#but no one else will have the chance to drink from your flesh...

[maudie-duan]

Summary: And god, this was the craziest part for him, the part he couldn’t wrap his mind around—you—how you had him so easily. How if you had been any other girl, he would have just fucked around, given you nothing but an act, someone clever, detached, someone that would have played this safe. He never pictured giving you this version of him, the one kneeling behind you, already half hard from nothing but the sound of your breath, knowing full well you loved the way he used his tongue.

A/N: Based on this request<- Thanks Anon for this awesome request!! I hope it's everything you want and more. 💓

Word Count: 10k

Warning: If you've seen the music video or heard the song...you know the vibe. Just a cute little lead up to pure smutty filth. Fluff/Smut…also ass play if you squint.

It was the way his cross pendant dangled from his neck, your red lips reflected back as he pressed you into the backseat, your sweaty bodies melding together in the heat of the night. The way you knew in your bones that he was far from holy, but you would have fallen to your knees for him any chance that you were given, his body like a work of art, an altar, his car your sanctuary.

Maybe there was innocence before his hands found your body, but the innocence had drifted, stretched beyond your grasp the second he laid you bare, young lust a driving force for all your sins, each moment you chose to steal away with him. 

Now, close your eyes.

Do you see it? The ink etched into his tan skin. Your very own road map, like an anchor, like a guiding light. His body the lighthouse, your body his harbor—a dreamscape vision you could always evoke, his hand gripping the steering wheel, the other on your thigh as your heart raced, watching the sun dip low on the horizon, knowing he was yours the moment the sun went down. 

It was always the nights that you longed for.

When the heat of summer filled the night breeze thick and heavy in your lungs, like all the times He had you gasping, your whole body teetering on the cusp of reality, the pleasure sending you to a wordless realm, you could never explain in the light of day as the windows fogged over, blurring the outside world around you—a building high snatching what little oxygen was left in the car, but god, it was worth it. 

The heat only adding to the sensation as the weight of his body hovered above yours and you knew once your bodies collided, flesh to flesh, there would be nothing else, just the sweet taste of his name filling your mouth like the crisp burn of carbonation on a hot day, drinking him in until there was nothing left. 

 Because it was just a sip at first, you savoring the taste of him on your tongue until you needed more, a gulp down your throat, and then it was gulp after gulp.

Yet a gulp could never be enough to quench the thirst you had for him. 

Harry.

His name, your sweetest thought, your endless mantra booming from the depth of your lungs, a fierce prayer uttered at the end of a breath as you gasped in air, desperate for more. Little did you know Harry would become the song you played on repeat all summer until you knew it by memory, his presence forever ingrained in your mind, a fucking anthem you would never forget. 

H: I’m on my way. Could you wear those cute jeans I like? The ones with the rips.

Y/N: The ones you said my ass looks good in? 

H: You know which ones I like. 

H: Also, we’re going swimming, bring what you need. 

Y/N: I have to be home early.

H: Damn, how early? 

Y/N: 10.

H: Yeah, that’s not happening. It’s like the last days of summer. We’re breaking the rules. We’ve been good all summer. 

Y/N: Harry…

H: Come on, love, tell me you don’t want it. 

Y/N: Want what? To get in trouble?

H: 10 is early. You know what I want to do. 

Y/N: Yeah?

H: You know I want it.

Y/N: Tell me how bad you want it? 

H: I’ll show you later. 

Y/N: Promise?

H: Save that dirty talk for tonight. Now, get ready, I’ll be there soon, gorgeous. 

The moment you stepped out of your front door Harry knew he was a goner, you standing there, ass turned to him in those fucking jeans that hugged the plains of your curves in all the right places, and Harry sat there like a begger looking for scraps, eyes feasting as you fumbled with the keys in your hand, your arms full of stuff, as you turned the key in the door. 

When the keys dropped from your hands, Harry took this as his cue. Surveying your body as you bent to grab them. He got out of the car then, his mind already sifting through every dirty thought, filtering through every position that’s ever had you face down, ass up, making him weak for you already, weak for what he knew was to come—always needy for you, a hopeless fool knowing he would be peeling those fucking jeans down your strong thighs later. 

As soon as you turned around, Harry was already hooking a hand around you, gripping a handful of your hair, and when he gave it a light tug, drawing your head back, your eyes met his. He smirked down at you then, and let out a breathy laugh, unable to wait any longer to press his lips to yours. 

This had become one of his favorite things to do: to take you by surprise. It was something about the way your eyes went round, your mouth slightly open—a deer in the headlights look in your eyes, like the first time he pushed inside you. The look of wonder as he filled you, your mouth rounding into an “o” as a pained moan left your parted lips. 

He thought you would make him stop like every girl that came before you, but as he buried himself completely he felt you tense around him, and your eyes drifted shut, your nails digging into his flesh, almost painful, and out of instinct he stilled himself above you, unsure of your silence, or the stillness of your body, and what it meant.

Harry watched as you drew in a slow breath, your chest rising and falling with the effort. The pain he knew you felt was evident in the pull of your brow as your eyes flitted open, pupils blown, and he swore he felt his world stop when the most beautiful smile he had ever seen slowly spread across your face, something mischievous playing at your features.

When you exhaled he felt your body relax under him, his dick pushing deeper, and you gasped out a laugh, sucking in a harsh breath, and when you said, “Why did you stop?” meaning every word. 

You had him. 

Like a thief in the night, you stole him in that moment, but really, you had him the moment you stepped foot into his car. When the smell of your vanilla perfume filled every one of his senses, your presence ushering in summer, and he knew, he just knew. 

This is what you liked most about him, the way he couldn’t keep his hands off your body, his lips always finding yours the second he was close enough to engulf you, but you couldn’t blame him, because fuck, there had never been anyone else that had you this way, every touch welcomed, every touch wanted, needy in the way that it was never enough. 

“You haven’t worn that lipstick in a while…” Harry says, eyeing your lips, that sexy smirk that found you at your door, still out to play, and his mouth completed the smile as you smoothed your lips together. 

“I forgot how much you liked it,” you lie, dragging a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wondering what it looked like after his mouth just had his way with yours. When you had to nudge him off you, so you didn’t get carried away, knowing that someone was sure to see you. 

“It’s so red…” he tells you, his eyes on the road, “like cherries in the spring…” and his words are smooth, as smooth as the hand reaching over to run a slow path up your thigh. 

“Red like your cheeks that one time I…well there were a lot of times actually…” he begins, his hand continuing to roam, inching further up your thigh, the warmth nearly grazing the inseam of your denim jeans, and you clap your hand over his, stopping him in his tracks, stopping yourself as the impulse to spread your legs swarmed your mind, but you knew it would feel so good. 

“Behave…” You joke, squeezing his hand, “Don’t start something you can’t finish…”

Harry lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head, as he pulls into the gas station, “You know I can’t control myself, baby,” he rasps, leaning in to kiss your cheek, and he shifts the car into park, “I’m addicted…” Your eyes roam his face as he hooks a finger under your chin, and you stare, watching his green eyes take you in. 

“You have a little smudge…” he starts, his voice low, running his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip, his gentle touch drawing it open, and he bites down on his lower lip, “Fuuuuuuck—” he breathes.

“Those lips…so fucking beautiful. So fucking good for me.” he finishes, dragging his thumb down the center of your lip, his eyes trained on the movement, and the hunger in his eyes sends a pulse between your thighs, your head already swimming with wild thoughts, like hoping he would push that thumb into your mouth, force it back, until your lips were closing around it. You knew exactly what he would do, the exact reaction you would pull from him. 

And this thought still surprises you, even today, even now after the countless moments the two of you have shared over the past couple of months. You hadn’t experienced anything like Harry before; whatever this was between you, this electric undercurrent running through you both anytime he was near.

You understood it, the lack of control, because you barely had any yourself. It was like this magnetic draw he held over you, the feeling blanketing the world around you whenever he was near, narrowing your focus to only him, but you didn’t care about anything else, because what did you need to care about, when you knew you could let it all go the second you slid into his passenger seat. 

He was right, though, the lack of control neither one of you had. He seemed to pull something out of you, something that lived within, a side of you that very few had ever seen. At least not to this extent, it was always a rare sighting, this fierce longing that forced itself from you both the moment you knew it could be more, that this connection was buzzing with a want, that hummed at the tip of your fingers the first time he touched you. 

You didn’t understand it at first, what was happening, what his energy was provoking in you. The first time you wore this lipstick was the first time you noticed his interest, how he couldn’t keep his eyes off your lips. 

It was one of those nights before you guys ever hung out alone, but you could feel it inching toward it; you just weren’t sure how you would ever make it happen, but you knew you wanted to. All night, Harry had been sneaking glances your way, you catching his eye from across the room, that sly smirk peeking at the corner of his mouth.

You felt it in the pit of your stomach, the nervous flutter threatening to show its face, and all it took was the accidental brush of his fingers over your hand as you both reached into the cooler full of random drinks—Harry reaching for the last diet Pepsi—and your whole body heated at the thought of a single touch. 

Of course, he did the kind thing and gave you the drink—eventually—and as you reached for it, he drew it toward him, and you stood there confused, yet captivated, watching as his strong hand gripped the can with an air of confidence that had every nerve in your body standing on edge. 

You had no words for it, and when he popped the tab on your drink, you felt the click burst through your chest with excitement, the crisp sound breaking the silence building between you, yet somehow it drew you closer, your cheeks burning, and you stared back at him wondering how he just made a gesture so fucking simple, feel like a moment of intimacy, you weren’t sure you should even be witnessing. 

Then he passed it toward you, your eyes surveying the can as if it could explain what had just happened, explain what you were feeling, because you were definitely feeling something, and out of nowhere, you were pushing the can back toward him, your hand resting on his forearm.

“You can have a sip if you want…it only feels fair since it’s the last one…” and you knew you were smiling as his breathy laugh made your ears perk up, but you couldn’t help a single thing that was happening. 

Because something was in fact happening. 

“Are you sure?” he laughs again, “I’ve heard I can be a bit greedy…” he admits, his eyes dropping to your lips.

“Just don’t drink all of it,” you tell him, “Only a sip…” Then you were pushing your hand into his arm, nudging the can his way. 

“I can’t promise anything…” and there was something thrilling in his words, nerve-wracking as he brought the can to his heart-shaped lips, pressing the rim flush, making your mouth water, as Harry watched you swallow down hard. 

There it was, the look you would never be able to escape again. It was the way his eyes never left yours that made your mouth go dry, and the second his head drifted back ever so slightly, his eyes fluttered shut, the can tilting enough to spill into his mouth, and then his lips parted, the liquid beginning to waterfall at a pace you knew you needed to stop, but you almost couldn’t bring yourself to stop him as he guzzled down your drink. 

And that was when you realized that your hand was still on his arm, and you gripped hard, tugging it back toward you as Pepsi dripped down the can, Harry taking a wide step back. His eyes flicked to his arm, to your firm grip, bringing a smile to his mouth, and when he passed the can your way, you locked eyes with him. 

As soon as you brought the can to your mouth his smile widened, a cunning smile you would eventually learn meant trouble, but in that moment, you felt your first greed for him, the feeling tingling up your spine as you let your lips meld to the wet rim, and as the cold chill of the soda filled your mouth, you watched as Harry slowly dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, and you were screwed

A single look dragging you under, and you knew you would drown in it. 

The first time Harry kissed you, you were wearing that lipstick, your red painted lips the only thing he could see, the same night he had watched them close around the rim of a can he had just had his mouth on. 

The truth was he had felt you creeping through his bloodstream for weeks, and now that your friend group was back from college, ready to start the summer with a bang. He knew he could no longer lie to himself and say he hadn’t thought about you from time to time. Wondered what your life was like, wondered what life would have been like if you guys had ended up at the same college like you all planned.

And that plan worked for everyone but you. 

You were always that girl in his mind, the one who got away. Before he ever took a chance with you, he could always feel whatever attraction that was obvious between you ebbing at the surface, but at the time, you were his best friend’s girlfriend—always out of reach, always off limits. 

So when your ex came with a date to your guys’ little friend get together, Harry knew this was his chance, and when Monica was too drunk to drive you home, he offered you a ride. To his surprise, there was no reluctance; you slid into the passenger seat, sealing the unspoken fate of your summer. 

When Braden brought his new girlfriend to the party, you knew it had to be serious. It’s not like you hadn’t heard the stories, that was what your best friend Monica was best at, the gossip, your vessel for all the things you had been missing out on since you decided last minute to go to a different school. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go; you just knew that everything with Braden would have turned toxic, and at the time, you weren’t over him, over the thought of you two. When he broke things off, saying “you both needed time to be your own person,” you hated him, and later, you would hate him even more when you realized he might have been right, like maybe, deep down, you needed the push more than you knew.

So when you saw Braden with his new girlfriend, your polar opposite, it ignited a sense of freedom, solidifying the ground you both stood on, and you didn’t give the thought of him another chance, because if you were really honest, you had moved on way before you had seen his familiar face, even if there was that little voice inside you wondering what if? 

But maybe that was natural.

That night, Harry offered you a ride home, and the moment you climbed into the passenger seat and he closed the door behind you, something about it was like taking a breath of fresh air, a new vision floating to the front of your mind.

There had always been something about him. Of course, you knew him; you were as close to him as you could be to your boyfriend’s best friend, but there was always some invisible boundary. A line you never dared cross. Every conversation had always been surface level, eyes never lingering too long, always Braden and Harry in the same sentence. 

Even in those times, your eyes found his from across the room; he was a familiar face. And maybe there were those rare moments when you both clicked, and shared a random conversation in a group setting, or one of you told a joke that had you both laughing, you couldn’t lie to yourself, and not wonder, even if it was for the briefest moment, that you both might actually have more in common than you thought. 

In those moments when it happened, it was always a tiny thrill, a subtle moment of excitement bursting through you mind when your eyes met his, because he was hot, sexier than your boyfriend at the time, fuck, like no other guy you knew, and there was something about him that was different from the rest, and everyone knew it. Everyone said it, all the stories you heard, the girls, god, you just knew.

And maybe there was always a little piece of you that wanted to explore it.

So when he pulled up to your house that night. You both slowly let your easy conversation fall silent as you gazed out the window, your front door marking the end of your evening, but you weren’t ready for the night to be over. “Are you excited to be back for the summer?” Harry asked, clearing his throat. 

Your eyes moved from the window to his face, falling to his mouth, his neck, and lingered, and you watched him swallow as his Adam apple bobbed with the effort, “Maybe at first, I mean I am…I don’t know I’m kind of bored.” you answered, letting a slow smile rise as your words landed. Harry shifted in his seat, licking his lips, as his back fell against the driver door. 

“Do you think there is anything that could change that?” He prodded, and it’s like the universe itself was trying to set the mood as the song lapsed into something smooth, a familiar song, setting the backdrop for the tension rising. 

His eyes were on your mouth again, eagerly watching, awaiting your response. “I don’t know…I’m sorry. Is this maybe strange? I don’t know, like the two of us alone?” You questioned, mirroring his position in his seat, and you narrowed your eyes at him, a playful gesture, and then your back hit the door, firing off the automatic locks, and the frantic noise ricocheted throughout the car as Harry let out a laugh, his gaze sweeping over your face as your heart picked up at the sudden jolt of panic shooting through you. 

You couldn’t hide your surprise in that moment, knew the look was written all over your face. Quickly, you tried to play it off, pretending like it didn’t faze you, and you lowered your brows, easing your body from its rigid state as you began to slowly slouch against the door again, this time more aware of your placement. 

“Guess we’re not going anywhere now, are we?” He says, more as a joke, but you were definitely not going anywhere, “Do you feel ‘strange?’” Harry starts, bringing his hands up to make air quotations, and you roll your eyes, biting down on your lower lip, trying to fight the smile that wouldn’t leave your face.

“No, really, are you uncomfortable?” He asks, poking your knee with his long finger, “Does it feel weird…just us hanging out?” 

“Honestly? I thought it would…” You tell him, “and maybe it should?? Feel weird? But it doesn’t.” You answered meaning every word, and when you saw the sly smile spread across Harry’s face, you sucked in a breath, your chest tight, that same thrill from earlier that night, stealing your focus. 

“Good—“ he breathes.

“What about you?” You toss back the question, “Technically, we haven’t crossed any lines. You’re just driving me home, right?”

Harry laughs, looking down at his hands, those cute dimples dipping as a strand of hair falls in his face, and when he looks up, he runs a hand through his hair, eyes dropping to your fucking mouth again, and god, it was so fucking obvious, but you wanted to hear the words leave his mouth, wanted to be able to repeat them later when you left this car, and he’s staring back at you with that smug smile that’s starting to ruin your life and when he says: 

“Yet—I think the answer you’re looking for is yet…and I’m not normally one to push my agenda on anyone, but I know you can feel this…” he tells you flitting a finger back and forth, “and maybe I’m a shitty friend, but Braden has clearly moved on. I know you saw it tonight…I guess I just…have thought about you…have thought about this before—”

“Before?” You stop him as curiosity floods your whole body, a rush of excitement flooding to the tips of your fingers as you straighten your spine.

“Yeah…is that shitty of me?” He asks, and his British drawl has you fucking beside yourself, swooning like every girl at the party tonight, like idiots tripping over themselves to get in a single word, yet here you were, the one alone with him, the one he’s confessing truths you’ll hold for dear life later—for those rainy days, when you think of all the words he will have whispered across your naked skin. All the nights you will have rode that dick, you’ve been peeping all night. Those tight yellow swim trunks not hiding a damn thing—like right now as you peered over at the bulge resting between his legs, the yellow mesh material packed and he wasn’t even hard—and fuck, he just said exactly what you wanted to hear. 

“Is it shitty of me for thinking the same thing?” You forced, swallowing down the saliva that was trying to collect in your mouth. It’s like his presence is bringing out this animalistic hunger, that’s beating at your chest, and you sense it in the air, smell the scent of your body heating up, sweat pulling between your breast, your pussy pulsing in your shorts. 

“Would you want to hang out again… like just the two of us?” He offered, pulling at his shorts as he adjusted in his seat, and you sat there as still as you could, nearly holding your breath. 

How could a question as simple as hanging out hold so much promise? A simple question, yet you felt it like a spark, a surge of electricity buzzing over your skin, a tingle up your neck. They weren’t just simple words. They were an invitation, a fucking polite ask to explore whatever this was building between you, because it was there, this energy pulling at you both like a dare. 

His easy question pushing you both to the edge of temptation, yet you wanted it, and you knew it, and so did he, or he wouldn’t be asking, “Yeah, I’m game for whatever.” Was all you could push past your dry throat, and you looked him dead in the eye, a smile rising on both your lips, and that’s when you knew there was no turning back. That this would be the start of something that might change you forever. 

Harry was beside himself when your answer was yes. He hadn’t really thought it through, his question had just spilled out of his mind in a desperate attempt to not end this feeling that was pulling at his chest—this tug like a magnet to you as his heart picked up, the sound drowning out the hum of the engine, every beat like a fucking countdown to what might happen next. 

He had always pushed this energy he felt with you away, dulled it in his mind. Made every excuse to keep his distance, but tonight he felt the tension rising in the air, a veil slipping over you both as the outside world fell away, and it was you, only you. 

He knew how he wanted to end this night, felt it like a low simmer across his lip every time his eyes fell to that perfect mouth, so fucking red, so fucking inviting. He had to kiss you. He had to find a way for his lips to meet yours, or he might not make it to the next hangout, because it was already too far away, even if you said tomorrow, he knew he wouldn’t make it. 

Because all it took was one glance from you, one lingering look to steal his thoughts, to steal what little composure he had left of himself because your presence alone was working him to the fucking bone, unlike any girl before you. He couldn’t even compare because there was already this hopeless level of want that had been forbidden all this time. 

And here it was—you—finally within reach, so he knew he had to take his chance, “I like that lipstick on you…” is all he could come up with. He didn’t want to come out and just say it, knew he didn’t want to rush you, but he had to try at least. 

He couldn’t help but stare at your lips, watching you smooth them together at the mention. When his gaze finally flicked to you, your silence weighed heavy in the air, thick with the weight of anticipation, all the possibilities pulling at a single gaze once your eyes met his. 

Christ, you were stealing his breath, the innocence in the way your hands balled in your lap, fist squeezed tight like maybe you were just as nervous. Harry’s heart was racing, excitement constricting his chest. That’s when you spoke:

“What do you like about it?” You barely asked above the noise in the car. 

“Everything…” he muttered, his nerves threatening to take the words he already had filling his mouth, “The way it hasn’t budged all night. It’s perfect.”

“Honestly, don’t let it fool you. I’ve had to keep up with it all night…it’s one of those annoying lipsticks that smears easily—” And you laugh, cutting yourself off, “Not that you care about the details…” You finish.

“Smears, huh?” Harry follows up, eyeing your tongue as it darts out to wet your lips. 

Each second was like a time bomb waiting to go off, and he knew he just needed to take the leap, but then you surprised him. “I can show you…” You nearly whisper, your words almost shaky, but Harry felt it too, the most nervous he had ever been, but there was a safety in your presence, in your past history, an almost friendship just waiting to be explored.

“Here…” You tell him, and when you reach forward and grab his wrist, you pause, locking eyes with him, “Is this cool? Sorry, I didn’t even ask.”

“Yeah—” Harry chokes, barely able to get a single word out as you inch closer and suddenly you are so close, and when he scoots his body forward on the seat, the narrowing space between you closes, now loaded with a shifting energy that had the hair on the back of his neck rising. 

This is it, he thinks, when he says, “I’m good with anything. I trust you…” His gaze drops to your hand, firmly encircling his, and he feels the slight tremor of his own hand, already trying to fight against it, determined, as your grip tightened with a quiet intensity, and then he saw it, the slight shake you were trying to mask, and he let it go.

Silently, without a word, he watched as you brought the sensitive flesh of his wrist to your plush mouth. Jesus, the press of your mouth against his skin was so delicate, so slow, it almost felt like a secret. Harry could feel your breath, the warmth of it blooming out and up the length of his arm, making his stomach lurch. And as your lips pushed into him he wondered if you could feel his pulse, wondered if you noticed the jump beneath your lush mouth, so fucking soft, and red. 

All the while, Harry just sat there, stunned, holding his breath the entire time, his eyes never leaving your face. And when you lingered there—he swears you did—longer than necessary, He found himself having to fight the thoughts that were making his dick stir in his shorts, because this, he never pictured this, and now he could feel his polite composure slipping as a hunger rose like a ravenous animal. 

