his feet, fixing his clothing. “i'll visit you early tomorrow morning, be ready!" before she can say anything else, the boy is off, running through the halls once more. 

"my lady? where has the little lord gone?" 

  smiling, you stand from your crouched position and turn to face your personal maid. "it seems he's run off. have the balm sent to his quarters when you have the chance."    

     lily nods and follows dutifully after you. "shall i show you around tomorrow then my lady?" you place a hand over your mouth to stifle your small laughter. "worry not lily, it seems i've reserved a guide."