When you pulled back, you didn’t let go of his hand, Instead, he watched you gaze down at the perfect imprint, a half-moon curve of lipstick, and it was as if you had branded him, made him yours in a way that was more permanent than any ink he had ever gotten, because he would never forget this. This moment would live forever in his mind, and fuck, he wanted to say something so bad, but god, he had never been at a loss for words, not like this. Not when it felt like every word mattered. 

The longer he stared the more he wondered if you were as shocked as he felt, because you hadn’t looked up at him, you just kept staring at the work of art stained on his skin, your fingers still curled around his forearm, jaw slack, and dammit, when your wet tongue smoothed across your bottom lip, he pulled away from your grasp, and grabbed your face, your cheek cradled in the palm of his hand.

That’s when your eyes finally meet his, that look of surprise still lingering, the one he’ll obsess over all summer came to life in your eyes, wide and questioning, and when Harry’s thumb caressed your cheek he felt you relax into his touch, a gentle ease, easing between you both, a moment as delicate as your lips to his wrist.

Your eyes were searching his face then, eyes darting probably mapping him out, and when they land on his lips, he knew what he wanted to do, but there was that hunger again, twitching at the tips of his fingers, and all he wanted to do was smear that perfect lipstick across your beautiful face.

So when his gaze moved to the swell of your lower lip, he felt your breath halt, and he pressed a firm print into the center of your lip and dragged a slow strip of red past your mouth and onto the smooth skin of your cheek, and holy fuck, it was electric, that doe-eyed look in your eyes, that never left his as he destroyed the tiny perfection that you just gave like a gift. 

Yet it was fucking primal, a need that had to be satiated, and when you let out a strangled moan, he didn’t fight the thoughts this time, because he wanted you to know what you did to him, he needed you to see the desire growing hard for you in his shorts, for you and only you.

Because that’s what he wanted, and that’s what he would get.

He wanted you like the oxygen leaving his lungs, like the heart pounding in his chest, and when you pressed his hand into your cheek, there was no second-guessing himself, because you wanted it, he knew it, he could see it in your eyes, feel it in your touch. That’s when you sprang forward, crashing your mouth to his with a force so wild it knocked the air from his body. 

There was only greed in this moment, only need, only a want so desperate that there wasn’t a single second of apprehension, only compliance, and as his mouth moved against yours, he felt the rhythm fall into the perfect give and take, something so natural he didn’t even have to think, and when he coaxed you into his lap, shifting the seat back to make room for you, you pulled away, giving him a silent nod, and that’s all it took to seal the deal, setting the tone for the summer, because now there really was no going back.

And you both knew it. 

Harry wasn’t your first, yet every experience with him felt like venturing into uncharted territories—a thrilling escape, where the familiar turned into a breathtaking marvel, your world now bursting with color before your eyes, as if Harry was shining a light on all your shadows, all the things you thought you should hide. Illuminating your view with every touch, every kiss until it was all that you saw, all that you wanted. 

It really did start as innocent, only making out, granted each time was hot and heavy, never a dull moment when you two were alone, but it was something you guys wanted to keep to yourself, something that was just for the two of you, and it stayed that way for a while as you both explored one another. 

It wasn’t until the first time you had sex that things seemed to shift. You had felt it coming, knew you wanted it, but it still took you by surprise. You didn’t think it would happen like that, it just did, Harry laying you down in his back seat, your body already sticking to the leather. 

Everything that was leading up to that moment was pure desperation, but not this, not that night. It had changed everything, it was the night you knew you wanted more, that you knew you could fall in love with this guy that was hovering above you waiting for you to say the words, to grant him passage to a world you both knew was changing, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

And god, he was so fucking delicate and patient, a kindness he had given so many times before, because it’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into, like you didn’t know what was waiting for you. How many times had you felt the press of his dick through his jeans before you felt it in your hands. Felt the solid ridge of his cock begging for you to touch him, because that’s how it started. 

It was your curiosity that was the driving force for everything leading up to this point. Because you knew it would be different from your hand wrapped around his dick, or your mouth stretched around his girth—a choke here and a gag there, it wasn’t the same. Those were just the baby steps, and even though you both felt that needy hunger trying to take over, you tried not to let the fear steal your courage.

 Later after everything, you would tell him how it felt, how painful it was, but in that moment you wanted it, you wanted him, so you didn’t make him stop, and fuck, when he pushed inside you, you felt that primitive urge rise, that anamilistic nature he seemed to feed take over. 

And it was already begging for more.

Braden had been the only guy you slept with before Harry, and you couldn’t even remember the last time. So when Harry pushed into you that night, you felt your whole body freeze as you gawked up at Harry. It wasn’t out of fear, or nerves, but because the shock of him splitting you open was so intense, so foreign to anything you had ever known, that for a moment all you could do was clamp your thighs around him and hold on for dear life as every fantasy you had of this moment turned into a searing ache so blinding you had to force your eyes shut, to collect yourself.

Yet the pain continued, and as Harry stilled himself inside you, you thought you would scream, your nails digging so deep into his skin, you could feel the flesh gathering underneath the nail—a fucking brutal fullness you thought, as a dream and reality collided, an ache so fierce you could feel in your teeth. 

For a second, you thought you would cry as your body sang with the pain of him sinking deeper, filling you more the moment you tried to relax, and you lay there as your body tried to rebel, yet you wanted it, you wanted more, the cruel stretch, your walls trembling and raw around him.

Holy fuck, it was like a light switching on, as a smile spread across your face, all the endless possibilities flooding your mind, and you needed it. Wanted him to destroy you in every way, wanted to give yourself in ways you had never given yourself before, and when you opened your eyes and saw him staring down at you, you knew he would let you, that he would give you the space, the freedom you had longed for, because he had already given the power you had craved long before this, his body and endless plain to explore that he let you have anytime you wanted it.

And when you asked, “Why did you stop?” with a breathy laugh, it would become the sweetest contradiction and as he began to move, you both drifted to a place you would never be able to find words for as you spread yourself wider, and he filled you with a pain that was almost too much, yet there was pleasure, a tenderness so deep that your bones rattled in the aftershock, when he made you come, your whole body coming undone in his arms as you lost control.

You had never come like that before, not even alone, and you knew that nothing would ever quite match the way you trembled in his arms, gasping into his shoulder as tears pricked behind your eyes, joy and pain so intertwine you couldn’t tell the difference between the two, in that moment you knew there would always be a mark, not just on your neck or the insides of your thighs, but somewhere deeper, somewhere primal, somewhere only he could reach.

And these were your thoughts as you gazed into his green eyes, his hands pulling you snug to him on his lap as your friends moved around you, carrying on as if this had always been—you and Harry— and as you watched his eyes sweep to the sunset, you felt the slow crawl of anticipation mount your spine. 

You loved the sunset, knowing that with it brought the whisper of the night already calling to you both as you let your pool towel drop, and you stood, beckoning Harry to follow you into the pool.

Harry discovered early on that whatever you guys were doing would be an equal give and take. Except on the nights you begged him to wreck you, to fucking destroy everything. He never knew if it was the past or the present you that you wanted to banish. He could only guess, because every time he followed through and you were crying out his name, or the rare nights, when you were sobbing into his neck afterward, something would change, a tiny spark turning to a blazing fire in your eyes. 

It changed him, whatever it was; you had changed him. He had never been more sure of himself than when your bodies collided. When he knew he would be able to give you what you wanted—and that was him.

And he wanted you, so it worked. 

It was fucking majestic.

Like right now in this very moment, all his thoughts from earlier, coming full-circle. When his only thought was to have you face down ass up, and here you were, face planted into the back seat, your ass in his face. Just for him, just the way he liked it, and he spread you wider, both palms on your ass cheeks, pausing long enough to appreciate the view, the almost bruised purple of his handprints on your hips from last night, the way you shamelessly arched for more.

“Harry,” you whispered, and he could feel your body trembling already, jerking toward him with a need, in the stillness of his movements.

And god, this was the craziest part for him, the part he couldn’t wrap his mind around—you—how you had him so easily. How if you had been any other girl, he would have just fucked around, given you nothing but an act, someone clever, detached, someone that would have played this safe. He never pictured giving you this version of him, the one kneeling behind you, already half hard from nothing but the sound of your breath, knowing full well you loved the way he used his tongue.

There it was in all it’s fucking glory, your pussy—fuck, yes, that pussy was already dripping, needy—opened to him easily, swollen with need and glistening, and he buried his face in it, tongue lapping through your folds and circling your clit, savoring each sound you gave him. 

Harry knew how to work you, starting with a gentle suck, then hard, as the pressure built in your moans, making his head spin with pride only you could give. He loved this, loved how unguarded you became under his mouth, how giving, how much you wanted him. He found your slick entrance with his thumb, sliding through it, then pushing up, curling until you gasped his name and pushed back into him, your nails scraping across the leather seat in tandem.

He could do this for hours. He would, if you asked him. He told himself that was what made you different from every girl who came before—that you truly wanted him, how you fucking melted for him, became molten and alive in his hands, eyes rolling back as if the pleasure he gave you was religion.

Every night spent like this was like a mission, and he ate you until you were shaking, thighs beginning to buckle, and when he parted your ass, tongue trailing up, you moaned out the word “Baby..”, the sound going straight to his cock, and he groaned into your ass as he began to lick a stripe along your rim, then pressed in, slow and dirty, his pointer finger slipping into your wet cunt while his tongue fucked your tight little asshole. 

It was fucking filthy, he couldn’t deny it, but you were a vision, hips jerking, shoving your ass back until his face was buried in it as your hand worked your clit, and you took everything he gave you, begging for more. “Harry—holy fuck—don’t stop, please don’t—” and he wouldn’t, not until you came. Not until you were falling to pieces in his mouth.

He loved you for this, for letting him do anything, for trusting he would never hurt you. He wondered—more and more now—if this was maybe love. 

If this was what he had been trying to avoid, pressing the thought of you into shadow, refusing to say the word aloud. It was easier to show you. To drown you in pleasure, to never let you doubt what you meant when you were in his arms. He knew he could make you come, and that’s what he did, and when the sound filled the car, high and sharp, fucking guttural, he growled into your skin, nipping tight on your ass as you pulsed and jerked in his grip.

And as you repeated his name over and over, he wondered if he could say it. If having you like this would be enough, if it had to be. Summer was ending soon. You would go back to your college, he to his, and maybe you both would pretend this was just a fling, a pause between lives, but every time he was inside you—like right now, you pushing him back against the seat, hard, knocking the air from his lungs, and climbed onto his dick, letting him slide into your body, deep, and it was everything, your pussy was so fucking slick and perfect, and here was that desperation roaring up in you both—he wanted to tell you all of it.

He wanted you to know. Even if you never said it back.

At first, you thought it was the orgasms, your mind wrecked with the aftermath, your mind giddy and stupid in the afterglow of his presence settling over you. It was magic, pure fucking magic. 

And that’s what you had chalked this summer up to, but then something shifted, your mind becoming maybe obsessive, but that wasn’t it, maybe you obsessed over the feeling, but take all the pleasure away and it was him—Harry holding you, his arms becoming a sense of safety, that feeling of home.

You didn’t understand how you could already miss someone when they’re hands were on your body, they’re dick pushed inside you so deep you could feel him in your belly, a feeling that you felt you could no longer live without, but did you truly have to? 

“Can I just feel you for a second? I just want to feel you…inside me,” you whisper, sitting flush to his thighs as he sinks deeper inside you. 

“Yeah…” Harry groans, his breath hitching in his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. “We can take it as slow as you want, Love.” He tells you, pressing his warm mouth to the skin of your neck, and you lifted your gaze to him, a soft smile playing at your lips.

It was this, the fervor in the lilt of his voice washing over you. It was there from the start, how you knew you’d be safe. There was always an openness, an exploratory nature, that he let unfold between you. 

It was the smear of your red lipstick across your cheek, that awakened it all—the low hum of panic that set in, but you felt that thrill, that tiny morsel of shame that rose with the act, but the second his mouth pressed to your lips for the first time you felt the twitch of something wicked, a guttural longing to destroy yourself, a messy disire to satiate that shame.

To take back its power over you, flip the feeling upside down, to flex and bend that feeling, until it was yours, until you got everything you wanted—until you were used and spent, and fucking turned out until you no longer recognized yourself in the mirror. 

It was a hunger, a need and as your mouth pressed to his, gentle and slow, Harry moved with you, following your lead, you felt the flutter in the pit of your stomach, the pulse of his dick, the reaction you knew you could pull from him.

It made you wild, and here it was that feeling creeping down your spine, making your pussy clench around his dick, and you both felt it, a collective gasp filling the car, your sweaty bodies a slick, slide as your boobs pressed to his chest, and your hips began their slowed rock. 

Harry forced his mouth to yours, and his lips parted as the sensation set in. That’s when you shoved your tongue into his mouth, and his tongue met yours, making you let out a soft moan as you reveled in the taste of yourself on his mouth, which still lingered on his tongue like a gift. 

You pull back then, bringing your arms with you, and you press the palms of your hands to the tops of his knees as he scooted forward in the seat, his hands at your waist to keep you steady. You both knew this was only the lead up, your eyes locking as you situated yourself on his hard dick.

And you shifted your weight into your palms, rolling your hips up with the movement, watching as Harry’s eyes rolled back, his head falling to the headrest, and his hands lazily fell to the curve of your hips. 

“Fuck—that’s already so good,” he breathes, pushing the words to the ceiling, and you smiled that knowing smile, because god, it’s already so fucking good, his dick the perfect stretch inside you. 

You do it again, this time a little slower to tease, listening as Harry sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, how easy, how fucking amazing it was to make a pitiful pained mess of him, his grip needy, digging into your skin. 

When you do it again, hips rolling faster, his head falls forward, face diving into your tits, greedily lapping his tongue over skin as they begin to bounce, and your rythmn picked up to match his mouth. 

Your grip on his knees tightened as his tongue landed on your nipple, then he sucked it in with a loud pop, that made you laugh as pleasure ran through you, “Do it again,” you tell him, meeting his eye.

“You like that?” he asked, voice rough with desire, you could see it in his eyes, a wild glint roaming.

“I want you to bite it,” You told him with a breathy laugh, “Mmmm…just like that…” you cooed, your hand flying to the nape of his neck, desperate to keep his mouth at your breast as he began to suck and lap at your nipple. 

And you ground your hips down with the sensation, Harry already dragging your hips forward, his hands now fully devouring your flesh, kneading your ass and thighs as he slouched lower, feet braced on the floorboard of the car, like his whole body was a throne made for you and your pleasure. 

You could feel the pulse of him inside you, and it sent you reeling, it was fucking insanity, your cunt like velvet, fucked raw as you lifted your hips, grinding a slow circle around the head of his cock. You knew it was vicious, but you did it just to hear him whimper, a tender high-pitched sound shooting straight through you, and you rolled your hips again, slower this time, more teasing, taunting, forcing your pussy to clench just to watch his breathing stutter, his eyes squeezing shut, tongue catching at the corner of his mouth.

When did it happen? When had you gotten this bold? Because it was addicting, this sense of control, the grip you had on him, how you could fuck him stupid just by moving your hips a certain way, yet Harry was eating it up, every second, his broad tatted chest gleaming with sweat, eyes glazed over, adoring, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“You gonna come for me?” he said, voice rash with want.

And you nod, want stealing your words as you ground down hard, feeling every ridge, every inch of breath snatching friction as your body stretched tight around his dick, that familiar ache giving way to a slick, heated pleasure, a build so fast you nearly gasped at how close you already were, but you needed it, and so did he, and fucking hell, his hands were urging you on, a rhythm set by his hips bucking up to meet yours, so deep and so hard you had to throw your head back, the whole car echoing with the messy slap of skin.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, crying out as you clamped down on him, and suddenly you were desperate—like if you didn’t come now you would die, like if he didn’t hold you tighter you might fucking float away as you clawed at his shoulders, and you mashed your tits to his face, smothering him as you bounced on him, faster, harder, as the salacious squelch of your messy pussy, echoed around you both, and it was like the thumping of the car seat was making you ferocious—your desperation driving him deeper.

“Oh fucking god, Harry—please—I swear—”

He couldn’t answer, only groaned and bit at your breasts, leaving marks, tongue lashing over your nipple as you rode him, a finger sinking hard into your ass as the other spread you open. 

Harry forced his hips up then, trying to meet every needy drop of your body, and his finger plunged deeper into your ass, fucking plugging you, the double sensation taking you higher as your clit throbbed, catching on every upstroke. Shit, It was consuming you, every drag against him almost too much, and you could feel it, the tension tightening, the wave threatening to crush you.

“Say it,” you begged, not sure what you needed, you just needed something—his words, his mouth, anything to keep you from unraveling too quick. 

“Say what, baby, fuck—Tell me what you want.”

“Say I’m yours,” you gasped, nails raking down his arms, “Say I’m your fucking baby, Harry—Tell me I’m—”

And your words brought out something in him, almost feral as groan spilled out, so fucking loud you almost came on the spot, his hands clutching you so tight, you knew there would be handprints later. 

“You are, yeah?” he whispered, smashing his mouth to your ear, breathing it like a sin. “You’re my fucking baby—my girl—always—”

Fuck it was everything you needed, you coming undone, splintering around him, whole body locking, your orgasm ripping through you like a fever, heating like a fire, a thousand tiny explosions that made the world go white behind your eyes—a deafening loss of control  as your muscles clenched so tight around him that you didn’t even realize you were sobbing until he made a desperate, broken sound, shuddering as he trembled underneath you, cock bursting deep inside as jets of heat filled you up.

It was too much, and you collapsed forward, chest to chest, fists bunched in his hair as you rode out every last wave. But he didn’t stop, not even as you crumbled into his lap, he only held you, both of you swealtering in the heat of the night, shaking, and soaked in one another’s filth. Harry’s lips found your temple, your jaw, your ear as you blinked back to life, and your hands began to caress his scalp as your grip let up.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, chests heaving for air, the weight of it settling in your bones: not just the sex, but the feeling.

You pulled back then, hand moving to his cheek, thumb trailing his bruised, bitten lip. “Oh my god,” you breathed, half-laughing, tears welling in your eyes. “Harry—”

Harry met your eyes gently, everything on his face laid bare. “Yeah?” he whispered, thumb brushing over your collarbone, a delicate gesture like he never wanted to let you go.

You felt your throat seize, fear threatening to take over, and you almost chickened out, almost bit back everything coming forward, but you couldn’t fight the words, not anymore. “I think—I think I’m in love with you,” you confessed, voice tender with wonder.

And for the spance of a single heartbeat, there was silence, and as your eyes swept over Harry’s face, his answering smile was the truest thing you had ever seen, and when he pulled your face to his. You felt it, the way his lips moved against yours, an achingly tender pace that made you want to cry, and then he said it against your mouth, a ragged rush of I love you, baby, I promise, and you knew he meant it.

You both stayed like that for a cooling minute, tangled together, until your legs started shaking and you laughed, peeling yourself off his lap, his cum running down your thighs as you righted yourself on the seat. Then, Harry reached for your face, sweeping stray hair back, kissing your swollen lips again, like a soft, reverent caress, so intimate you felt your throat burn with it.

“I meant it,” he said, quieter now, nervous, heart in his throat. “I’m so fucking in love with you, it’s not even funny.”

Heat rose then, a fresh warmth blooming in your chest, but it wasn’t lust, it was something better, something wholesome, devastating, but it was all yours, and you smiled, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and you leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Yeah,” you hummed. “Me too.”

He laughed, and the sound of his rasp was nearly dizzying. “My girl,” he said again, like he was trying it on for size, like he couldn’t believe his luck, like finally he could speak his truth.

You looked down at yourself, at the mess you guys made, at him and the red lipstick smeared on his jaw, his neck, his chest, at your own reflection in the window when Harry turned the overhead light on, as a blur of color and sweat, and fucking bite marks filled your vision, and holy fuck, you had never felt more yourself, never felt more awake, like summer had been invented just for this, just for your bodies and the filthy fucking—and now, for love.

Because what could be better than this?

And as you both collected yourselves, you knew the world was waiting, but in here, there was only the two of you, the soft music looping, the familiar smell of sex and summer heat, the taste of him still lingering in your mouth, and you knew you would never forget this, not a single thing.

Harry pulled you back in, both of you sticky and half-dressed, his hand trailing lazy circles on your bare thigh. “At least we still have tomorrow?” he teased, his voice sleepy as a satisfied grin took way.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated, beaming up at him, “and the day after, and every fucking day after that, if you want.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Darling, there’s no one else I’d rather see. Promise.”

And damn, if you didn’t believe him.

Because this was your summer, and you knew exactly whose baby you were.

Taglist: @sassamanda77 @harryyloverrr @panini @unfuckwitablenarry @triski73 @haleyannaw @dipmeinhoneyh @lizsogolden @spinninc @iloveharrystyles04 @mema10 @avas-daniel @starshollowgazette @practistyles

Other Stuff<-

[dog-bimbo]

shiu n his sweet bimbo girlfriend part four 18+ only minors dni part 1 part 2 part 3 a/n based on this ask. i wrote till i bottomed out. i'll probably not continue this series unless someone gives me good ideas i guess.

you stood out to shiu in that bar. glittery top, pink nails wrapped around a cocktail you probably didn’t pay for. you laugh too loud, sway when you walk, it all caught his attention.

you're his type. not because you were cheerful, because you were the kind people don’t call back after a fuck. oh could he be more wrong....

when he bought you a drink, he could see all of his stereotypes that he had attached to you come true like clockwork. you said something ditzy, your hands all over his body, running through his silk dress shirt, tugging on that tie of his, playing with his collar.

he took you home within the hour. you were clearly enamoured and kind of drunk...

the sex was messy—greedy and loud. he was greedy, he left marks everywhere! holding your waist tight, sucking on your neck, leaving purple bruises, tugging on your nipples like a starved man, spreading your legs wide open and manhandling you like you were a doll. you were loud, you moaned like you'd been waiting for someone like him your whole life, you wrapped your legs around his waist like you’d die if he stopped, called him sir because it kind of fit him—and that just got him as hard as diamonds, yet again... "round two, sir?" you smirk up at him, your beaming smile making him feel something.

he told himself you were just something to blow off steam, something to sink in to forget the stress but... he simply nods. this time was intimate, like he's providing you a compensation for the last round where he went a bit crazy due to whatever the fuck took over him. deep, slow and steady thrusts, his hands kneading your flesh, his face buried deep in your neck, leaving trails of sloppy kisses against your throat... "s-sir-" "call me shiu." you nod, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

"are you even listening to me, hey—" shiu simply looked at you, kind of blank, "yeah... it was." it was odd for a guy like him to lose his composure. “do you have anything to eat?” he almost told you no. almost told you to get dressed, that he had calls to make, clients to deal with. but something in him paused.

in the morning—you were still there. you were hugging him tight like he was a plushie, he didn't mind. "last night was amazing, wasn't it?" you seemed refreshed and perky.

he was the one who felt like his life was sucked out of him. that was the best fuck of his life.

so instead, he asked, “how does eggs and toast sound to you?”

he’s never cooked for anyone, atleast not anymore. he doesn’t do that kind of thing despite being a decent cook.

you get behind him and wrap your arms around his waist as he cracks the egg in the pan, “you’re really nice,”

he snorts. “i’m really not.”

you don’t argue because you see something soft in him that no one else ever bothered to look for.

and he's trying his best not to pull you in for a loving kiss.

all you needed was an approval, a small sign. and he gives that to you. he drives you places, and if his schedule is busy, he atleast tries picking you up from your job or college because... it's fun. he's not around you just for sex, he's around you because you make him feel warm.

you ask what year he graduated once on the ride home. when he tells you, you gasp— "yeah, i know i'm old doll."

“no, no," you shake your hands, "you’re like... vintage.” and your attempt at damage control just makes him bark out a laugh.

“i’ll leave you on the sidewalk on of these days.”

"w-would you really?..."

and he simply laughs again, "not a chance, sweetheart."

at times, you hang around with him in his apartment, he's already given you the keys to it. you're sitting on the floor of his apartment, face bare, half-drunk off cheap wine that you got for him but you're the one who's downed it all.

the TV’s still on—muted, playing some old movie he put you on but you weren't really watching. shiu’s on the couch behind you, one arm thrown over the backrest, a glass of something more mature and fine in his hand.

he’s been watching you for a while now, like he can’t decide if he wants to say something or let the quiet stretch. either of the options sounded comfortable.

then, “you’re really young.”

you look back, brows perked. “what, now?” he doesn’t repeat himself, just sips.

“is that a problem?”

“no,” he says, but his voice is low, almost tired. “just obvious.”

you turn back toward the TV, though you're not watching—just blinking, lips pursed like you're thinking real hard, which usually means you aren’t...

“is that really a problem though? you're still in love with me, right?” you mumble, then hiccup a little.

he lets out a breathy laugh.

he doesn’t even say anything. because he's never been in love for a long time, it's a forgotten art at this point.

you twist around again, facing him fully this time, your voice drops to a whisper, like it’s a secret. “you are in love with me, right?”

he lifts his glass, takes another sip, eyes on yours the whole time. “you’re drunk.” he deflects.

“that’s not what i asked.”

“jesus,” he mutters. he watches you go quiet again, you're jotting up points to argue in your head and it's obvious. and it hits him—how easy you are to be around, how easy it is to say those words. because now he means it. he really does. "i love you. there, you got what you want."

you simply smile, "i knew it."he leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. "aren't you gonna say it back?"

“i thought you knew,” you say, voice light like you’re teasing but you're honest.

he huffs, barely holding back a real laugh. “you think that counts? you gotta say it back.”

you crawl across the floor toward him on your knees. you end up between his knees, hands on his thighs, looking up at him like you always do. he’s someone you trust without a second thought.

“i love you too, old man." you say simply. like it’s not a big deal. like you hadn’t even noticed it was missing until he asked.

and just like that, he feels undone... he started involving you more in his life. which he didn't know was possible actually.

you once found his gun on the desk of his office. you didn't really care about what he did for a living, you thought it was cool. you held it wrong, your finger on the trigger.

he snatched it out of your hands fast, his voice cold.

“don’t touch things you don’t understand, doll.”

“sorry… i just thought it looked kinda cool.”

he sighed hard through his nose, looked at you for a long beat. his grip on the gun loosened, but not by much.

“it’s not cool,” he said, flat. “it’s not a toy."

you stayed quiet, sitting on the edge of his desk, llegs swinging slowly. you didn’t flinch, didn’t pout or apologize again.

“okay,” you said simply, almost sweetly. “but i still think you’re cool."

he stared at you. something in his jaw ticked. he knew that you meant it.

then he turned and put the gun away, into the drawer, clicked the lock.when he faced you again, your head was tilted, like you were waiting for a verdict. he stepped in closer, stood between your knees.

"don’t touch shit like that again. i mean it.”

“’kay,” you nodded, smiling now. “can i still sit on your desk though?”

and you squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss he didn’t ask for—but didn’t resist, either.

he almost laughed. “yeah,” he muttered. “you can still stay."

deep, slow, a hand on your thigh to keep you steady.

he should’ve pushed you away. scolded you harder because that was some dangerous shit you did.

but instead, he kissed you back.

and that was the beginning of the end, wasn’t it? letting you in like that. letting you stay. letting you know he shady and loving how you didn’t mind.

he didn’t bring you to meetings often. didn’t need to. but you’d begged this time—"i'll be good, i'll even wear that dress you like.... please..."

and he’d caved, like always.the restaurant was dim and sleek, full of money and men who liked to pretend they weren’t criminals. you looked like his sugar baby—tight little dress, hair in that bouncy, ridiculous style he couldn’t get enough of.

you sat beside him in the booth, legs crossed, playing with the straw in your drink while he and the client talked.

“yeah, my girlfriend.”

“she your girl?” the man asked, his eyes going places theh shouldn't.

shiu’s arm was behind you on the booth, his fingers brushing your bare shoulder.

“hm... brave,” the man said, like a joke. “i couldn’t bring a girl like that to work. bit of a distraction, no?”

you didn’t say anything, just looked at the man with that same glossy, vague smile. it wasn’t the first time you’d heard shit like that. probably wouldn’t be the last... but it did make you feel a tad bit weird.

the man kept going. “bet she’s sweet, though. not a thought in her head. like a- what’s the word? yeah, like an ornament.”

shiu laughed then. quiet. dry.you sipped your drink, still silent. still a bit confused on how you're supposed to feel about it all. like you're not supposed to feel bad.

“you think that’s funny?” he asked, voice low.

the man blinked. “what?” the client's expression shifted, unsure now. “hey, i didn’t mean—”

“she’s not yours to mean anything about,” shiu said, smile cold now. “watch your mouth."

the silence hung heavy. you felt a smile quipping up your lips.

the man muttered something like an apology. shiu didn’t look at him again. just reached over and gently touched your chin, “bored yet, doll?”

you grinned. “a little.”

he stood, held out his hand. “then let’s go.”

business could wait. he had better things to do. he had better people to be with. and that's the kind of privilege he thought he'd never have.

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

SAVE A HORSE- R.L

Warnings: underage drinking

Summary: the one where remus looks very good in that Halloween outfit and you finally make your move towards him

Wordcount: 2.1k

You hummed, leaning up against the wall. There was something about this moment, of looking at him from across a crowded room, your eyes meeting, that lit a spark in your belly. There was something different about this night, about the tension in the air.

Remus Lupin was your crush, of course you would never mention it in front of the others though. Only Marlene was aware of your crush on the tall Gryffindor. There was something about him that you had always liked, whether it be that cheesy smile, that awkward look in his eye or his pan physique.

He was always on your mind. You would catch yourself watching him at the most mundane times, when the two of you were having lunch together, when you would be revising for a test and he would explain the spells to you, your gaze too focused on his hands movements to know what he was talking about.

And tonight, he was clad in the most perfect outfit, a brown cowboy outfit with all of the bells and whistle; a flannel shirt, a brown waistcoat, a thick leather belt, chaps, and pistols at his side. Your face was heating up just at the image of him.

From the other side of the room, Remus shot you a smile and you brought your hand up, wiggling your fingers at him. He took that as an invitation and you watched as he manoeuvred his way through the crowd of people, brushing past them and muttering apologise.

your face was heating up as he got closer. You wondered what to say, act sultry or just friendly. There was something in the air tonight, and you didn’t know if it was the way he looked you up and down from the other side of the room or the romantic setting that always seemed to come with Halloween parties.

Before you knew it, he was brushing past the last Gryffindor and stepping towards you, folding his arms as he leant against the wall to your right. You turned your body towards him and smiled.

There was a silence. Neither of you seemed to know what to say for a while, waiting for the other to make the first move. You looked him up and down, taking in the cowboy outfit from up close.

“Remus Lupin, in the flesh,” you said, the silence killing you.

He hummed, looking down at himself. He had a fresh scar on his neck from the most recent full moon and he hoped you didn’t notice, or if you did, he hoped you wouldn’t mention it, “Or what’s left of it,”

You shook your head. You had known for years about his condition, so did all of the girls, and you hated that he viewed himself as less of a human because of it, “You gotta stop being so self deprecating,” there was a jokey tone to your words but he knew you meant it.

“If I don't have that, then what do I have left,” he said and the conversation fell silent.

He pursed his lips together, like he was holding himself back from saying something. You knew that any mention of his condition was sensitive and he could be pulling away. Internally, you cursed yourself for maybe screwing up the one chance you had at getting with him.

“You having a good night?” You changed the subject, bringing it back to mindless small talk.

He shrugged, a nervousness washing over him all of a sudden, “Good enough,”

“Come on, it is fun,” you gestured around the room, looking at all of the people dancing.

There was something about these parties that were so freeing, like for a night you could pretend to be anyone else beside yourself and nobody was going to blink an eye.

“What do you define as fun?” He asked, tilting his head to the side in an inquisitive manner.

“Talking with friends, drinking, a little mindless flirting,” you said with a shrug. You realised that you had too much to drink already at that moment when the words fell from your mouth.

You had promised yourself you would drink less at these parties, you had nearly spilt your secret affection to Remus last time and now you were rambling about enjoying flirting with random guys.

“Mindless flirting?” He raised his eyebrows, not in a way to tease you, in a way that he was curious what you meant, “The you I met on the carriage to Hogwarts would never have said that,”

You scoffed at the insinuation that you had changed and were somehow a local whore, “Maybe because I was eleven,”

He laughed, “True,”

You listened to the sound of his laugh. There was something about it that always left a warm feeling in your heart. You didn’t get to hear it often enough and when you did, it always made you smile.

There had been nights that you had sat in the common room with Remus as he told you about all of the struggles that he had faced since finding out he was a werewolf so you knew how depressed he could get. Being able to see him smile like he would always made your day for that exact reason.

silence, they relish in it

He looked you up and down, eyes lingering on your chest for a moment before he looked up at your eyes, “Vampire, classic outfit,” he said, breaking the silence.

You spun around, not seeing the way that he checked you out the entire time. You were wearing a black v-neck shirt and a maroon skirt with some vampire accessories, “Of course, I am nothing if not basic,”

He laughed again at your joke. Remus was hoping that in the darkness of the common room, you wouldn’t be able to see the blush that was growing on his cheeks. You were one of the most gorgeous girls that he had ever seen before and he wondered how he was lucky enough to call you a friend.

”You look-” he shook his head, not sure what to say. He didn’t want to freak you out by saying something a little over the line, “You look good though,”

You blushed at the comment. Of course, being told that your outfit was nice by the one guy you would want to be hit on by meant that your heart was racing in your chest, “You do too, cowboy?”

He tipped his hat and when he looked back up at you, there was a cocky smile on his face, “Howdy,”

You laughed, snorting at the look on his face as he role played as some dangerous cowboy. He smiled to himself, his confident resolve fading as he listened to the sound of your laughter. The sound of you snorting had him laughing too, the hand that was on his hat going to clutch at his chest.

“Don’t be mean,” you hit him on the arm, the sound audible through the music and your eyes widened.

“I’m not mean,” he feigned horror, hand coming up to his arm to rub the spot that you had hit. It didnt hurt, and you knew that, but he wanted to play it off like it did.

You raised your eyebrows at him. You had known him long enough at this point to know what his emotions were. That was a gift and a curse at the same time.

“You were the mean one, you laughed at my cowboy impression,” he deflected and you rolled your eyes.

“It was shit!”

“You could’ve been nice,” he folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips together, giving you a look like he knew that you would admit defeat soon.

He knew you just as well as you knew him. He knew that as you rolled your eyes and scrunched your nose up, that you weren’t mad “Fine, I am sorry,”

Remus smiled, he had won the argument, “I was never mad,”

“I knew that,” you replied quickly.

You did. You knew what he looked like when he was angry at someone, the way that the vein in his forehead would pop and his eyebrows would draw together until there was a deep crease between them.

There was a silence, as if you were wondering how far you could push the playful flirting between the two of you. There was a heavy tension in the air, one that you were familiar with but normally it wouldn’t last this long.

Remus had this glint in his eye that you weren’t familiar with. There had been so many times that you had caught him looking at you, during lessons, in the dining hall, during study periods. But he had never looked at you like this, with a sort of hunger.

His eyes flickered down to your lips and you wondered for a second if he had meant to do that, or if it was just a reflex. Your heart began to speed up in a way it never had before because this might be your moment with him.

You only moved away from his gaze when you heard someone call your name. Inside, you cursed that person for getting in the way of your moment.

You looked over your shoulder to see a drunken Marlene waving at you, being held up by Mary and Lily who was with a seemingly disgruntled James. If the girls had just ruined your moment to get with Remus Lupin then you would be equally as disgruntled.

“I gotta go,” you said hesitantly, almost like you were waiting for him to stop you.

Remus ran a hand over his face, slightly annoyed that the moment had been ruined. He glanced over your shoulder and shot James a look.

When he looked back down at you, you had your brows furrowed as you tried to read him, “You’re popular,”

You laughed and once again, the sound made his heart skip a beat, like a vinyl jumping and spluttering in the exact sound of your laughter, “First time anyone’s said that,” there was a hint of self deprecation in the comment and he smiled, he understood those jokes better than anyone.

“Will I see you again tonight?” He asked, a little desperate sounding.

You shrugged, shooting him a coy look, “If you’re lucky,” you wondered for a second if he could tell you were flirting with him, but then he shot you back a smile and you knew he could tell.

He laughed at the suggestion, “Whatever,”

There it was again. As the silence fell between the two of you, the tension returned, holding some sort of distance between the two of you.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and as the moments progressed, you could feel a tug in your gut, like it wanted you to get closer to him, to close tht gap between the two of you. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, his perfectly kissable lips and you wondered if you should.

You took a deep breath. This was not the right time to do this, not here, in the middle of a Gryffindor party, “I do, like your outfit actually,” there was a hesitation in your voice, like you weren’t sure how the comment would be received.

He hummed in response, “Really?”

“Yeah, you know what they say-” you reached up, hand coming to the brim of the hat and pulling it off of his head, looking at his tousled hair underneath. You placed it atop your head and peaked at him through the brim, “-save a horse, ride a cowboy,”

You watched as his face contorted into one of shock, eyes wide as you made such a crass comment. You only stood there for a second before turning on your heel and walking away from him, the biggest grin on your face as you realised what you had done. Maybe this was the first step to getting him.

A/N, I wrote this during Halloween but never got around to finishing it. I did just get broken up with by the guy that I kinda based this around so yeah, enjoy!

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else. 

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks. 

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms. 

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.” 

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien. 

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.” 

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.” 

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.” 

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.” 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings. 

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work. 

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back. 

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning. 

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through? 

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it. 

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly. 

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact. 

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red. 

“Does Lucien know?” 

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed. 

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity. 

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.” 

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?” 

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

“How long has he known?” 

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.” 

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.” 

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him. 

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body. 

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room. 

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel. 

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.” 

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst. 

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.” 

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again. 

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain. 

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.” 

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him? 

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?” 

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control. 

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.” 

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw. 

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.  

But you couldn’t do it. 

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move. 

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one. 

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away. 

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.” 

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

 I am not broken. But I am afraid. 

You fled from his bedroom. 

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall. 

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime. 

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way. 

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either. 

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There. 

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you. 

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea. 

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air. 

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands. 

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him. 

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun. 

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners. 

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?” 

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.” 

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick. 

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.” 

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle. 

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.” 

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

[lisalamona]

(rewritten) Lay All Your Love On Me

. Pairing: Rockstar! Poseidon x Gn! Reader

. Summary: Neither you nor Poseidon fully understand, or want to understand, your feelings for each other. Your playful flirting suddenly feels too real. You find yourself wanting to be the one next to the other instead of anyone else. Zeus thinks you two should just fuck… Maybe he’s right? There’s only one way to find out.

. Warnings: +16?, swearing, mature and suggestive content, making out, mentions of sex and drinking

. Notes: Giving this a second chance, this time bigger, longer and hornier! This shouldn't have taken as long as it did 😭 I don't think it's worth the wait but honestly as long as only one person enjoys it I'll be happy 😭 Poseidon divider made by @/vibeswithrenai and taken from this post Art made by Neal Illustrator and taken from this post. The idea for this au was also inspired by her art And an infinite amount of thanks to @theproverbialpen for beta reading this and helping me out so much! Also please go check her stuff out, it's seriously so much better than anything I could ever write (if you like this you'll LOVE "EPIC: The Siren Saga")

. Word count: 12562

series masterlist

"Don't go sharing your devotion Lay all your love on me" - Lay All Your Love On Me, ABBA

Lights exploded across the arena—blinding, intoxicating—a cascade of greens, yellows, and blues swallowing everything in their path. The air pulsed with an impossible energy, electric with the anticipation of thousands who had been waiting months for this moment. It was contagious, seeping into your skin, winding itself through your veins until it felt like you could breathe it in and be swallowed whole.

The bass rumbled beneath your feet, a living heartbeat in the floorboards. You felt it climb your legs, coil in your stomach, and settle deep in your chest, thrumming like a second pulse. Ecstatic. Overwhelming in the best way. Alive.

People had come from all over, some traveling for hours, even days, just to witness this moment—to see Natural Disaster live in the flesh. Thousands of bodies moved in unison, swaying, dancing, losing themselves to the music. Their cheers tangled together into an indecipherable roar, but the glow of their faces, the messages scrawled on signs, the way they pressed against each other with sheer unfiltered joy made what they wanted to convey more than clear. They were utterly entranced. The whole place buzzed with an almost tangible force, as if the concert itself was something alive.

You took advantage of the moment, the tidal wave of sound and movement, and raised your camera. The crowd behind you sang and screamed, their voices a perfect backdrop. A few people near the barrier noticed you, those lucky enough to be close to the stage, and eagerly struck poses—some waving, some locking arms in excitement—before turning back to the show just as quickly. You chuckled.

It had become a habit, taking at least one picture of the crowd at every venue the band played. You were drawn to it—the beauty of people losing themselves, completely immersed, living in a memory they would carry forever. Simple, maybe. But special. And, if nothing else, it kept the social media managers happy.

For the past ten months, you had been traveling with Natural Disaster as their photographer, and despite having witnessed dozens of shows, the magic never faded. The crowds, the staging, the music, the reaction to the music—it never got old. It wasn’t as if you were unfamiliar with the scene, big concerts, blinding lights, the deafening sound of the speakers, but there was something about these ones that felt different. Maybe it was the way you got to see everything, the before, the after, the world behind the curtain. A world you never knew existed.

You still couldn’t believe you were there. Couldn’t thank your friend enough for pushing you to take the job—or hell, to even apply in the first place. You had been given the opportunity of a lifetime, one most fans could only dream of.

The song swelled into its chorus, and you found yourself mouthing the words instinctively. The melodies, the singer’s inflections, every pause, every note—it was all etched into you, like something that had always been there. After listening to these songs so many times, for so long, they had become second nature. More than once, you’d caught yourself humming them absentmindedly, the tunes slipping from your lips before you even realized. Who knows how many times it had happened unnoticed?

Then suddenly, the crowd near you erupted—cheers, screams, hands reaching past you, reaching for something.

You turned, reflexively raising your camera, part instinct, part curiosity.

And you found yourself almost face-to-face with him.

The lead vocalist.

He stood at the very edge of the stage, towering over you, eyes scanning the sea of bodies as he sang, every syllable sharp, deliberate. The LED screens behind him cast him in an ethereal blue glow, his long dark locks haloed in light. The tips of his hair, dyed royal blue, almost melted into the background, giving him an otherworldly aura. Small trinkets woven into his strands caught the light, shimmering like stars trapped in his hair.

His outfit, minimal, effortless—despite the fact that you knew every piece had been chosen carefully—somehow only amplified his presence. A tank top clung to him just right, highlighting the muscle of his arms. One was wrapped in a fishnet sleeve, his fingers hugged by metallic rings that gleamed under the lights. His right arm, a sleek blue metal prosthetic, caught every flicker of color, reflecting the energy of the crowd itself. He looked like something untouchable. Something unreal.

And then—his eyes found yours.

Locked. Held.

For a second, the world shrank. The lights dimmed. The crowd melted away.

Your lips parted, lyrics forgotten, the song lost at the tip of your tongue.

His eyes were beautiful.

You were frozen. Stuck. Trapped under his gaze, under his call, under his siren song.

And the bastard knew it.

As the instrumental break started, his lips curled into a smirk. Slow. Sharp.

Without warning, he crouched, closing the distance in an instant. If it weren’t for the stage being slightly taller than you, you would’ve been eye-to-eye.

He took his right in-ear out, letting it dangle from its wire over his shoulder. Resting his left arm on his thigh, he pulled his microphone away from his lips bringing it down to hang loosely between his legs—casual, lazy, intentional. His cheek pressed against his closed right fist, elbow resting on his knee, his gaze unwavering, almost mocking.

Over the screaming crowd and pounding bass, you barely caught his voice.

"Enjoying the show?"

It snapped you from your trance, though not quickly enough to stop the heat from creeping up your neck.

“I liked it better when you were over there.” You nodded toward the opposite end of the stage.

Poseidon raised a brow. “You did, didn’t you?”

The comment sent another rush of heat to your face, and you hated that he knew it.

You didn’t have a response. Just looked at him.

His smirk widened. Dangerous. Knowing. It reminded you of a shark—something predatory, something too aware of its power.

“Take a picture.” He motioned lazily to your camera. “It’ll last longer.”

"Stop it."

He only shrugged, as if to say, ‘your loss’. Then, just as effortlessly, he slipped his in-ear back on, lifted the mic to his lips, and stood—his presence filling the stage once more.

Still, it didn’t stop you from raising your camera, snapping a few quick shots, wishing he had stayed just a few moments longer.

Lowering the camera slightly, you peeked over it—

And there he was.

Still smirking.

Still looking directly at you.

And worst of all, you knew—without a single doubt—that smirk was meant only for you.

Your breath left you in a quiet exhale. You glanced down at your screen to review the shot.

Perfect.

The crowd erupted again, their voices blending into a thunderous chant—one name, over and over, rising like a prayer to the heavens.

"POSEIDON! POSEIDON! POSEIDON!"

The stage lights flickered in response, casting the entire scene in a fleeting, shimmering blue—like moonlight on crashing waves.

And for a brief moment, you wondered if this man was just a man or something far more.

And Poseidon—Poseidon tried his best to keep his eyes off you. But his attempts were futile.

──────📸──────

"I think tonight went great."

The four of you made your way out of the arena through a dimly lit back alley, slipping through the heavy metal door that slammed shut behind you with a dull thud. It wasn’t the most glamorous exit, but you had to stay humble somehow, right? In all seriousness, it was one of the safest ways to leave venues like this—without the risk of being swallowed by a screaming crowd.

Still, you had a feeling you could have walked right through the front doors if you wanted to. Considering how late it was and how long ago the concert had ended, most fans had already cleared out. It was Zeus’ fault, really. If anyone ever arrived late or left late, he was somehow always to blame. In this case, though, you silently thanked him for it.

"Yeah, we got to end it with a bang!"

You’d been told you’d need to wait a few hours before getting back on the tour bus—the crew still had things to pack and prep before hitting the road again. You weren’t too thrilled about the downtime, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

"What did you think, [Name]?"

Three heads turned toward you in perfect synchronization, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They always asked, and you always gave the same answer, that didn’t stop them from cheering every single time. So this time, you decided to switch it up.

"Eh, it was fine."

You waved a dismissive hand, fighting to keep a straight face as the three of them froze in place.

"...Fine. Fine?"

Zeus, the bleached blonde, looked as if you had just personally insulted him and his entire bloodline. His mouth hung open slightly, his brows furrowing before he lurched forward and clamped a hand against your forehead, playfully checking if you had a fever.

"Are you okay?" He demanded, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

You laughed, batting his hand away. "Yes."

"You never say it’s fine. You’re always all like—" Zeus suddenly slung an arm over your shoulders, lifting his hand like a talking puppet, bringing his voice higher in what you assumed was a terrible impression of you. “‘Oh, well, I think it was splendid! Absolutely brilliant! Oh, Poseidon was my favourite part! He was truly divine! Oh please kiss meeee!’”

He brought up his other hand and dropped his voice into a deeper, raspier tone. “‘Of course I will, how could I ever resist you? I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for months because I’m too much of a wimp and can’t do it myself!’”

He then mashed both of his hands together, putting you in some kind of headlock and making obscenely loud kissing noises as if his hands were making out. You paid no attention to the last part—or at least you tried. Still, a slight heat crept up your neck and bloomed across your ears.

Sure, you and Poseidon exchanged flirtatious comments from time to time, but it wasn’t real… was it? At least, not from his side. You, on the other hand, had thought about it a little too much—more than you’d like to admit.

You were certain the impression of his brother was made just to upset and annoy him, that it didn’t hold any truth, just like Zeus had done many times before. You probably shouldn’t overthink it, you told yourself. Which, of course, meant you would.

Maybe he was just messing with you the same way he messed with his brothers. After all, over the past year or so, you'd grown close to them—not just as colleagues, but as friends. Real friends. The kind that could spend hours together on the road without wanting to kill each other (well, most of the time). You had late night conversations about nothing and everything, inside jokes that made no sense to anyone else, and a ridiculous amount of shared memories in different cities across the country. They had become your people. And, judging by the way they always included you in everything, you knew they felt the same.

So yeah, he was probably just messing with you.

“Leave it.” Poseidon’s unmistakable voice broke Zeus from his lewd puppet show. His tone was stern—warning him to piss off. He effortlessly replaced Zeus, shoving the blonde’s arm off your shoulders and draping his own there instead, almost protectively.

Zeus scoffed, rolling his eyes as he gestured toward you and Poseidon, looking to Hades for support. But the eldest merely shrugged.

You stiffened slightly at the unexpected touch, but when Poseidon looked at you, the tension faded. His scent—something faintly salty, like the sea—washed over you, strangely familiar and oddly comforting. It was strange, really. You hadn’t ever seen him anywhere near a large body of water, except for the few times the band stopped in coastal cities for a break. And yet, he always smelled like the ocean.

"Well," Poseidon drawled, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. "I think it’s a good thing. Helps us improve, doesn’t it, sweetheart?"

His gaze lingered just a second too long. Neither of you looked away.

It gave you a chance to look at his eyes—really look at them—deep blue as the depths of the ocean, beautiful but deadly if you stayed in them too long. You could get lost. You could drown. Still, despite the warnings, you always stared and kept staring, analyzing every detail you could. The way they sparkled under the fluorescent lights, the way they seemed to dilate when looking into yours. The way he raised a brow when the silence stretched a beat too long—a mixture of amusement and the tiniest bit of infatuation. The small amount he allowed himself to show, even if it wasn’t fully conscious.

For a second, you wondered if he was analyzing yours too. A small part of you hoped so. A bigger part of you buried that hope deep down, almost embarrassed for even thinking such a silly thing.

For a fleeting moment, as it seemed to become more common since you met him, the rest of the world faded.

Then—

"I heard of this one bar from a friend." Hades interrupted, breaking the spell as he glanced up from his phone. "We could go there while we wait. He said it isn’t usually busy."

Poseidon turned to him, giving his brother a thumbs up. "Sounds good."

Just as you began heading in the direction of the bar, a small group of lingering fans spotted the band and rushed over. Nothing too overwhelming, just three of them that seemed eager to interact with their favourite artists.

After asking for autographs, they requested a few photos. The band agreed without hesitation. You offered to take the pictures, already used to the role—it didn’t bother you. You took pictures for a living.

Poseidon let go of your shoulders. You hadn’t realized he’d kept his arm there the entire time, like it belonged, like it was molded to fit you perfectly. But you did notice when he let go. The warmth and weight you’d grown so familiar with was gone. You shouldn’t have missed it as much as you did.

Still, you smiled and held your hands out for their phones.

As you were snapping the last picture, a girl stepped forward and turned to Poseidon, asking if she could get a photo with just him. He agreed, giving her a charming smile. They posed, his hand settling on her hip as she leaned in a little too close. Not inappropriate, but... familiar. Too familiar. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he said something you didn’t catch—judging by her blush, it wasn’t exactly innocent.

And something inside you shifted. Not anger. No. It was a feeling you’d become too familiar with over the years. The only thing you didn’t understand was why you felt it—at least, you didn’t want to admit it.

You saw no reason to feel so strongly about it. Poseidon had had plenty of interactions like this before. Hell, he probably had deeper, more meaningful—even more sexual—encounters. You were sure of that. Some even happened while you’d known him.

He’d had them before you knew him. He’d had them while you knew him. And he’ll have them after the tour ended and you went back to your boring life.

So why? Why were you jealous?

Maybe it was just the feeling that you wanted to be that girl at that moment. The one who got to press close, laugh too loudly at a joke that wasn’t even funny, feel the weight of his hand resting easy on your hip like it belonged there. Maybe you wanted to lean in and feel him lean back, catch a whispered compliment that was meant for your ears only, something low and teasing and just a little bit dirty that would have you blushing all the way back.

Maybe you just wanted to be the one who made his eyes crinkle at the corners, who made his voice drop that octave lower—smooth, deliberate, like velvet dragging over bare skin. Maybe you wanted to feel the shift in him when the teasing stopped being just for show. Maybe you wanted him to lean in and murmur something you’d replay in your head for days, words you wouldn’t dare repeat out loud.

Maybe you wanted his fingers to tighten just a little around your waist, not enough to draw attention—but enough to feel. Enough to know. Maybe you wanted him to dip his head close to yours, so close his breath hit your neck and made you shiver, pretending it was the breeze. Maybe you wanted to press against him, just barely, and feel his body react, feel the tension settle low in his stomach, feel the way he tried not to show it.

Maybe you wanted to push him just far enough to make him crack, to make him slip up and say something that he couldn’t take back.

Maybe you wanted to see what would happen if there were no fans, no brothers, no distractions—just the two of you, and that look in his eyes. Maybe you wanted to see what his hands would do if he didn’t have to hold back.

Maybe you wanted him to forget about every other person, even just for one night. To turn to you with that easy grin and that fire behind his eyes and say your name like it meant something more than a casual joke.

And god, maybe you wanted to know what it’d feel like to have him back you into a wall in some forgotten corner of the venue, breathless and flushed, his lips hovering just over yours like a promise waiting to be broken. Maybe you wanted to hear him groan your name like it was the only damn word he remembered, feel the heat of his palms under your shirt, his mouth on your neck, on your—

Your “moment” got interrupted by the fan asking for her phone back. You hadn’t realized you’d already taken the photos. You were so used to it, it probably happened on autopilot. Being snapped back to reality made you actually process what you'd been thinking about.

What the hell was wrong with you?! Why were you even thinking that? That was creepy as fuck.

Sure, you worked with him. And yeah, once in a while, you’d flirt, tease each other, let your touches linger just a little too long, get lost in the way his eyes caught the light and— STOP.

That wasn’t the point. The point was: he was a rockstar. He was popular. He was hot. Of course, he got around. You knew that. He knew that. So why the hell were you thinking so much about it?

You needed to drop it. Yeah, drop it. Stuff every last thought into a drawer at the back of your mind, lock it tight, and hurl the key into the ocean, so deep that some clueless fish would mistake it for food, swallow it whole, and let it sink into oblivion. Poof. Gone forever.

You were good now, you told yourself.

You were, in fact, not good.

Poseidon caught your eye as you handed the last phone back, something flickering in his expression. Maybe amusement. Maybe something else.

You watched the group of fans disappear into the night, their excited chatter fading into the hum of the city. Zeus and Hades had gone back to squinting at a map on Hades’ phone, quietly bickering over which turn to take next.

"Jealous?"

His voice was sudden, low, and far too close, making your heart jump just slightly. You raised a brow, trying and failing to give him the impression that you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Your face gives it away. The way your nose scrunches up.” You subconsciously reached a hand to the bridge of your nose.

He let out a breathy laugh. “You don’t have to lie.” His smirk alone should’ve been a dead giveaway. The bastard did it on purpose, just to get a reaction out of you.

It had become your game. One you two had developed over the months of knowing each other: make the other as flustered as possible.

It started as just a couple of jokes, then slowly evolved into what you had now. You got touchier. The flirting started to feel a little too real. Like a desperate call to take the next step—but neither of you would admit it. You both had your reasons. You weren’t sure about his, but you were damn sure about yours, even if you didn’t like thinking about them.

Ever since you met him, you’d felt this pull. Sure, you’d had relationships before. You’d felt attraction before. But this… this was different.

Still, none of that had stopped you from playing the game. Maybe because deep down, you hoped one day it’d be real—that he was drowning in the same feelings and sending out an SOS call like you were.

But that’s what it was: a game. And damn it, you weren’t going to lose.

Before he could get another word in, you moved—grabbed him by the waistband of his pants and gave a firm tug, pulling him closer.

The unexpected action made him stumble slightly. You managed to catch the way his face shifted in surprise, how his ears turned red, the way his chest stopped moving as he held his breath, and how he stiffened, completely taken off guard. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like that—and most of the time, he wouldn’t have that strong of a reaction—but it felt great every time you managed to get one out of him.

Now you were face to face. You could both feel each other’s breath.

“I know what you’re doing.” Now you were the one smirking, and he was the one frozen in place. And damn, it felt good. “It may have worked this time. But two can play that game.”

Despite himself, Poseidon snapped back into character. “Yeah? What are you gonna do?”

“You’ll see.”

“That’s a big promise coming from you.”

You gave him another tug, pulling him impossibly close, your middles pressed flush, pelvis to pelvis. Every inch of space left vanished, bodies molded together, breath caught somewhere between tension and something heavier.

“Are you two coming or what?” Zeus, already nearly a block away, called back.

Hades, not far behind, gave you an apologetic look.

“We’re going.” You responded for both of you.

You started dragging him by the waistband after them. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t protest. He just smiled and let you. Let you drag him along like he was caught on the metaphorical, almost literal leash you had him on.

──────📸──────

By the time you finally made it to the bar, the four of you had settled into a secluded booth toward the back. It was a snug fit but comfortable, the kind of space that made it easy to sink into conversation without interruption. The atmosphere was calm—almost homely—an intimate contrast to the chaotic, electric energy of the arena.

The warm glow of dim lights reflected off polished wooden surfaces, casting soft shadows across the walls. A low hum of voices drifted around the room, but no one was loud or disruptive—just small groups of friends talking in hushed tones, likely regulars who had carved out this space as their own. The only other sound was the faint murmur of a football game playing on a small TV mounted in one corner, though judging by the lack of interest from anyone in the bar, it was probably a rerun.

You sat with your arms stretched out toward the center of the table, your camera resting in your hands, its screen casting a pale glow on your faces as you scrolled through the night’s captures. The three of them leaned in, watching as you flicked through the images.

Comments were thrown around—some admiring the shots, others laughing at the more unflattering ones. Zeus, of course, was the loudest, making sure to poke fun at Hades’ stone-faced expressions and his own occasionally ridiculous poses. But as the slideshow continued, one comment, in particular, caught you off guard.

“Why are most of these Poseidon?”

Your fingers froze, embarrassed that your unconscious habit came to light for all to hear.

Zeus had a raised brow and an infuriatingly smug smirk, leaning forward with one arm propped on the table, hand supporting his chin. Before you could even process how to respond, his expression flickered—just for a second—as if he had been struck with sudden pain. Someone had clearly kicked him under the table.

You weren’t sure who.

“I just want to know!” Zeus protested, rubbing his leg and throwing an accusing glance around the table.

Your face heated up, mind scrambling for an excuse.

“He’s the main vocalist.” You said matter of factly, shifting in your seat. “If you have a problem, take it up with the people. It’s what they want to see.”

Zeus’ smirk only widened.

“Are you the people?” Before you could formulate a response, another thud sounded beneath the table—this one louder, sharper. Zeus flinched again, hissing in pain as he immediately bent down to rub his leg. “Stop that!”

Your attempts to fight back a grin—and the giggles threatening to bubble out of you—were futile. There was just something about seeing Zeus being put in his place that never got old. Not in a mean way. It was just... satisfying.

Too caught up in his misery, you hadn’t noticed Poseidon’s gaze settling on you. His expression shifted from one of irritation toward his brother to something softer, gentler, the corners of his mouth twitching at the sound of your laugh.

You did, however, catch the subtle look the eldest of the three sent him—a quiet warning. Poseidon rolled his eyes in response, leaned back against the booth seat, and rested his arm casually along the backrest behind you.

That alone made you realize that yeah. You had a pretty good idea who was responsible for those kicks.

Leaving your camera on the center of the table, you leaned back as well, your shoulders brushing lightly against his arm in a silent thank you.

He turned his head to look at you again. His eyes found yours—and this time, he didn’t look away. His smile was faint but real, something warm blooming beneath the cool exterior he usually wore like armor. You returned it, mirroring the expression like it was instinct.

“You too. Stop it.” Hades said to Zeus, his voice sharp and unamused.

“He started it.” Zeus’ defense sounded more like a pouty three year old than a grown man.

“No I didn’t.” You heard the indignation in Poseidon’s voice beside you, quiet but firm.

As the youngest prepared to retort, you downed the last of your drink, seizing the perfect opportunity to excuse yourself to shake off the lingering embarrassment sitting heavy in your chest. It wasn’t anything serious, nothing you couldn’t handle, but still, your skin felt a little too warm, your pulse just a little too quick.

“Gonna go get some more. Anyone want anything?”

A chorus of no’s and I’m fine’s met your ears, so you simply nodded and made your way to the counter.

As you waited to be served, another patron leaned casually against the bar beside you. He looked about your age, dressed in faded jeans and a hoodie, clearly just waiting on his drink too. It wasn’t long before you exchanged a few words, just friendly conversation, nothing out of the ordinary.

Poseidon turned toward his brother, voice lowered to an accusing whisper-yell. “Why did you do that?” His eyes darted toward you, just for a millisecond, checking to see if you were listening before snapping back to Zeus.

“What? I was just curious.”

He scoffed. “Curious? Like you wouldn’t jump at the chance to make someone uncomfortable.”

“I’m doing you a favor! Anyone with eyes could see how smitten you are. And you repay me with pain?”

The comment earned a dry laugh from Poseidon. “I’m not smitten.”

“Please. It’s been going on for months. It’s unbearable. The amount of sexual tension is—”

Poseidon rolled his eyes, tuning him out. He would be lying if he said he’d never noticed how good you looked, or how often his thoughts wandered to you when they shouldn’t. But the more Zeus talked, the more he wanted to scrub the entire idea from his mind.

While Zeus continued rambling on and on about ‘just manning up and doing something already’, Poseidon's eyes wandered—seeking something, anything, more interesting than his brother’s voice. Naturally, they found you.

It was always you.

It took him a second to notice the guy beside you. Another second to see your hand on the man's arm, your body angled slightly toward him. Maybe it was innocent. Maybe not. But the moment your eyes flicked back toward Poseidon, a smug little grin tugging at your lips—he knew. You were doing it on purpose.

Your words from earlier echoed back: two can play the game.

And by the looks of it, you were keeping your word.

He had to respect you for that.

“That smug little…” The words slipped under his breath, unfinished but heavy with meaning.

Still, his jaw clenched. His grip on the backrest tightened. His stare sharpened, locking onto the guy like he could scare him away with a look. It was almost laughable how intense his stare was—if looks could kill, that man would’ve dropped right then and there.

“–it could be resolved with a nice reservation at a hotel and—” Zeus finally noticed his words were falling on deaf ears. “Y’know, you keep glaring like that, and he might actually drop dead.”

Poseidon exhaled through his nose, tearing his gaze away and taking a slow sip of his drink, trying to appear indifferent. It wasn’t working. “I’m not glaring.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Not wanting to endure more of their bickering, Hades stepped in. “They’re into you. They might even love you. Where do you think all your chemistry comes from? They look at you with those eyes, the ones you once had. We’re not blind.”

Poseidon laughed, incredulous. “Love? I think you skipped a few steps. It’s just playful flirting.” Zeus opened his mouth, but Poseidon cut him off. “Don’t act like you don’t do it all the time. I don’t see you claiming you love every person you flirt with.”

“At least I’m not as bad as you.”

“That’s not what the media says.”

Let’s be honest—Poseidon wasn’t much better than Zeus when it came to nightly lovers. But by god, he clung to that small difference of public opinion like a lifeline.

“Since when do I care about what the media says? Don’t bring me into your sad little worry bubble.”

That was the problem. He did care. He hated how much he cared. Sometimes he envied Zeus’ ease, or even Hades’ ability to vanish from public attention. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was a fragile ego he didn’t want to admit he had. Or maybe—just maybe—he cared too much about how people saw him. What they thought of him.

He hated Zeus most days, but he had to admit—sometimes, he was grateful for the way his brother drew the spotlight away from him.

When it came to relationships, however, Poseidon prided himself on not caring. At least, he thought he didn’t. That they were casual, disposable. He could forget names the morning after and never wonder what they were doing now. He told himself it didn’t matter what his one night flings did before or after. Who they talked to. Who they touched.

But you... you might’ve ruined that for him.

In truth, there were very few people who had ever truly broken through the walls he’d built—and fewer still who had stayed long enough to know him. Those connections had always ended in ruins, leaving him even more guarded than before.

He’d always struggled with emotional intimacy. The very thought of someone seeing his deepest flaws and secrets laid bare made his skin crawl. He hated the idea of anyone looking past the persona he had so carefully built over the years. Vulnerability felt like weakness. So he kept people at arm’s length. Maybe that’s why everything always ended the same way: with disappointment, or worse—someone walking away with pieces of him he couldn’t get back.

“And those stupid braids! You let them braid your hair like some kindergartener every night!” Zeus threw his hands in the air, exasperated.

Poseidon instinctively glanced down at the braids you had done for him earlier that night. They weren’t anything elaborate—just a few loose ones scattered through his hair, with two framing his face. You’d woven small trinkets into them, mostly ocean themed charms—tiny seashells, beads shaped like starfish, a silver wave. He had reminded you of his domain, and you had made it very clear in your choices. And he wore them with pride, he wasn’t about to let his brother diminish them like they were something disposable, something without any meaning.

He absentmindedly reached up, running his fingers over one of the charms before looking back at his younger brother, expression almost offended. “They’re not stupid. I like them.”

Zeus snorted. “You look like a hippie.”

Poseidon arched a brow. “Look at yourself in a mirror before you speak.”

Before Zeus could fire back, Hades sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, enough.” He muttered, effectively cutting through their bickering. His gaze shifted to Poseidon. “They won’t be around forever for you to tell them how you feel and you know that.”

Poseidon’s brows furrowed.

How he felt? What did that mean? Well, he knew what Hades meant. He just didn’t like thinking about it.

He knew the burning sensation in his chest every time he looked at you. He’d always brushed it off as attraction—just lust, nothing he hadn’t felt before. But now… the weight of his brother’s words settled in his mind like an anchor.

This wasn’t the first time they’d teased him about it. But this time, it felt more like a wake up call.

He didn’t like that.

“No, no, no, do you know what he needs to do?” Zeus cut in, turning to Poseidon with a glint in his eyes. “Next stop—there’s this place over—hold on, I’ll just send it to you.” He didn’t even finish his sentence before pulling out his phone and typing. “You just gotta get out there, turn on the good ol’ Olympian family charm, tell them you have chemistry and let the setting take care of the rest.”

Poseidon rolled his eyes, but the lightest hint of pink dusted his cheeks. He brought his drink back to his lips.

Zeus, of course, had to make it worse.

“Or, in better words—just fuck already.”

Poseidon nearly choked on his drink.

He coughed, sputtering as he caught his breath. “You’re disgusting.” His voice came out more flustered than threatening, especially with the way he quickly glanced around to see if you had heard. Though... he didn’t exactly hate the idea. Maybe he’d thought about it once. Or twice. Or more. Not that he’d ever admit it—especially not to Zeus.

His blush deepened as Zeus leaned in, brow raised, smug smirk on his lips.

“I’m just saying—” He continued, clearly enjoying this way too much. “You need to quit acting like a prude and do something for your little guy. He’ll thank you.”

The sound that followed was so loud and pained, half the bar turned to stare. Hades had to apologize to the nearest table.

Between the curses Zeus let out and the ones Poseidon hurled back, the youngest still managed to spot the woman who had just walked into the bar.

He stopped mid rant.

Tapping the table once before standing up, he grinned. “Watch and learn, brother. Dear ol’ Zeus will teach you how to prevail. Look closely.”

And just like that, he was gone, striding toward the girl with all the confidence of a man who had never once been rejected, not that it was true.

Poseidon exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, his jaw tense.

Across from him, Hades silently turned the camera toward him, he pushed it toward him slowly, deliberately. His expression remained unreadable—sharp but oddly gentle.

The camera was heavier than it looked. He could almost still feel the residual heat of your hands radiating off of it, despite them no longer being there, like a ghost, an illusion, a trick his mind was playing on him, the strap slightly tangled from how you'd slung it over your shoulder earlier. And when Poseidon finally looked at the display—at the photo you had taken of him at the start of the night—his breath hitched.

You hadn’t posed him. Hadn’t warned him. He had barely realized you were aiming your lens his way—he blamed the stupid lights in his eyes, making him basically blind. He had just been standing there—eyes on you, shoulders relaxed, distracted for just a second, bathed in the glow of the lights pulsing from the stage behind him. Neon spilled over his silhouette, casting his form in a surreal aura, like he wasn’t entirely made of flesh and blood. A halo of color framed his hair, kissed the curve of his jaw, and wrapped around the gleam of his prosthetic.

And somehow, you’d caught it. That fleeting moment—unguarded, unperformed. The smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, subtle enough to miss if you blinked. His eyes, that so often looked like cold steel and stormclouds, looked... still. Gentle. Pleased.

When he saw the photo, it unnerved him—deeply. It stilled something inside him, cracked open the quiet ache he’d long kept buried beneath ego and bravado.

That’s how you saw him? Not the frontman, not the untouchable performer colder than ice itself—but that version? The one he hardly recognized in himself?

And yet... there he was. A moment immortalized. A man seen—not as a myth or a spectacle—but as something real.

“You know he’s right.”

Hades’ voice cut through the stillness. Poseidon looked up, startled by the sudden return to reality.

“He is?” The incredulous bite in Poseidon's tone bordered on defensive.

“You know what I mean.”

Poseidon exhaled again, more ragged this time. He looked away. “No, I don’t. You keep saying ‘feelings,’ ‘feel’—you know I don’t—”

Sensing the edge in his voice, Hades tried to bring him back down. “Tell me how you feel during those moments you have with them.”

That word again. Feel. As if Poseidon could just crack open his chest and read out what was inside.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, shoulders taut. “That again.”

He almost stood up and left, on instinct—fight or flight. But Hades reached out, his hand closing over Poseidon’s. Grounding him. That simple contact was enough to keep him rooted in place.

“Tell me.”

Poseidon didn’t understand why his brother kept pushing. Why he needed him to look at it, name it. Why he had to poke at all the things Poseidon had been doing his best to ignore for months.

But if he really had to think about it—if he really had to say it out loud—he’d start with this:

He loved your smile. Especially when he said something stupid, something that wasn’t even funny, and you still laughed like it meant something. 

He loved how he could flirt, test the waters, and you’d play along, giving him just enough to keep him addicted. He loved the way you got flustered when he leaned too close, the way he got flustered when you caught him off guard with a comment or a look that felt far too intimate for the setting.

He loved your eyes—not just their color or shape, but the way they lingered. How they looked at him like you were trying to figure him out. Like you actually wanted to. It scared the shit out of him.

And your lips—god, he’d never admit it, but he’d memorized their shape. The curve when you smiled, the way they twitched when you were holding back a laugh. How sometimes, when you were deep in thought, you’d bite your lower lip and he’d lose every coherent thought.

He loved the way you listened—really listened—when he spoke, even when he was rambling. He loved the warmth in your voice when you greeted him, the quiet way you made space for him without asking questions. He loved how you saw him. Not the god, not the storm, not a performer. Just… him.

He loved—no.

No, he didn’t love.

He didn’t love any of that.

Poseidon didn’t love.

He wasn’t capable of love. He’d never be loved, not really. Yes, he was attracted to you. But love was something else. Something dangerous. Off the table.

Still, there was a part of him—buried deep beneath the bravado, beneath the waves—that wanted to say it. That wanted to hand you all the delicate, breakable pieces of himself and pray you’d be gentle.

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

So he didn't say any of it.

“I said it before. It’s just flirting. Pure tension built over months. Nothing more.”

Hades sighed—not disappointed, but with the kind of quiet concern only someone who’s lived through heartbreak can carry. There was a flicker of fear behind his eyes too—that Poseidon’s refusal to name what he felt would end up hurting him more than protecting him.

“Maybe Zeus is right.” Hades said with a pointed look toward their brother, who was now mid routine with the same poor girl as earlier. “Maybe you do need to ‘fuck it out.’ Go ahead. Try it. But when it’s done, and that thing in your chest is still there? You’ll try to bury it. And it’ll come back a thousand times worse. And you’ll feel like shit.”

Poseidon didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to picture what it would mean if his brother was right.

So he didn’t.

He slipped the mask back on with practiced ease. “Talking from experience?”

As if on cue, Hades’ phone buzzed against the wooden table, cutting through the conversation. The screen lit up, and Poseidon caught a glimpse of the contact photo—his sister in law’s familiar face.

Persephone.

It was almost a ritual at this point. Every night after a show, without fail, she called to check in. Maybe to ask how things had gone, maybe just to hear Hades’ voice. Either way, Poseidon had lost count of how many times this exact moment had played out.

Hades barely glanced at the screen before reaching for the phone, a rare, almost imperceptible softness passing over his usually sharp features.

“Think it through.” He murmured before standing up and making his way toward the exit. The door swung shut behind him, the cold night air swallowing his voice as he answered the call.

Poseidon glanced around the nearly empty table, a quiet exhale slipping past his lips. It was as if the universe was mocking him—one by one, everyone had slipped away, leaving him the last one standing. Hades had stepped outside, deep in conversation with Persephone. Zeus had all but disappeared, wrapped up in a flirtatious exchange with the woman who had just walked in. And then there was you.

He recalled the first time you two met—back when you were just the photographer, just another face amidst the crew. He was polite, maybe even a little distant, the way he usually was with new people. Keep it casual, keep it safe. That was the rule. That was the plan. He certainly hadn’t planned to notice you, hadn’t planned to see you. Not like that.

But then you looked at him. Smiled at him. Said his name in that light, curious tone that didn’t sound like you already had him figured out. And something in his chest shifted. It was subtle at first—how he started hovering nearby more than necessary, how he noticed the color of your eyes, how your laughter cut through the noise of the room even when he wasn’t listening for it.

The first few weeks on the road were filled with long days, quiet nights, and the kind of interactions that should’ve stayed professional. But something about you refused to be ordinary. And somewhere between stolen glances and shared jokes, he fell. Hard. 

And he wasn’t supposed to fall—not like that. Attraction? Sure. Lust? Of course! But this? This ache in his chest when you weren’t around? This low, burning hum that lived under his skin whenever you were? That wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to someone like him.

He kept telling himself it would pass. That it was just infatuation, just tension, just a trick of proximity and convenience. But the longer he knew you, the more the excuses thinned out. You weren’t just a passing interest, weren’t just something pretty to look at during the tour. You were real, and kind, and smart, and stubborn in all the ways that made him want to bite back a grin. You challenged him. Calmed him. Disarmed him without even trying.

And maybe that was what scared him the most.

He thought about what Hades said. About how he felt. About how you might feel. Did your chest tighten the way his did when you saw him flirt with someone else? Did you feel that same magnetic pull every time you were close? Did you want something more?

And what even was more? Was it just lust tangled with infatuation? Or something deeper? Something scarier?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know how to feel.

Zeus had made it sound easy. Months of flirting, looks, touches, that constant electricity. Couldn’t you two just… do something about it? Take the edge off? Release the tension that had been building over months?

Poseidon thought about what that might look like—what it might feel like. The warmth of your skin, the way your breath might hitch, how you’d look when you let go.

He thought about the dreams. The ones he never spoke about. The ones where you reached for him first. Where you said the things he was too proud, too guarded to say himself. Where you wanted him—not just in passing, not just as a game—but really wanted him. All of him.

And god, he liked the idea that you might think of him that way too. Maybe more than he should.

He should probably talk to you about it. Just lay it out, ask what it was. What you wanted. But what if that ruined everything? Would it be better to let things unfold naturally, the way they had been? Quiet, unspoken, simmering just below the surface?

But if nothing had happened yet, after all those months, all those stolen looks, all that heat, then when?

How much longer was he supposed to wait? How many more nights could he take this gnawing thing inside his chest—this ache that wouldn’t leave him alone? He couldn’t take it anymore. 

He needed to do something.

Then he saw you. Standing at the bar, laughing with the man from earlier. You leaned in slightly, one hand resting lightly on the counter near his, your smile wide and easy. You touched his arm when you laughed—not inappropriately, but it still made something coil, tight and bitter, in Poseidon's stomach.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached for your camera. He pulled it closer, like it was second nature to protect something of yours. Then, without a second thought, he stood and walked toward you—no hesitation.

You and the man were mid conversation. He was nice, friendly, maybe even a little charming. He looked surprised when Poseidon arrived, especially when he slid an arm around your waist like he’d done it a hundred times.

“What are you having?” His voice was low, close—closer than you expected.

You jumped a little, startled by the cool pressure of his fingers settling on your hip. It wasn’t just a fleeting touch, either. His thumb moved in slow, absentminded circles over the fabric of your clothes, sending an unexpected shiver up your spine. Your mind short circuited for a moment.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “Oh! Don, this is uhh…” You scrambled to remember the young man’s name.

“Noah.” He reminded you with a sheepish smile. He didn’t seem offended by you not remembering, or Poseidon’s interruption—more confused than anything, his gaze flicking between you and the man who had appeared at your side like a shadow. His hand, which had been resting lightly near yours, subtly dropped to his side. He clearly hadn’t expected Poseidon to show up, much less to touch you so casually. 

“It’s his birthday. He’s here with his friends.”

Poseidon barely acknowledged him. He spared Noah a glance—one of those indifferent, faintly bored looks. Then, as if remembering basic politeness, he offered a dismissive “Happy birthday”.

Then he turned back to you, eyes expectant, clearly waiting for an answer to the question he’d asked before.

Noah blinked. Coughed lightly into his fist. “Umm, I—I’ll just go. My friends—”

“Oh, yeah, it’s okay!” You offered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt.

“Cool.”

“Have a good night.”

“Uh, thanks.”

You both stood there in the cringeworthy silence that followed, the tail end of the conversation awkward enough to make your skin crawl. The second Noah disappeared into the crowd, you turned to Poseidon, incredulous.

“What was that about?”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“He was nice! You didn’t have to intimidate him like that.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He said innocently, though his voice held that faint edge—like someone trying very hard to sound disinterested when they absolutely were not.

“You scared him.”

“If he’s scared of me just standing there, he’s pathetic.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. “Didn’t take you for the possessive type.”

That caught him off guard. He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You were starting to get a bit toxic there." You teased, stepping just slightly out of reach, letting your smile do most of the work. A part of him almost made him reach back for you, just to feel the heat your body radiated once more.

His expression twisted, half offended, half bewildered. “It wasn’t about him. It’s you.”

He punctuated the statement by gently booping your nose with a finger, smug and accusatory. You immediately caught his hand and pulled it down, still holding it.

“So I did it.” You said, triumphant. “I made you jealous.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to pull away.

“No, no, you have to say it. With words.”

He sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, you made me jealous. You can be proud of yourself as much as you want.”

Your heart nearly left orbit, but you somehow managed to regulate your breathing before it gave you away. He admitted it.

Still holding his hand, you guided it back to your hip where it had rested before. A small, slightly anxious part of you braced for him to pull away.

He didn’t.

His fingers stayed where you placed them—warmer now, more certain. As if silently saying, I’m still here.

And yet, even as his hand stayed, Poseidon was somewhere else for a beat. Mentally turning over what had just happened. He had been jealous. And worse, he didn’t even try to deny it. That scared him more than he wanted to admit. So, of course, he changed the subject.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

You giggled, the sound light and teasing as you lifted your drink. “Just some water.”

Poseidon raised a brow. “Nothing else?”

“Yeah, not in the mood to let you guys drink me under the table again.” You finally turned to meet his gaze, expression playfully accusing. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“It was one time.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“It was adorable.”

You downed what was left of your drink, not trusting your expression to stay neutral much longer. The cold hit your chest and helped calm the storm just enough. But then you looked back toward the booth—and noticed how empty it looked.

“Where are the rest? Are we leaving?”

Poseidon followed your gaze, then glanced at the clock on the TV screen. “We probably should.” He pulled out his wallet, dropped a few bills on the bar, and nodded to the bartender.

Without needing to say much else, he gently guided you toward the entrance, his hand still steady on your hip.

As you passed Zeus, still deeply engrossed in conversation with the stunning woman from earlier, Poseidon didn’t even slow his pace. Didn’t glance her way. Just dropped a single, casual bomb as you walked by:

“He’s married.”

The woman froze. Her face shifted in slow motion—smile fading, posture going rigid. She stared at Zeus as if he’d grown horns.

Without another word, she stood up and walked away.

Zeus groaned, throwing his hands up like a man betrayed. “Oh, come on!”

Poseidon didn’t even look back. He just smirked.

──────📸──────

The bus was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine as it rolled down the darkened highway and the faint clicking and tapping of your laptop’s keyboard. The shining lights of the highway infiltrated through the drawn curtains, casting slivers of gold and silver that carved moving shadows across the narrow interior of the bus.

Hades had been the first to fold—calmly checking his phone one last time before slipping into his lower bunk and offering a quick “Good night” like clockwork.

The second was Zeus. He hadn’t done much more than mutter “Night” and disappear into the bunk above Hades’. He was usually the last one to fall asleep, staying up for ages doing god knows what on his phone before finally crashing at some ungodly hour. That night, however, he’d passed out almost instantly—if the deep, rattling snores behind his curtain were anything to go off of.

You had decided to stay up a little longer to transfer the night’s pictures from your camera to your laptop. You couldn't risk losing them—not when they were so important. They were moments frozen in time, bits of chaos and beauty captured forever. Highlights of a night that pulsed with energy, with light, with the electricity of the crowd. Moments one shouldn’t be able to forget.

And then there was Poseidon, the only one in the whole damn bus apparently having a full-blown existential crisis.

He stood motionless in the cramped bathroom, staring into the mirror. His braids had been undone. His expression was unreadable, carved from stillness. He looked down at the loose charms in his hands, fidgeting with them.

He thought about what his brothers had said. Words from earlier refused to leave his head, circling like vultures. “You need to tell them.” “It’ll come back a thousand times worse”. Like it was that easy. He groaned quietly, dragging a hand down his face. He hated to admit it, but he might actually take his brother’s advice—for once, Zeus might’ve been right.

With a deep breath, he finally built up the courage to step back out and maybe, just maybe, face you again. He gave himself one last look in the mirror, fixed his hair half-heartedly, and opened the door.

What he didn’t expect was to find you still awake.

You were sitting cross-legged, laptop propped on your thighs as you worked. Your bunk was the top one—you had fought tooth and nail to get it, determined not to settle for anything less. What you didn’t know was that Poseidon had let you have it, even if he’d never admit it.

He paused, watching you. You were focused, brows furrowed, lip caught between your teeth. The soft blue-white light of your laptop painted your face in quiet hues, and for a moment, he just looked.

“Still awake?”

The sudden voice startled you. You flinched, snapping your head toward him.

He was already dressed for bed—shirtless. You’d always liked his chest tattoos: ocean blue ink forming intricate images that flowed together like currents, puzzle pieces locked into harmony. His pajama pants hung low on his hips in a way that made it impossible not to look, revealing the start of his happy trail. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this, but it was the first time his pants sat that low, inviting your imagination to fill in the rest. And there you were—just sitting there, gawking like a total idiot.

He noticed. Oh, he noticed. He raised a brow, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, then casually walked past you.

You snapped out of it fast. “Y-yeah, just making sure I don’t lose any pictures.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s pretty late.” There was a thread of concern in his voice, so faint you almost missed it. “You should sleep. You can do that tomorrow.”

He crouched beside your bunk, reaching into your backpack like it was second nature. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. He pulled out the small plastic container where you kept all the little charms and trinkets collected during the tour. Quietly, carefully, he dropped the ones in his hand into it—resetting everything for the next time you'd braid his hair. And he’d let you, without question, because whenever your fingers threaded through his hair, it was like every part of him unraveled in the best possible way.

You returned to your work, fingers tapping away. “I could. But it’s already happened one too many times—pictures just... vanish. This piece of junk—” You jabbed a finger at your old camera “—needs some serious repairs.”

“Looks like we’ll need to get you a new one.”

You missed the we. “Yeah, I already started saving up for a new one.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t correct you. He just reached out and gently took the camera from your hands, putting it into its case without a word, like it was instinct.

With two strides, he was in front of you again. He rested his hands on your knees, peering at you over the top of your screen.

“Can I look at them one last time?”

You turned to him, surprised by his genuine interest. "Of course."

With effortless strength, Poseidon grabbed the edge of your bunk and hoisted himself up, careful not to bump his head in the cramped space. He had to hunch a little to fit. You adjusted your laptop, angling the screen toward him as he settled beside you, shoulders touching.

You scrolled through a few shots together, laughter slipping between you as you pointed out ridiculous expressions and perfectly timed moments. Then you reached a very specific photo. The one Poseidon had grown familiar with earlier that night. He went quiet the second it appeared. You both did. It wasn’t an awkward silence—it was weighty. Intentional. The kind of silence where words weren’t really needed.

Still, you felt the urge to speak. To fill it. To say something.

“You actually managed to look right at the lens.” You said, half a laugh in your voice. “Which is wild, because with all those lights, I’d imagine it’d be hard to spot it.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you.

You hesitated, then pushed forward. You had to get it out—what had been haunting the back of your mind all night. “You kept looking at me.”

Poseidon tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking from the screen to you. His thoughts moved a million miles a second—his brother’s warning, the implications, the risk, the truth. And then—

Fuck it.

“It’s hard not to.”

You froze.

He had leaned in to say it—so close, his breath brushed your ear, his voice deep and low. Your entire body tensed at the unexpected sensation. The space between you felt suddenly nonexistent. He was always cool to the touch, like the ocean breeze on a late night, but now—now he was warm. Too warm. His presence was overwhelming in the best way, his body radiating heat like a fire in the dead of winter.

Your fingers stilled over the laptop. The moment stretched. You turned your head, searching his face. His eyes. The small flick of his brow. The rise and fall of his chest. You scanned every inch of him for a clue—for anything—was this just more of the playful flirting he always threw your way?

He waited patiently for your answer, but the way his gaze dipped briefly to your lips... one could tell he didn’t have much patience left in him.

That tiny flicker told you everything.

The air between you thickened, charged. Before your brain could scream at you to stop, you leaned in. Something—maybe gravity, maybe fate—pushed you toward him. His lips met yours—soft, warm, lingering in a way that felt certain. No hesitation. No teasing. Just him. The scent of smoke and sea salt hit you as you inhaled—comforting, familiar.

He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, his hand drifting to the back of your neck, pulling you in like the tide. You melted into him. The only thing that could part you was the desperate need for breath.

And so it did.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, he hovered just inches away, your noses brushing, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin.

You looked into each other’s eyes, admiring one another—neither of you able to break the silence. His breath brushed against your lips, warm and shallow. And his eyes—oh, those eyes—deep, deadly, and yet they filled you with something that felt almost like life. They seemed unreal, like they didn’t belong to a mere man, but a god. At that point, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was one. I mean… have you seen him?

You didn’t know what possessed you to say what you did next. “You know… everyone always sees you as this rough, bad, untouchable persona you put up. And you go along with it. But I think there’s more.”

A small part of Poseidon screamed at him to back away. To go back into the bathroom and lock himself inside until the next stop. That you were poking too close to what he didn’t want anyone to see. Still, he ignored every warning. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. He just did.  “Is there?”

“I know you.”

He let out a short, silent laugh, leaning back slightly at your naiveté. He took the hand he had placed on your neck with him.

Oh, you fucked it up, didn’t you? Why did you say that? Fuck. You were so close, and you just ruined everything with three words.

“Really?”

Even though some part of you knew this was probably a terrible idea, you doubled down.  “Really.” If you were going to screw everything up, you might as well go all the way.

He smiled, amused. “We’ve only known each other for a few months.”

“...Still.”

Far too entertained, he leaned back even more—at least as much as the cramped space allowed—and raised a brow. “If you know me…” He paused, just briefly. “You should know what I want right now.”

It felt like some kind of test. Torturous. Awful. If you answered the way he wanted, would he keep holding you? If you got it wrong… would he leave you high and dry?

“What you want…” You echoed under your breath, your gaze faltering for just a second.

In response, he gently grabbed your chin, guiding your eyes back to his. He was closer now. Heat rushed to your face. Your heart beat so fast you were sure he could feel it.

“What do I want?” He whispered, voice dropping an octave. It sounded less like a question, more like a command. “Show me.”

The next kiss was different—hungrier. His hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved over yours, stealing every breath you had to offer. His lips were warm, demanding, moving with purpose as if trying to memorize yours. Your laptop became an afterthought as one of his hands found it and closed it carefully. He pulled it off you, delicately lowering it to his bunk below, the act oddly gentle compared to the feverish kiss.

You subconsciously followed his lips with your own, not wanting to miss his touch again. At your eagerness, he chuckled into the kiss, the low rumble vibrating against your lips—

Thud.

He hit the side of his head on the low ceiling ledge, where the curtain rails ran. He muttered a few curses, then finished lowering your laptop, properly this time. He turned to you again just to find you trying to stifle a laugh. When you spotted him looking at you, rubbing the sore spot, you couldn’t suppress it anymore.

"Oh, you’re laughing? This is funny?" Despite the words, there was no real heat to them.

"A little bit." You teased.

Poseidon narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. “I’ll shut you up.”

The third kiss was the best one yet. A perfect mixture of the two that came before. Hungry, but not desperate. Gentle, but not cowardly. His hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, grounding you. Your mouths moved together with increasing rhythm, like you were beginning to find the right tempo, the right balance. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and when you granted it, the kiss deepened, turned breathless. It sent sparks across your skin and heat pooling low in your belly.

You finally properly turned your whole body to him. And now, without anything between you two, you were able to pull him closer, grabbed his waist with one hand while the other gripped the fabric of his pants, bunching up right over his thigh. Your bodies pressed together, chest to chest, hips aligned as if molded to fit this way.

He started lowering you back onto the mattress, your bodies a mess of interwoven limbs. He positioned himself over you, one leg between your own, the other to the left side of your body. Arms braced to the sides of your head, holding himself up in a plank position, his weight hovering deliciously close.

As he pulled away from the kiss, he playfully bit your lower lip, not enough to hurt—just to claim. His long dark hair cascaded around you like a curtain, shielding you from the outside world. Some strands were still curled where you had braided them earlier, contrasting the rest of the silky, straight locks. God, how you loved touching it—feeling the cool softness slide through your fingers, silky and weightless, like ink in water. You could lose hours playing with it, and by how relaxed he always got under your touch, you knew he liked it too.

Without thinking, you lifted your left hand to pull one of the strands partially covering his face behind his ear, your thumb brushing his cheek along the way. His skin was warm under your touch, a sharp contrast to the cold edge of the metallic hand that suddenly lifted to meet yours, holding it in place with surprising tenderness.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, without breaking eye contact, he brought your hand to his lips. A kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then your forearm. Each one slow, deliberate, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading you further into the forest of him. His mouth was soft and reverent, and each touch sent a tremor through you—like you were being worshipped piece by piece.

When he reached your neck, he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough with need. “You drive me crazy.”

His hot breath brushed over your pulse point, and it hit you like a tidal wave—your skin prickled with goosebumps, your lungs forgot how to fill. His mouth settled in the delicate space between your jaw and neck, and when he spoke again, it was like a confession dragged from somewhere deep inside him.

"Every time I see someone else as much as look at you the way I want you to look at me, I can barely breathe."

He kissed higher, angling your head with one hand to gain better access. You let him guide you without resistance, surrendering to his touch, your body pliant under his. Your hand slid down his side, curling around his ribcage, as if anchoring yourself to the moment.

"I’ve been thinking about this exact situation for months." He whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “How I’d hold you. How I’d kiss you. How I’d caress your skin. How you’d have me. How you’d react to all of it.”

Each sentence was punctuated with a kiss: to your chin, the corner of your mouth, the dip beneath your ear. His voice rumbled through your bones, and the heat of his body enveloped you from everywhere at once. He wasn’t just close—he was everywhere. Around you, above you, inside your chest. Breathing you in like he couldn’t get enough.

"I know it’s greedy. I know I shouldn't. I can't help myself." His forehead leaned against yours, voice thick with longing. "Please, lay it all on me—say you’ll be mine."

Your heart felt like it was about to detonate inside your chest. You could feel your pulse in your throat, your fingertips, the very tips of your toes. You had never been more aware of your body—and of his—than in that moment. The truth sat heavy in your chest. No promises of forever. No declarations of love. There was no romance in his words, only raw longing. But still… you’d take what you could and hold it tight. So, if only for a night—if it was temporary, if it was just lust—you’d indulge. You’d be his. If only for a little while.

"I’m yours." You whispered, your lips barely brushing his own.

“Say that for me one more time.” He whispered. “Say you’re mine.”

"I’m only yours."

You rose just enough to meet his lips again, but he pulled away at the last second, just to smirk and mutter: "Needy much?"

Your only answer was to tug on his waistband, bringing his hips down so they met the press of your leg. The friction was electric. His breath hitched, his jaw flexed. He tried to stay composed, tried to swallow the sound clawing its way up his throat, but you still heard it—

A soft, low groan.

He tried to play it off, tried to act like it hadn’t affected him, but the slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. The crack in his armor only made you smile.

"You’re the one who pleaded." You said with a smirk.

He let out a breathy chuckle, defeated. "I love it when you do that. But keep it up and see what happens to you."

The warning lit a fire in your stomach. He shifted his weight to the side, leaning into the wall of the bunk for balance. His left hand slid down and gripped your thigh, kneading the muscle, firm and slow. He pulled it up around his waist, drawing you tighter against him. His touch was confident but unhurried, like he was savoring every second of contact.

His fingers traveled upward, brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh. Sparks shot down your spine, your breath caught in your throat. You could feel everything. The tension. The weight. The need pressing hot and thick between you both. He held you like you were something fragile, like if he let go too fast, you'd disappear.

With your hand still at his waistband, you moved it, splaying your fingers against the firm plane of his lower stomach. Your palm met the soft trail of hair that led downward. You hesitated only a moment, then followed it, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his pants. The air between you shifted—charged, electric. You glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He met your gaze. Didn’t speak. Just nodded, slow and deliberate. A silent yes.

At your touch, his body tensed. The fabric of his pants suddenly felt too tight, too restrictive. His breathing stuttered, his jaw clenched. It was like you’d hit a switch—one gentle stroke and his composure was slipping through his fingers like water.

He didn’t want to let the sounds out. Didn’t want you to know just how badly he needed this. So he buried his face in your neck, left open-mouthed kisses that turned into small bites when restraint failed him. Your gasp, soft and surprised, spilled out without permission, and it drove him wild.

The warmth of his mouth, the graze of his teeth, the way his breath fanned across your pulse—it was dizzying. It made your limbs feel like liquid, your thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. You arched into him before you even realized you were doing it.

He smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. He barely had time to say anything before—

“HEY!”

Zeus' voice shattered the moment. “If you're gonna have sex, do it at the next stop OUTSIDE the bus. I don't wanna hear you two going at it!”

Heat flooded your face. You buried your face in the crook of Poseidon’s neck, laughing softly in embarrassment.

Poseidon groaned. Of course—he had finally calmed his insatiable need for you, and now Zeus was butting in? Telling him to stop? After he had told him to do something about his ‘little guy’? “Shut up, Zeus.”

Zeus snickered. “You’re welcome.” It was revenge for what he had done before.

Poseidon muttered something under his breath, but as you glanced up at him—his face slightly pink, his lips kiss swollen—you just smiled.

You gave him one last chaste kiss on the mouth, slow and lingering, a quiet promise that this wasn’t the end of whatever had just begun. Your fingers brushed over his arm in a gentle pat, grounding both of you back to reality.

"We should go to sleep." You murmured, your voice softer now, reluctant but firm.

His eyes, still hazy with emotion, softened at the sight of you. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something that made your heart clench just a little. But he didn’t argue. He simply exhaled, slow and steady, before finally loosening his hold on you.

His fingers grazed your waist one last time as he pulled away, as if reluctant to break the connection.

"Yeah," He finally said, voice quieter now. "we should."

With one last glance, he eased himself down from your bunk, settling into his own below you. The space between you suddenly felt colder, emptier—but the warmth he left behind lingered on your skin. You couldn’t help the smile that had formed on your face from ear to ear, you had to physically stop yourself from squealing.

And with that, the bus rolled on, carrying you both into the quiet of the night.

. taglist: @hornehlittleweeblet2 @kyeunderyourbed @burnoutpisces @xdolls-crownx @fastleopard1521 @elysian-asphodel @gdfhi @itsjust-gabs7

[nyx-umbrakinesis]

MORNING SEX WITH LUCIFER PLEASE

I know it's not morning sex, it is evening sex... And I've not posted in a while... This is raw, unedited and been in my WIP file for ages lol, I kept going to but my brain just doesn't wanna obey me lately and I really wanted to get something out there so please forgive any errors I literally hate releasing unedited stuff, anyway please enjoy (there were errors as I copy and pasted over from my docs using my phone, I think I fixed the issue but lmk if there's anything else majorly wrong pls)

Lucifer x Reader

Cw: from memory so please lmk if I miss anything, p in v sex, wing kink, slight exhibitionism, appearance of slight non con to begin with, praise kink, begging, vaginal fingering...

Appletini Appetite

“Well aren’t you just ripe for the picking” the smooth voice of the King of Hell himself washes over you smoothly as he sits beside you st the bar, appletini in hand as he eyes you up and down with an appreciative hum at your attire and how it fits your form.

“Oh, hello... Sire” you blush at his boldness and watch as his eyes trail along your collarbone, darkening appreciatively and shifting closer toward you.

“Oh no need for ceremony sweetness, call me Lucifer, ha ha.”

A warm hand brushes your thigh sending shivers up your spine and you take a large gulp of your own drink to compensate, coughing, eyes stinging as you half inhale the liquid.

“You’re adorable Kitten.” The dark purr in Lucifer’s voice has you squeezing your thighs together and you lower abdomen feeling like you swallowed molten lava.

“How about we spend a little bit of time somewhere quieter, more... Secluded?” Lucifer’s hand now resting in your thigh so body you tremble, you don’t know where to look and his burning eyes are just too much of a trap as your heart races anxiously.

“A-apologies, but I’m not i-interested... S-s-si.. I mean Lucifer, I’m just having a quiet evening out alone.” Your eyes are glued to his long dark fingers as they tighten with a pinch around the meat of your thigh and you repress a whimper by biting your lip, eyes darting up betraying you as they meet his and he chuckles at the utter need in your gaze... It had been a while after all.

Lucifer chuckles softly, his hand moving higher up your thigh, brushing against the fabric of your panties now.

You gasp, gaze darting back down. Lucifer’s fingers tease the elastic material, tracing slow circles around the outline of your pussy, liquid heat utterly ruining the garment as his fingers tickle slightly and cause tingles to dance over the damp flesh. His other hand cups your face, tilting your head back so he can look into your eyes directly.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. I can smell your desire radiating off of you like a blooming Flower. And trust me, I’ve experienced most forms of ‘quiet’ evenings out.”

He takes a chance, your breath catching in your throat as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a firm, demanding kiss. His tongue darts between your lips, exploring your mouth hungrily as his hand peels your panties aside, exposing your sopping folds to his touch and the chill in the room. You want to argue, to fight back... But fear of being seen in such a compromising state in public no less sends a thrill of fear and heat through your spine.

One deft finger dips inside you, curling and stroking, he groans, feeling your clutching humid walls trying to demand more from him, as the tighten and throb around his fingers.

He pulls back slightly, meeting your shocked gaze with a wicked grin

“Now, shall we retire to one of those private rooms back there, or would you rather we give everyone here a show?”

Your body screams for you to agree, to let him take you wherever he wants right now.

You gasp into the kiss as he presses his warm lips to yours, your body trembling under his touch.

His fingers sliding inside you send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you in the busy bar, causing your hips to buck involuntarily against his hand.

“L-Lucifer...” You moan softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mortified.

The idea of giving everyone a show seems outrageous, terrifying even. But the thought of going somewhere private with him, where he could explore every inch of you without restraint... it sends a thrill straight to your core. But then your insecurities flood your again and you’re filled with dread.

Trying to regain some semblance of your sanity and control, you try to break the kiss and his contact with your sex, a thrum of heat running through you.

“you’re rather forward... I’m not that sort of person!”

You whimper taking his wrist and pulling it out from under your skirt, closing your legs, a needy throb running through you.

Lucifer smirks, unbothered by your attempt to push him away. In fact, he seems to enjoy the challenge.

“Let’s go talk somewhere private.” He whispers huskily and before you can protest...

He wraps his other arm around your waist, lifting you effortlessly off the stool and carrying you toward the back room. His hand finds its way back between your legs, slipping your panties completely aside before sliding two fingers into you once more. He begins to thrust slowly, relentlessly, while the other hand trails up your side, cupping your breast through your shirt. A few patron’s notice, whooping at the spectacle your face aflame as you get impossibly wetter, god why were you enjoying this?

Noticing your reactions he replies to your last statement.

“Oh, but I think you are exactly that type of person, my dear. Now stop being coy and let go. You know you want this as much as I do.”

With a growl, he opens the door to one of the private rooms and tosses you onto the bed, following close behind.

Before you can speak further, his mouth is on your neck, sucking and nipping at your pulse point while his fingers continue their relentless assault on your soaking pussy.

His free hand works at the buttons of your shirt, revealing most of your chest to his hungry gaze. He groans approvingly before taking a clothed nipple between his teeth, biting down hard enough to make you yelp and then moan in pleasure, your fingers winding in his hair.

“See? Told you you wanted it.” He says with a cocky smirk, you have to try to not break character as you almost beg him to take you, but that wasn’t the plan for tonight, tonight you’re supposed to be strangers.

You cry out, overwhelmed by the sensations he evokes within you. Each bite sends jolts of pleasure through your body, each thrust of his fingers sends waves of warmth pooling deep in your belly.

“Mmmph-“ Your protests are muffled as he captures your lips in another searing kiss, your mind swimming with lust and confusion. Your body betrays you, arching into his touch, grinding against his fingers.

“No... I mean... yes...” You stutter, unable to form coherent sentences. Your hands move to his shoulders, gripping tightly as if anchoring yourself amidst the storm of desire that threatens to consume you whole.

Your breasts ache for his touch, nipples hardening further under his ministrations. Despite your initial reluctance, you can’t deny the raw need coursing through your veins.

You whimper and moan, your body betraying your mind as Lucifer’s fingers plunge deeper within you, stretching your cunt deliciously. His mouth on your skin, sucking and biting, causes a rush of pleasure that leaves you writhing beneath him.

“Fuck...” You groan, unable to suppress the moans that slip past your lips. Your hands grip his hair tightly, guiding his movements as you grind against his hand.

Your shirt falls further open, exposing your chest further to his hungry gaze. The sensation of his teeth biting down on your nipple again sends jolts of pleasure shooting straight to your soaked pussy, making you writhe uncontrollably underneath him crying out, back arching at the sting.

“No... I mean... We’re just getting to know each other...” You stutter out, but your words come out as nothing more than desperate pleas for more. Remembering your part.

Lucifer chuckles darkly, pleased with your surrender. He continues to torment your sensitive nipples, alternating between bites and licks until you’re moaning unintelligibly.

“We’ll get to know each other better then, won’t we?”

He growls before ripping your shirt off completely, his claw slicing your bra down the middle with ease making you gulp, chills run up your spine as he finishes exposing your tits to his greedy eyes.

His hand leaves your aching pussy momentarily, making you whine, to cup one breast, thumb teasing your hardened nipple while his tongue lazily traces a path down your collarbone, stopping to flick across your other exposed nipple.

His other hand gathers yours pinning them firmly above your head, you moan as it makes your back arch, pressing your tits in his face.

His fingers slide back into you, this time adding a third digit as he starts to pump you faster, harder.

“Such a tight little cunt you have, kitten. So ready for me.” He growls nipping at the skin making you gasp, helplessly writing in his grip, goosebumps litter your skin from the attention and exposure.

“I want to fuck you so bad.”

His voice is rough...

“Do you want that, huh? To be filled by the devil himself?”

Your body quakes beneath him, a mess of need and desire. You moan out loudly as he teases your nipples, his tongue and teeth driving you insane.

“Yes... oh gods, yes...”

The word slips out before you can stop it, your rational mind lost to the pleasure he’s inflicting upon you.

“I mean... I don’t know... I-I shouldn’t...”

But even as you try to resist, your hips buck against his hand, begging for more. You can feel yourself getting closer, your walls clenching tightly around his fingers, your juices coating his hand.

“Please... stop... I can’t...”

Your voice breaks.

His tongue flicks your nipple again, biting down harder and a pinch to your clit, drawing a sharp cry from your lips your pussy throbbing you’re almost rutting his hand not, trying to make him dig in deeper, faster, anything!

You squirm underneath him, trying to escape his hold, his hand strong around your wrists, so it only serves to rub your sensitive nipple against his rough tongue and teeth more.

“Yes... Gods, yes... Fuck me... Please!” You break.

The words slip out before you can censor them, your body betraying your mind once more. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, eagerly, begging for more.

“Please... just... Please, oh fuck... Slow down please.”

You manage to choke out, but the pleading in your voice contradicts your actions, your hips rocking against his hand in time with his thrusts, it’s too much for you, your head thrashing side to side, denial of the rushing intensity coiling and burning inside you, your pussy quivering and weeping as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut.

“Good girl.”

“Ready for your punishment, kitten?” He asks, his voice low and husky, his eyes gleaming with lust and satisfaction.

Lucifer’s smile grows wider as he watches you succumb to the pleasure he’s providing. His fingers continue their relentless pace, feeling you getting closer to orgasm, tilting his hand and fingers, pressing a spot inside you that makes you see stars, instantly blinding you with hot white heat, his thumb running your puffy clit.

“That’s it, kitten,” he growls, his own desire evident in his voice. “Give in to the pleasure. Let yourself cum for me.”

As if on command, your body peaks, convulsing as a powerful orgasm washing over you. Your pussy clamps down on his fingers, sending waves of intense pleasure through both of you. You cry out, your voice echoing in the small room, your body writhing under his touch, squirt gushing out in powerful spurts covering his hand and arms as you cry out, losing control.

As your orgasm subsides, Lucifer slowly withdraws his fingers from your still twitching pussy, a slick, audible sound filling the room. He looks at you with a satisfied smirk, before leaning down to lick the taste of you from his fingers.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, cock twitching in his trousers painfully, his eyes locked on yours. “But you know that was just the beginning, kitten?”

You numbly realise he’d released your wrists.

He starts peeling his clothes off methodically.

You wasting no time clumsily fumble out of your skirt and panties, kicking your shoes off in the process, stockings and garter remaining, the feel of the fabric digging into your thighs, yet his hungry eyes drinking in your exposed cunt almost makes you cum again.

You nod weakly, still recovering from the intense orgasm he’d given you. Your heart races, adrenaline and anticipation coursing through your veins.

As Lucifer undresses, you can’t help but admire the sight of him. His lean, strong frame, his cock standing tall and thick, absolutely dripping for you, the red in his eyes almost glowing. He exudes power and dominance, making you feel small and vulnerable in comparison, this is the Lucifer that made all those panties drop in the past.

You lay there, exposed and wanting, your body aching for him to fill you. As he moves closer, you spread your legs wider, inviting him in.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart, stretching out further, trying to entice him faster.

Lucifer’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with untold need and satisfaction at state of you, and your plea, slick coating your inner thighs, even as far as your stockings.

He almost throws caution to the wind wanting nothing more than to dive on there lapping at you, cleaning you up, making you cum on his tongue again and again until you beg him to stop, his cock twitches needily and angrily at his thoughts.

But fuck does he want your pleasure

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He asks, his voice low and husky, his eyes locked on yours, wrapping his hand around his cock, pumping it, unable to stop his horns from pushing upwards with a groan they feel like their own release.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat, dazzled by the fallen king.

Lucifer chuckles, his eyes gleaming with amusement and desire as he takes in your eagerness. He steps closer, his erection pressing against your thigh as he reaches out to caress your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “All flushed and trembling because of me.”

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, tender kiss. It’s a stark contrast to the rough, demanding way he’d claimed your mouth earlier, and it catches you off guard, making you melt into the embrace.

As the kiss deepens, his tongue exploring your mouth, his hand moves down to cradle your breast, his thumb idly stroking your nipple, soothing that sore flesh.

You moan softly, your body responding instinctively to his touch, tongue returning his affections languidly, drunk from your high.

Finally, he breaks the kiss, his breath hot against your lips as he looks into your eyes, you know this is your husband checking in on you. “Are you ready for me now, kitten?”

You nod eagerly, your heart racing with anticipation. Lucifer smiles, his expression a mix of satisfaction and hunger.

Without another word, Lucifer grabs your legs and drags you to the edge of the bed, slotting himself between your thighs whilst standing, his tongue flicking out, unable to resist dragging it down on thigh, moaning as he laps up your juices greedily.

With a satisfied smile, licking his lips lewdly, Lucifer positions himself at your entrance, his cock pulsing with anticipation. He places a hand on your hip, pulling you towards him slightly, adjusting your angle and spreading you wide as he aligns himself with your wet opening.

Rubbing his cock up and down through your labia, teasing the sensitive flesh, smearing his precum into your cunt as you jolt from the sensations feeling overstimulated everytime he hits your clit, with a spasm and a whine.

With a grin at your debauched inarticulate state he lines up his cock and he begins to push inside you, you feel a sense of fullness that has you trying to cling to the sheets for deer life, eyes shut as you try to take him, even after all this time it’s such a squeeze.

His size is incredible, stretching you wide as he fills you completely, causing you to gasp and moan as it burns and your cunt flutters and pulses around him, slick and slippery as it is.

Lucifer’s eyes lock onto yours, watching your reaction intently as he continues to penetrate you deeply, his movements slow and measured, allowing you to adjust to his size.

“Relax, kitten,” he whispers, his voice soothing and comforting. “Breathe through it. You can take all of me, I know you can.”

You can’t respond, head thrashing in denial, forgetting your not supposed to know him you have no script to follow anyway.

As he bottoms out inside you, you let out a final gasping whine, your body tensing as you accommodate him fully. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours as he takes a few moments to savour the connection between you, his breath hot against your face.

“You feel amazing,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe and wonder. “So tight and warm around my cock, and fuck your so damn drenched for me, I could fall in love with you just from this."

A moment of confusion before you remember your part again, his cock embedded in you, his forearms supporting your thighs, spread for the king, exposed, defenceless, chest heaving as you struggle for sanity.

You nod weakly, still struggling to regain your composure. The fullness of him inside you is overwhelming, the sensation of his cock stretching you wide is almost too much to handle. But despite the discomfort, there’s an underlying pleasure that’s starting to build, a pleasure that’s only possible with him.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths, and you remember this is supposed to be new... “I’m okay... I can do this...”

Lucifer smiles, his eyes gleaming with pride and satisfaction. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling back, his hands moving to grip your hips firmly.

“That’s my good kitten,” he praises, his voice low and husky. “Now let’s see how well you can take me.”

With that, he begins to move, his hips rolling forward as he pulls out slowly, the head of his cock teasing your entrance before he thrusts sharply back inside you, eliciting a cry of pleasure from your lips as he shapes your cunt to his cock with every thrust.

The rhythm is slow and steady at first, but as the pleasure builds, so does the speed and intensity of his thrusts.

“You okay, pet?” Lucifer check in concern as you seem to only be able to clutch at the sheets, body tense as you moan, eyes closed tightly.

He feels bigger than usual, you even miss you favourite part, his wings had come out to play and you missed it

You nod weakly, still trying to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him.

He smiles, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and desire. “Good girl,” he praises, “look at me please pet.”

With effort you open your eyes and your cunt clamps like a vice as you gasp in awe at him, his horns and wings in all their glory.

Each thrust sends extra waves of pleasure rippling through your body, making you moan and writhe beneath him, eyes fixed to his shivering wings as they flutter in time with your pussy.

As he picks up speed again, and it takes everything in you not to fling your head back again, your moans grow louder and more desperate, your hands clutching at the his forearms, nails digging in as you fight to maintain some semblance of control.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Lucifer growls, his eyes locked on yours as he continues to drive into you. “I can’t get enough of you, kitten, fucking addictive, that’s what you are.”

His words send a surge of pride and desire through you, making you arch your back and press your breasts against his chest. Your nipples are hard and sensitive, rubbing against him with each movement.

As he continues to work away at you, skin slapping skin, balls striking your arse, the coil winds, burning deep within you again, threatening to consume you whole. You whimper and plead, your body writhing under his relentless assault.

“P-please... Lucifer... I’m close...” you gasp, your voice strained and desperate.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he speaks, “Go ahead, kitten. Let go. Show me how much you enjoy being fucked by your King.”

Lucifer’s smile grows wider as he watches you lose control, his own pleasure mounting with each passing second. He leans in, his lips pressed against your ear as he whispers sweet nothings to you, designed to push you over the edge.

“You’re mine, kitten,” he growls possessively. “My perfect little pet. You were made for this, for me, fuck you feel so good, clutching desperately around my cock, it’s like you never want it to leave, and believe me sweetheart, you’ll be feeling it for a very long time, so... Fucking... Tight... So... Fucking... Perfect... Pretty... Little... Cunt...”

His words send a shockwave of pleasure through your body, making you moan louder, your pussy clamping down on his cock as the orgasm crashes over you.

“Oh... Oh... Fuck! Lucifer!” Your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you, cunt spasming, gripping him so tight he can’t move, his hands stroking your shaking thighs as your body is wracked with waves you pleasure, your squirt hitting his pelvis again and again as you drench him, the sensation making him moan.

Lucifer’s own climax is close now, he can feel it building, your pussy releases enough of it’s grip as you slip and he has to cling to your thighs to keep you from slipping from his grip as he fucks into your limp body.

The pressure mounting with each thrust. He leans over you, cock sliding in deeper causing you to twitch and gasp for breath, he reaches behind your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling it with forceful control, tilting your head back, forcing you to look at him as he comes.

“Look at me, kitten,” he commands, his voice low and guttural. “Watch me as I claim you.”

Your eyes fly open, meeting his gaze as he continues to thrust into you relentlessly. The intensity of his eyes, the dominance and possession in them, sends a shiver down your spine and increases your pleasure tenfold.

As you watch him, you can see the signs of his impending climax – the strain in his face, the sweat on his brow, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. And knowing that you’re the one bringing him to this peak of pleasure fills you with a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment, admiring his wings once more, every thrust a shockwave down your spine.

“Yes... yes... Lucifer... I’m here... I’m yours...” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the sound of your combined breaths and moans.

With one final, powerful thrust, Lucifer buries himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing as he reaches his peak. His eyes lock onto yours, holding your gaze as he lets out a deep, primal growl of satisfaction, his entire body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

Hot jets of cum spurt from his cock, filling you completely as he claims you as his own. You can feel each pulse, each twitch of his cock as he empties himself inside you, his cock throbbing and twitching as he reaches his peak. His eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze matching the ferocity of his orgasm.

“Fuck!” He cries out, his voice echoing throughout the room. “You’re mine. Every single inch of you belongs to me.”

His grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place as he rides out the waves of his orgasm, his hips jerking sporadically as he pumps every last drop of his seed into your willing body.

You can feel his hot cum filling you up, overflowing and trickling down your thighs, the sensation making you moan and shudder beneath him. His grip on your hair loosens, and he leans down to capture your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as his cock continues to throb inside you.

Finally, he pulls back, breaking the kiss and releasing your hair. He looks down at you, his eyes softening as he takes in the sight of you, flushed and panting beneath him, his cum leaking out of your well-fucked cunt.

“You’re incredible, kitten,” Lucifer pants, his voice filled with genuine affection and admiration. “Absolutely incredible.”

Finally, spent and sated, he releases his grip on your hair, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. His cock softening inside you, but remains buried deep within you, a tangible reminder of his claim over you.

“You did so well, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice filled with warmth and affection. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner tonight, or any other night.”

Withdrawing slowly, you groan at the feel of him slipping out of you, he kneels between your legs, his eyes roaming over your naked form appreciatively. His hands trace lazy patterns over your skin, fingers dipping into your cum-filled cunt, admiring his seed inside you, making you squirm and whimper sensation.

“I think you deserve a reward for being such a good girl,” he purrs, his voice low and seductive.

Without warning, he dives between your legs, his tongue lapping at your sensitive flesh, licking up every drop of his cum that’s leaking out of you. His fingers continue to play with your pussy, teasing your swollen clit as he cleans you up with his mouth.

You moan and writhe beneath him, your body still oversensitive from your previous orgasms. But Lucifer doesn’t relent, his skilled tongue working tirelessly to bring you to the brink of ecstasy once again, arms locking around your thighs, holding you in place.

Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he pulls back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he gazes down at your flushed, panting form.

You arch you back invitingly, smirk on his face as he plays with your garter straps and decides to tease you, and play dumb.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” He asks innocently, fingers lightly tracing the edges of your garter belt, a devilish twinkle in his eye. “Did you want something else?”

He knows exactly what he’s doing, the bastard. He’s toying with you, teasing you mercilessly, loving every second of it.

“Or maybe... you're not done yet?" He muses, his fingers dancing dangerously close to your aching clit, making you squirm and gasp, your body instinctively seeking out his touch.

"Please... Lucifer..." you beg, your voice hoarse and needy. "Don't stop... I need... You."

He chuckles, his eyes gleaming with amusement and desire. "Well, since you asked so nicely..."

With that, he dives back in, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers plunge into your soaked pussy, curling and hitting that sweet spot inside you, using every trick he knows to bring you to a rapid peak so as not to pain you with too much overstimulation, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, over and over again as he brings you to the edge once more, licking sloppily at your cunt, diving his tongue in to taste more of your combined fluids.

You nod frantically, your body already tensing in anticipation. “Yes, oh fuck, yes yes yes yes yes yes.”

Lucifer grins, clearly pleased with your response. “As you wish, kitten.”

With renewed vigour, he attacks your clit, his tongue flicking and swirling over the sensitive bundle of nerves. At the same time, his fingers continue their relentless assault on your g-spot, each stroke bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You can feel the familiar tension building deep within your core, your muscles coiling tightly as you brace yourself for the inevitable explosion. Your hands find their way into his horns, gripping tightly as you grind your pussy against his face, humping him shamelessly, lost in a sea of pleasure.

“Lucifer... I’m gonna... I’m gonna cum...” you warn, your voice breaking.

In response, he doubles down on his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, his tongue lashing against your clit with increased fervour, sucking on it with just the right amount of pressure. The combination of sensations is too much to bear, and with a final cry of his name and a thrust of his fingers, you tumble over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your body convulses, your back arching off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you, walks clamping and pulsing around his fingers as your pussy erupts but this time he swiftly withdraws his fingers.

His mouth sealing around your hole, tongue diving in as he devours your offering, a sacrifice to the devil, one he covets, gluttony wasn’t his sin before but as his cock throbs as he drinks you down, it might just be now.

As your orgasm subsides, Lucifer finally lifts his head from between your legs, a triumphant grin on his face as he gazes down at you, his chin and lips glistening with your juices. He crawls up the bed, carrying you with him from the edge and placing you down gently.

Settling himself beside you, his arm draped possessively over your waist as he pulls you close, wrapping his wings back down, pulling you against his chest.

“You did so well, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice filled with warmth and affection. “I’m proud of you.”

You snuggle back against him, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasms. His closeness is comforting, his presence a reassuring weight under you.

For a few moments, the two of you lie there in silence, basking in the afterglow of your shared experience. The room is filled with the scent of sex and the sound of your combined breathing, gradually slowing down as you both begin to relax.

Eventually, Lucifer breaks the silence, his voice soft and gentle in the quiet room. “How are you feeling, pet?”

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. Despite the intensity of your encounter, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment and satisfaction, your body thoroughly ravished.

You smile weakly, still trying to catch your breath. “I feel... amazing,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Exhausted, but amazing.”

Lucifer chuckles, his hand coming up to stroke your hair gently. “That’s my girl,” he says, his voice filled with pride and affection. “Get some rest, kitten. You’ve earned it.”

You nod, snuggling closer to him, your eyelids growing heavy as the exhaustion sets in. His arm tightens around you, holding you close, safe and secure in the arms of the Devil himself.

As your eyes slip closed, you can hear Lucifer’s soft, steady heartbeat in your ear, a comforting rhythm that lulls you into a deep, peaceful sleep. And as the world fades away around you, the last thought that crosses your mind is a simple one:

With that, he reaches over to pull the covers up over the two of you, cocooning you in a warm, safe bubble. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as you drift off to sleep, the steady beat of his heart a comforting lullaby in your ear.

As sleep claims you, you whisper.

“I love you, thank you Luci.”

As the whole idea of going to this bar and pretending to meet for the first time as though your weren’t married was your idea.

Lucifer smiles, his eyes softening as he listens to your sleepy confession. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening protectively around you.

“I love you too, kitten,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. “Always have, always will.”

With that, he settles down beside you, closing his eyes and letting out a contented sigh. The room is silent except for the soft rustle of the sheets and the occasional crackle from the fireplace.

As the hours pass, Lucifer remains awake, watching over you as you sleep peacefully in his arms. His mind wanders back to the events of the evening, replaying each moment, each touch, each kiss. He can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction and contentment, knowing that he’s managed to bring you such immense pleasure.

After a while, he finally allows himself to drift off to sleep, his dreams filled with images of you, your laughter echoing in his ears, your smile lighting up his world. And as he falls into a deep, peaceful slumber, he knows without a doubt that he’s the luckiest man in the universe.

Because he has you. His kitten, his pet, his everything. And he wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

He’s made his home yours, and in turn you made it his.

After all, home is where the heart is, and your heart belongs to Lucifer.

And his heart belongs to you.

(as usual sorry I nearly forgot to add the taglist)

Nyx's Nymphs!

@ustulia @redvexillum @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorthirsty @6esiree

[honoredalone]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒

he’s jealous, so jealous he needs to eat you like you’re dessert.

word count: 985

a/n: sorry i disappeared honeys! i’ve literally had no motivation whatsoever and have been super busy but i promise i’ll come back slowly. please enjoy!! feel free to like and repost!!

“god, toru.” you whined under his scorching touch. he’s been at this for hours, laid flat on his stomach, feet dangling off the footboard of your shared luxury bed, folding you in half with his strong arms. he’s growling and whispering degrading words into your silky folds while you cry out for him to slow down. “s-slow! slow, baby.”

this all started because satoru took you out to a cute little bar he saw on suguru’s instagram story due to him having a gig with his band, he decided this is the perfect place to bring you for an intimate evening together.

satoru had excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving with a kiss to your forehead. when he returned some asshole decided to buy you a drink, the nerve.

satoru walked over, dripping with the pure confidence he’s known for, wrapping a possessive hand around your waist and pulled you into a greedy kiss.

when satoru pulled away slightly, a provocative string of spit connected both of your mouths while you both breathe heavily. satoru looked at you with those eyes. the ones that say he’s going to eat you alive. you glances slightly over his broad shoulders to see if the man was still there but he just disappeared.

soon after he flagged the bartender down to pay the bill, quickly drove you both home while definitely going over the speed limit. satoru kept a hand on you the whole way home, a hand on your waist as you exited the bar, a hand on your thigh while he drove, carried you from the parking garage into the elevator to your million dollar penthouse, all the way to your bedroom which is located on the second floor.

he threw you onto the bed, immediately snatching your panties from your soaking pussy. he stuffed them in his pocket before crawling onto the bed, and folding your knees to your chest.

“you’re mine. mine, no one else’s.” he sternly said between breathless kisses against your inner thighs, his big hands digging into your soft flesh, making you whine with a weak attempt of pushing his grip on you away. “just let me- fuck, let me make you feel good, dove.”

after leaving a couple purple marks on your poor skin, he dives in straight away with absolutely no warning. satoru eats like a starved man, like you’re his last meal. slurping up every juice exiting your pretty core, whimpering at your angelic noises, and tirelessly sucking on your sensitive nerve.

“baby- oh fuck toru.” you tried to push him away, sobbing in pure overstimulation but he just dug his nose even deeper with a huge sniff into your pussy.

“my girl,” he praised, snowy eyelashes fluttering shut, soaking in this moment. “my sweet, sweet dumb girl.” satoru lands a firm slap to your ass, kneading the area to dampen the sting. you moaned out, lacing your manicured fingers through his soft skin white hair. “lettin’ other guys think they have a chance? am i not good enough for ya, dove?” he looked at you with those sweet puppy eyes, mischief highlighting his beautiful ocean eyes.

“toruuu,” you pulled his hair, tight, to try and shut him up but he just chuckled at your attempt. his lips wrapped around your clit as he moves his right hand to press his outrageously long fingers into your pathetic hole. “i’m yours. only yours.” you had given up on your grip on his hair to massaging his scalp lovingly.

satoru’s eyes watered. though he was jealous, for no apparent reason, he loves the intimacy that you always assure him with. he’s used to civilized conversations and the usual praise he receives but this, this is so different.

this is love.

this is what he wants his life to be like, forever.

he eases on his attack on your delicious cunt, looking at you with his jaw slightly slacked, eyes filled with affection. satoru rises slowly, taking your lips in his allowing you to taste yourself. after your tongues tangled and danced, he kissed down your body before returning to his sweet treat.

“fuckin’ minx. you know what you do to me.” he flashes his sharp canines before giving your folds little kitten licks. “i love you. i love you, dove” he chanted like a prayer, shaking his head side to side to dive you even more insane.

“l-love you so much, toru.” you moaned, further pressing your core into his mouth, knowingly. satoru knows you’re close, he knows the sounds coming out of your mouth mean that you’re not going to last, so naturally he folds you even more, wrapping his muscular arms around your thighs so you can’t run away.

“cum all over my face. c’mon dove, i know you can do it. my good girl.” his eyes sealed shut while you beg him to continue. he devours you whole, he knows your body like it’s his own. “go ahead, make a mess on me.”

your whole body shakes, everything feeling so intense. every muscle tenses then releases with a loud cry before you drench satoru’s face. your vision blurs before clearing to see your boyfriend’s blissed out face, dripping in your essence. his breathless, drunk on you. he climbs up, pressing his body onto yours, kissing your jawline while sending praises into your ears.

“wanna see how many times you can squirt on my cock?” satoru said, a slight rasp in his voice when he pushed his pants down after stripping off his wrinkled button up, a feline smile plastered on his pretty face. you whined in agreement but that wasn’t good enough for satoru. “use your words. i need to hear you say it, pretty girl.”

“please. please make me squirt. wanna make a mess, toru.” his gaze softened though nothing he was going to do to you was ‘soft’.

you’re in for it now.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Final Chapter

Klaus Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having recently moved to New Orleans, you become intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: You wake up and make your choice.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood Drinking, Near Death Experiences, Love Triangle, Witchcraft, Kissing, Crying, Fear, Angst, Manipulation

Word Count: 4.4k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Klaus stands over your and Elijah’s bodies as he swallows the last few drops of your blood, relishing in the decadent flavor he only got a small taste of before. It’s rich and sweet, with notes of raspberries and dark chocolate, triggering his taste buds like nothing else has in over a thousand years. Draining you of this delectable elixir was what he thought he wanted most in that moment, what he believed you deserved after betraying him with none other than his own brother, his own flesh and blood behind his back. But he still can’t deny the dueling streams of tears now crystallizing on his cheeks as his sorrow dries in the aching aftermath of what he’s done.

Time always seemed to prove that everyone in his life preferred his noble brother over him; his own mother and father, his siblings, Marcellus, and now you. Even under the ancient power of a witch’s curse, he still couldn’t manage to measure up to the timeless charms of the great Elijah Mikaelson. For once in his life, he thought he had something special, a bond that transcended beauty and pheromones, one with room to embrace each other on a level he never quite had the strength to embrace in himself. If all that was a lie, if what you felt for him was nothing more than a slew of Latin incantations over a few candles in a warehouse, then he had no other choice but to make you feel the gut-wrenching pain that you caused him in return.

“Look what you made me do.” He mutters before looking down at your lifeless body, your hand still somehow reaching out toward Elijah’s even in death. The image alone is almost enough to make him feel terrible for what he did to you, for reacting as if this was all your fault, but he pushes that feeling of guilt down to the very pit of his stomach.

He’ll have plenty of time to feel bad when this is all over.

“Alright witch, show’s over… although I do hope you enjoyed it.” Klaus calls out to her with a smirk as the remainder of your coagulated blood begins to dry onto his chin. “Come on now, I can already smell your fear.” He disguises his regret by ignoring the two of you on the floor in an attempt to step outside of the circle, but is met with an invisible barrier, halting him in place.

It’s still up. But how can that be?

“Alright, she’s obviously made her choice, now let me go,” he bargains, lowering his voice to that deep, gravelly tone. “Perhaps you and I can make a deal.”

“Has she, now?” The witch appears out of nowhere, revealing that she’s been watching this entire time behind a complex cloaking spell. “Or did you take your anger and paranoia out on her before she had a chance to make a real choice, completing your own self-sabotaging prophecy?”

“Ah, you think that you know me, is that it?” He leans in as close to the boundary as her magic allows him, his heart pumping his own supernatural level of adrenaline through his veins, priming him for what’s to come. “Tell me love, have I wronged you somehow in the past? Obliterated some of your ancestors, massacred members of your coven? Or perhaps it’s more personal than that? Maybe I turned someone you love into a vampire, cutting them off from their magic entirely? A boyfriend or girlfriend, perhaps?”

“How did it feel?” She immediately deflects with a grin, casually walking around the circle as he follows her like a caged animal waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “To connect with someone on such a deep and emotional level before having them ripped away from you in an instant? And not just by some random guy off the street either, but by your very own brother?” She laughs, getting a little bit closer to the circle that ensnares him. “I can’t imagine the pits of despair that kind of betrayal would send someone to.”

Klaus nods at her words, silently acknowledging his hurt as if his actions hadn’t already made that abundantly clear. He’d been betrayed by his siblings a handful of times over the centuries, but nothing up until now had cut quite as deep as this, no matter how he tries to reframe it in his mind.

“It’s a clever plan, I’ll give you that.” Klaus forces a laugh, studying the witch as she slowly encircles him. “But not your best one, not even by half. Did you really think that you could usher in the demise of the Mikaelsons with something as trivial as this? Tear us apart over the life of some silly human girl when we’ve already performed this song and dance on our own for centuries? I mean, I’ve killed so many of their lovers in the past that I’ve honestly lost count decades ago. And I’ve certainly daggered them for much less, so as you can see, little witch, we don’t need your help.”

“No?” She stops walking and turns to face him, tilting her head with a glint of madness in her eyes. “You could have fooled me. You’ve left quite the bloody trail of destruction in the wake of your little temper tantrum, just like I knew you would.”

“As soon as this barrier breaks, and it will,” Klaus places his palms against the invisible wall between them. “I’m going to enjoy making you pay for this pathetic little attempt at a regime change. In fact, I'm going to take my time tearing you limb from limb so that even the alligators in the bayou will have trouble determining which body parts of yours they’re devouring.”

“And you said you didn’t need my help.” She laughs, looking back at you and Elijah. “Seems like I struck a nerve. And it won’t break, actually. The poor girl never made her choice, so it looks like the three of you are stuck there indefinitely.” The witch crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step back, keeping her eyes on Klaus until she reaches her collection of magical objects. “Pity.”

“Well not yet, she hasn’t, no.” He glances back as Elijah begins to stir, healing from his temporary injury just in time like he knew he would. “But I’ve learned that patience is a virtue.”

Elijah slowly comes to, blinking himself back into the realm of the living as his fingers just barely touch yours, twitching back to life while Klaus’ muffled voice echoes off in the distance. He attempts to hold your hand as he sits up next to you, feeling the cold grip of death stealing the very warmth from your body as he notices the bite mark Klaus had left on your neck.

“Oh, no, Niklaus,” he whispers under his breath as his horror stifles it, carefully gathering your limp body into his arms. This was his fault, all of it. If only he had caught onto the jealous expression in his brother’s eyes when he smelled you on his clothing that day, if only he had enough self control to leave you to your own devices after saving you from his men, then maybe you wouldn’t have ended up like this. “No.” He thinks of everything else he could have done to prevent this, to sideline his brother and stop his anger from getting the best of him like it always does, but realizes that it’s too late for any of that now. “You didn’t...”

He did.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised, brother. This isn’t the first time I’ve thwarted one of your romantic endeavors, and I highly doubt it will be the last.” Klaus keeps his eyes on the witch as he speaks to Elijah, his tone more jovial than ever.

“How could you?” His eyes glisten with remorse as his bottom lip quivers, the loss of your life weighing him down like an anchor, pulling him deeper into the waters of his despair. “She isn’t just mine, Niklaus. She was yours, too. She’s ours, she’s… my god.”

Your eyes spring open as your previous dreamlike state phases back into reality, taking your first new breath into this world, surprised at being thrust back into your body so quickly after walking through the ethereal glow of the afterlife. It was a beautiful and peaceful place, so unlike this world that you wanted to return as quickly as possible, but you get the feeling that the arms holding you close won’t allow that. Images of a long hallway and doors of different colors linger in your memory as you try to make sense of your new surroundings, figuring out what could have pulled you from the world beyond. What time is it? Where are you? Are you still dreaming? Where did the hallway go? Is Klaus still holding you, or…? No, that’s Elijah. It definitely smells like Elijah.

Your memory quickly returns to you in vibrant flashes of color and sound, blank spaces of lost time slowly filling in with truths that had previously been hidden from your mind’s eye. That night in the voodoo shop replays in your head, extending past the point of your original recollection, revealing that Klaus had threatened to kill Marie and her family if she spoke to you anymore just before compelling you to forget their entire conversation. He had also ensured that you didn’t fear him based on her reaction to his sudden presence, or based on the cards she had dealt you.

He was the King of Swords in reverse, and you had almost figured it out, but he made sure that you would never go any further in your pursuit for answers on the matter. Surprisingly enough though, he never had to compel you after that, his confession to you in the hospital holding at least half a truth. How much of your actions after that were a result of your genuine attraction to him versus the effects of the spell were still too difficult to decipher. Perhaps you’ll never know.

Elijah’s part in this whole plot feels less ominous, revealing that he only compelled you not to worry about your brother after the attack. You can hear him telling Austin to run home and forget that any of this ever happened, that you’d be safe going home with him. It’s surreal seeing flashes of your brother’s face go blank with immediate compliance, obeying the commands of someone he claimed to hate so passionately without an ounce of hesitation. It’s almost as surreal as watching Klaus and Elijah argue about you while you hovered over your own body for what seemed like an eternity.

Elijah’s tearful face slowly comes into focus as his grip on your waist and shoulders tightens. Once he feels you come back to life in his arms, a joyful sob gets caught in his throat as he hugs you in a desperate embrace, his heart pounding in his chest against yours. It takes everything he has to release you from his grasp, sitting you up to look at you as if you’re the most prized possession on the planet.

You stare back at him blankly, the amount of blood loss cramping your muscles and dizzying your head as you try not to mourn the spiritual journey he had ripped you from. Maybe it’s better that you came back. And at least he isn’t mad at you.

“Little Lotte, I thought I’d lost you.” Elijah grounds you in this world with kisses to your lips and forehead, almost as if to make sure that you still feel the same way against his skin as he strokes your hair.

“There now, see?” Klaus taunts from the other end of the circle, the both of you almost forgetting he’s still in there with you. “She’s right as rain. Nothing to fret over.”

“You forced her into transition.” Elijah states, glaring up at his brother before looking down at you solemnly, wiping the tears from his eyes and the blood from your freshly healed wound.

“Transition?” What is he talking about? And why is he looking at you like THAT?! You look into those charcoal eyes of his as they glisten with grief, morbidly reflecting the glowing candlelight surrounding all three of you. “What does that mean, transition?”

“It means that you died with vampire blood in your system,” he begins to explain as he holds you close. “Forcing you to turn into one of us if you choose to feed on human blood.”

I’m sorry, WHAT?

You give him a puzzled look. You can barely cope with the fact that a witch had cast this spell on all three of you, let alone that it maddened one of them enough to suck you dry until you took your very last breath. But now they’re telling you that you have to drink human blood if you want to survive, if you want to become one of them? You can’t help but stay silent as the gravity of your situation sinks in, weighing the pros and cons of your new dilemma as you enjoy being held by Elijah, quite possibly, for the very last time.

“Yes, well forgive me, but while our paramour was having some trouble choosing, I decided to give her a little boost. With both of our blood in her system…” Klaus trails off, waiting for the truth to sink in.

“Wait a minute, both?” You chime in, looking up at him as the evidence of your demise still stains his lips and chin. “But I only drank from Elijah.”

“Oh, I put a good amount of my blood in your coffee this morning, love. It was meant to protect you from any harm that may befall you, but it certainly serves this purpose just as well. This way I know that your body has already chosen a sire, already taken on the heavy burden of making the decision for you, which means…” He runs out of the circle and grabs onto the witch’s throat with a smirk, relishing in the look of sheer terror in her eyes.

“The boundary’s down.” Elijah whispers again, gathering you into his arms like he did the very first night you spent together, lifting you up as he stands to his feet.

“Exactly.” A maniacal grin tugs at Klaus’ lips before he shoves his hand inside the witch’s chest cavity, the sound of her ribs breaking so much louder than you thought it would be as it rings in your ears, painfully ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

You go to cover your ears to dull the sound, but instead choose to wrap your arms around Elijah’s neck as he whisks you out of the warehouse, putting as much distance between you and the witch as possible as her screams echo off the previously calm waters of the Mississippi River.

———————

In very little time, Elijah manages to take you past your apartment, bringing you to an estate in the middle of the French quarter, carrying you up a flight of stairs to an elaborately decorated bedroom before placing you in bed. A part of you wonders if it’s his bed that he’s laying you in, if he’ll eventually lay down next to you and stroke your hair until you fall asleep, but instead he pulls the sheets up close to your chest, noticing the blood on your clothes as it dries a dark shade of brown.

So much for that thought.

“You should be safe here. You can rest while I go and get something for you to drink.” He has the courtesy of disguising the morbid truth with his sophisticated turn of phrase as he stares at you with vacant eyes, realizing what you’d feared to be true.

You can already see his expression begin to change, feel his affection as it slips away, sense his love for you fading with each passing moment as the magic spell wears off just like the wretched witch had promised you it would. But why did it have to be him? Why did it have to happen so fast? Why did this spell, this curse have to force him into giving you hope by pursuing you, by challenging you intellectually and telling you everything you wanted to hear? Why did he have to pleasure you in ways you never thought possible all while making you feel safe, cherished and cared for? Why couldn’t you have fallen for someone normal without your whole world being upended in the aftermath?

“I chose you, Elijah.” You decide to tell him anyways, your palm finding familiarity on his cheek one last time as his jaw clenches with a pained sense of guilt.

“I know.” He takes your hand in his and squeezes it affectionately before placing it back onto your chest with a sobering look. “I’m sorry.” He turns away and looks down at his feet for a moment, then up at the ceiling, blinking a few times to stave off the recurring onset of remorse. “Perhaps it’s better this way. To lose the favor of my brother would be a much worse fate, although it wasn’t my intention for any of this to happen to you.”

A palpable silence creeps into the room, blanketing you both in the loss of what was in a thick and sickly feeling of unease until it finally becomes too much for you to bear.

“I know.” You whisper with a pained smile, your stomach churning with growing despair as hot tears stream down your face and onto the expensive silk pillow.

“Regardless, you still need to feed; but I understand if you don’t want to, considering everything you’ve been through tonight.” He expels a deep, heavy sigh, making sure not to look back at you before standing up and walking over to the door. “I’ll gather some of my sister’s clothing for you to wear while you consider your options.”

———————-

After hours of incessant sobbing and countless rounds of tossing and turning, you hear Klaus open your door without knocking, lazily leaning against the doorframe of your temporary bedroom. He flicks on the light and stands there silently, calmly watching you ignore him beneath the sheets until you finally turn and acknowledge him with a heated glare.

Is he here to hurt you again? To finish the job? To make you feel even more guilty than you already do for what happened? Like that’s even possible...

“I know I may be the last person you want to see right now, that we all needed a cool down period after what happened, especially me, but Elijah told me you aren’t drinking what he brought you.” He motions toward the full bag of blood on your bedside table, unopened and nearly coagulating by now. “You need to feed if you want to survive the day.”

“What do you care?” You roll over onto your other side, turning away from him just as quickly. “You practically killed me, anyways.”

“Killed you? Love, I saved you, I set you free! Have you not been paying attention?” He enters the room and walks over to the side of the bed that you’re facing, firmly planting himself on top of the covers next to where you lay. “I realize you may think I was a bit rash back in the warehouse, but Elijah would never have allowed me to free you from those shackles of compassion. To break the bond of the blind stewardship you feel toward your fellow man that landed you in a profession where you’re constantly belittled, degraded and discounted, wiping the filth off the arses of the ungrateful and untamed. When I drank from you, I saw it all… the rage you so beautifully depict in your paintings, the anger you choke down every time you speak to an entitled patient, the violence you keep at bay whenever a man looks at you the wrong way. It’s all there just brewing beneath the surface.” He reaches out and grazes his fingertips over your neck as you quickly pull back in fear. “I merely removed the filter that held you back.”

You push up onto your elbows, looking at him as if to determine if what he’s saying is actually true. Has the spell worn off enough to erase his urge to completely destroy you? Has it washed away the jealous rage that nearly put you into an early grave, or is this just another one of his moods, one of his personalities you’ll have to adapt to if you want to keep your head on its shoulders? “That was part of your plan?”

“You don’t live a thousand years as a vampire without learning a thing or two about death and its many loopholes.” He smirks. “This isn’t the first time a witch has tried to ensnare me and my family, but this one just so happened to make a mistake with her spell. She had counted solely on my rage to destroy you and turn my brother against me in the process, but beneath all the magic she imbued upon us, my desire to make you a vampire ultimately won out. I knew you’d drink that coffee I brought you, and after I saw you drink from Elijah so eagerly, well, it gave me free reign to make her think it was curtains for you.”

“So you killed me? Do you know how fucking scary that was?!” Is he serious?

“Oh, don’t be cross, love. The witch wanted blood, so I had to give it to her, just not in the way she expected… right before I ripped her heart out and ate it in front of her dying eyes for what she did to all three of us.”

Your own eyes widen as he describes his actions while you try your best to see things from his oddly optimistic point of view.

At least he isn’t trying to murder you anymore.

“What I’m trying to say is that I knew I wanted to turn you from the very first moment I saw you, witch’s curse or no. You have the potential to be powerful, fierce and terrible by my side if you’d only let me teach you how. You wouldn’t have to worry about trivial things like money, food or a job for the rest of your long life. I could show you the world, we could paint portraits and landscapes in every corner of the world: Paris, Tokyo, Berlin, Costa Rica, anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you there. But first you have to drink.”

He brings a mug of warm blood up to your face that you didn’t even notice he was holding this entire time, surprising you for the umpteenth time today.

“And if I do… and I turn into a vampire, I just have to deal with Elijah being here this whole time? For all eternity?” You turn your head and glance toward the door. “I don’t know if I can deal with that on a daily basis, I mean, you guys both live here, right?”

Klaus smirks. “What you feel for Elijah will pass, no matter what that decrepit old witch told you, and I could simply compel you to forget your romantic feelings for him if you’d like, make it simple. Or I could just dagger him for the first few years, keep him locked away in a box so he won’t bother you, then by the time you’ve honed all your new skills, I’ll let you pull the blade out yourself if you so choose.”

He scoots in closer as you take the mug into your hands, watching as you blow on the warm, viscous liquid before bringing it up to your mouth. That smirk of his curls into a grin as he touches the bottom of the mug with his fingers just enough to tip it toward your lips as they open enough to drink. “That’s it, just a few sips.”

You feel a building desire to do as he tells you, despite everything he’s done to you and everyone else around you tonight, almost as if you owe him something. It’s not the same as the compulsion you remember from before, but something deeply rooted in you that you can’t quite explain as the blood pours past your lips and over your tongue. His eyes hold you fast as he watches you swallow, allowing the lifesource of some other human to spill down your throat and into your stomach, bonding you to him forever.

“Good girl.” He eventually takes the mug away from you after you take a few more sips, setting it down on the bedside table with a delicacy you didn’t know he was capable of.

“How did you get me to do that? You didn’t compel me.” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, looking up at him dumbfoundedly. “Why did I listen to you and not Elijah? He’s been trying to get me to drink for hours.”

“Well, I don’t need to compel you, love, I’m your sire. You’ll always have a desire to please me, to do as I say.” He leans forward and gently grabs hold of your chin, wiping a droplet of blood off your bottom lip that you missed, his sudden gentleness giving you emotional whiplash. “Did I fail to mention that?”

“My sire? But I thought I chose Elijah, I chose the blue door.” You recall out loud, remembering your out of body experience when you were walking the fine line between life and death. “When I was out, when I was dead and I was coming back, there was a red door and a blue door, and I walked through the blue door thinking that was going to be…”

“Elijah isn’t as virtuous as he pretends to be, I’m afraid. He’s just as cold and ruthless as I am, only he hides behind his manners and freshly ironed suits, whereas I’ve grown to embrace it.” His hand traces the outline of your jaw, his fingers feathering down your neck and shoulders as a trail of goosebumps flashes up your arm. “He wanted to keep you from this, to hold you back from what you were meant to be, but I wouldn’t allow it.” He takes your hand in his and squeezes. “Now, why don’t we get you something more fresh to sink your teeth into?”

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

@hcqwxrtss123 @hayleym1234 @derangedangel @spnaquakindgdom @natalie668 @arbesa-mind @wolfdragon0424

@meneatervv @honeybee54321 @captainweasleybarnes @spideybv28 @babyblue01805

[sunnie-angel]

ahhh this my first time sending an ask! So pumpkin carving + Jason's s/o reader who got murdered somehow (it could be targeted or not) what do you think he'd rage like Achilles? Maybe try bring them back?

i'm so honoured to be your first ask 🥹 fingers crossed that i'll see you in my inbox again in the future. i hope this was what you wanted!

jason todd has always known his capacity for violence could be devastating. apocalyptic. has had that knowledge thrumming in his veins since the day he woke from the dead. but that knowledge has always been tempered by you. you with your sunshine smiles and hands so tender. you hold him back from the abyss, a chain around the snarling beast's muzzle, and he loves you for it.

a bullet, wrong place wrong time wrong target, blots you out. takes all that sunshine and sweetness away. even as you're gasping out your last breaths, you beg him not to lose sight of himself, of the peace that he's earned. but those are promises he cannot keep, not while he's keening and cradling a body that has betrayed him by not housing you anymore.

sing oh muse of rage, but its not the rage of achilles they should be worried about. it's the blood that runs like water through the streets, that decorate the walls of shady warehouses and gang hideouts. it's the man that's rending flesh from bone with his bare hands like its nothing. nothing matters to him anymore. nothing but the promise that even though his killer is still living, yours won't be.

terror grips the city, the kind of noxious toxic fume that not even the bats can put out. there's a new kind of monster out there and he won't rest until the debt's been paid. cronies and henchman all scrambling like rats from sinking ships turn up floating in the harbour. kingpins and commanders in pieces in the gutters. its the kind of chaos that consumes, that eclipses the heartache with the repetitive thunk of fists on flesh, the slick drag of blade against skin.

and then it's over. every last person even tangentially connected to your killer is dead. there's no one else to kill. and every day jason has to wake up to a bed with a cavernous void where you should be, drink from only one mug in a matching set, stumble around the pile of laundry you had been meaning to get to. it's no kind of living.

but there are whispers, whispers in the underground of a pit with special powers, hidden and guarded by a league of mercenaries, of assassins. it scratches at the doors to memories he'd thought long locked away. for good reason. but it's a chance, it's a choice, one he thought he would never have. jason leaves gotham behind, still echoing with his rage, one foot in the grave already and only your closed casket to keep him company.

you can request more head canons as part of sunnie's soft autumn

[buglism]

Any chance we can get a sfw alphabet for Vere from Touchstarved?

(I like to put characters who probably aren't familiar too with non-sexual intimacy into situations where they get to experience non-sexual intimacy lol)

SFW abcs (A-C) with Vere from touchstarved!

A/N: the ABCs for both SFW and NSFT (not featured in this work) are made by me! Please credit me if you use them! Also! I love vere, I love complex characters with gray or dark morals who have their moments of humanity so much <3 this can be read as either romantic or platonic!

Feel free to request the rest of the SFW alphabet, this was just super long as is! Lmk what you think <3

Warnings: canon typical CWs apply, vere being…vere. Possibly ooc as this is my interpretation based on the two routes I’ve played so far (need to do the last one), nongendered reader, ‘friends’ to friends to possible lovers implications, platonic intimacy with implications of possible romantic feelings, but keeping with the macabre theme of the game.

A = Affection (how do they show affection/ / prefer to receive affection?)

Give:

Vere shows his affection in blunt ways, threatening you, flirts, empty promises of truth hidden under his silken tongue. We all know and have experienced Veres light switch tendencies with MC so while threatening you initially was for fun, sick thrill of the hunt, after a while you notice a change, he hopes you don’t focus on the way he gifts you long sleeve gloves that fit unsettlingly well to your cursed black flesh (of course and very in fashion) as the sun rises on your birthday, he disappears into the small crowd starting that surrounds the alley near the wet wick before you can register what’s happening, eyes tired as you resist the urge to smile, maybe being awoken so early wasn’t so bad.

Or the way your cape, which has been frayed and torn in multiple spots, truly almost strings in a certain someone’s opinion, is suddenly replaced one day after a heavy night of drinks and laughs at the wet wick, you don’t remember losing your original cape.

Thinking through the fog and hangover you remember wearing it at the bar, chatting away with someone, and then suddenly you were being guided to your room; slightly (extremely) drunk. Your brows furrow as your covered hands rub the new cape, thick outer layer feels breathable and expensive fur lines the entire inside, a heavy thick wool coat a dark gray is soft to the touch and feels warm, the hood has a fabric mask that feels like satin and covers everything from your nose down.

As you fiddle with it, lost in thought, you find clasps; the inner fur can be removed for warmer weather. Suddenly as you swear your face grew warm you remembered the smell of..something sweet and spiced.. you shake your head, pain settles into your skull and you decide it best left for another time. You don’t question as you inspect the jacket (can never truly fully trust the damn man, with how black and white he seems to be at every turn) the way he, somehow or by choice, left his initials in pink thread on the inside of the heavy fabric, either.

Receive:

he adores gifts, but of course he does, less work and hassle for him to do and who can so no to free stuff? Banter and borderline threats as well, the way your eyes went pinprick when his teeth grazed your throat sent primal shivers down his spine, the night you met.

Sex? Of course, with not much else to do what’s a guy to do? He would probably be surprised (and depending on how close you are) slightly annoyed if you refused. He wouldn’t kill you, not now at least, but it would set him on edge, if you don’t want sex and you don’t want his money what else are you after?

But something he will never admit is quality time, pebbling and loyalty really sink their claws into his (hopefully not three times too small) heart.

The way you often join him at the bar despite his insistence he hates the alcohol, but booze is booze he says and you notice how his posture slowly sinks as the nought goes on, his ears; while still alert, no longer stand like daggers listening intently. It’s not the alcohol, at least you think, that makes him seem so … human in the wet wicks dim light, when he laughs and hiccups or nearly falls off the barstool (again.)

Or how he refuses to acknowledge the way his eyes watched your figure swim through the crowd before declining to his hand, where a bag of assorted flora and fauna was held. ‘I accidentally took too much’ you said, fighting back an awkward chuckle ‘I figured out of everyone you’d enjoy having some’ your voice lingered in his brain as his ear twitches in annoyance, trying to stuff the disgusting and .. human emotions building in his chest.

Maybe you do finally acknowledge it, in a way, one night and after way too many glasses of wine and champagne you’re one of the only one willing to walk him ‘home’. if you could call the tall spire with secrets buried under mystery and danger a home to anything.

He leans into your frame, and somehow you hold as he giggles drunkenly into your ear, eyes trained on your reaction with almost feverish intent. His lips meet your skin and for a moment you feel the familiar strike of fear down your spine, he almost looks like he’s ready to strike before he sighs deeply, something strange flutters through his eyes and he settles into your side. His hair uncharacteristically a mess and the collar softly clanked in the darkening sunlight and abandoned street, he’s lost in thought as you two walk.

Just as you made it to the bridge and further from lowtown you felt his breath on your ear as he stops walking, his hands resting on your hips, turning you to face him as he leans forward and presses his forehead into your shoulder, shocked and afraid you’re stiff in his hold before you hear faintly “if you ever betray me, I’ll fucking kill you.” and before you know it he’s walking up the bridge, seeming more sober than before, almost at his usual confidant stride.

You stand there for ages it seems, deciding however it’s better to retreat into familiar territory lest a soulless find you yet again, you walk home. A strange sense of trust and something new bubbling in your chest.

Should it be fear? Or something somehow darker?

B = Best Friend (how are they around people they are close with? How would you know?)

There’s evidence vere can become close with someone, or at least was able to, given how much he seems to know about Ais in a .. . Definitely normal way. As well as a few others. You’ll know when his advice becomes less and less harsh jabs with intent to kill with harsh realities and slowly he begins dripping ways he may be able to relate to you.

Example:

You: “kauras is driving me nuts-“ (his care and lack of seeming any leeway into becoming closer than arms length are overwhelmingly frustrating sometimes)

Vere: “. . . Have you been deaf the entire time? Or are you too stupid to comprehension any of what I’ve been telling you?”

To

You: “why are we walking in circles?” (You’d become overwhelmed inside the crowded bar, bloodhounds being loud was enough let alone how humid the damn place got)

Vere: “25 minutes.” (As smug as can be, looking for any sort of reaction out of you)

You: “what? . . “ (confused as ever, passing the wet wick for what seems like the fourth time)

Vere, slightly annoyed: “25 minutes it took for you to notice. Besides, it smelt like dog shit, figured you wouldn’t mind some fresh air away from. . That.” (That’s all, he tells himself, however truthfully Leander was annoying him with more of his ‘drinks’ and you were the only one within arms reach that wouldn’t annoy the fuck out of him.)

C = cuddles (how are they when physically affectionate? Are they at all?)

Vere when physical intimacy is involved it’s usually to get a reaction, or gain something in return. And who can blame him? He’s been property for as long as god knows. He’s learned his skill set for a reason, and in his own words ‘ I’m very good at what I do ’

That’s all, that’s all it would ever be. But again, he hopes you don’t notice his leniency for you. You push a lot of buttons, and sometimes you push them well. But in some fittingly dark way..

As a totally yk hypothetically made up situation:

you’re at the wet wick one night, at the bar talking (being annoyed by) Ais when vere arrives, instantly vere with a confident stride heads to the bar. And let’s say some time later, and several drinking games, you’re shitfaced. But, the wet wick is slightly tamer now, the crowed settling for the evening once again. You and vere sit in a booth (having moved away from the bar at vere’s request when Leander wanted him to try a new shot called ‘the guzzler’ that had pink chunks of . . Something in it.) and the silence is enjoyable, vere is mid sip of his glass when he feels you suddenly lean into his side. At the contact he stiffens for a moment, observing you as you cuddle into him for warmth. Somehow, seeming to have lost your cape.

Something in his brain struggles for a moment, here he has the perfect opening to see what’s underneath your bandages, to figure out what the fucking fuss is about.

But another part speaks a little louder he finds, despite how tight his clenched jaw is as he chugs the rest of his wine and thinks about asking for another bottle.

As you settle against him he sighs, lifts you up slightly and encourages you to lean on him. Seeing this as an ample moment for more heat to your somehow cold body you wrap your arms around his midsection, even in this state careful not to disrupt your coverings, no longer bandages, but gloves. You sigh with a giggle as he grabs something, possibly his own jacket off the back of the booth as you leave, heading back to your loggings in the wet wick.

He doesn’t say anything, neither do you, but you notice he stands closer now, and once; when a little tipsy you leaned against him, and despite realizing and trying to move he leans into the touch.

It’s a mutual agreement then, more a challenge.

How far are you both willing to let the other go?

[sluttyminghao]

imagine wonwoo slipping a blindfold over your eyes and letting his fingers drape over your skin gently, goosebumps rising in their absence. he knows how sensitive you are, and with the added aspect of taking away one of your senses, he wonders how far he can take it.

he starts off slow, his lips dragging down your bare arms and over your chest, watching as your breath hitches with each subtle touch. he lets his hands drift under your clothing, hitching it up so that he can slowly start taking it off.

wonwoo takes your shirt off first, and you can hear a soft groan of delight at the sight of your chest presented in front of him. his fingers make quick work of removing anything else in his way, until you're left stark naked in front of him, your body beginning to heat up at the thought of him just drinking in your physique.

it's only when you feel a second pair of unfamiliar hands on your body do you gasp and reach out for wonwoo, but he quickly settles you with a grip on your hand.

"just relax baby, i've invited junhui over so that he can have a play too, sound good?"

you can only whimper and nod as one pair of hands massages around your chest, whilst the others, whom you assumed to be wonwoo's, hands danced over your thighs. it's almost ticklish, but given your current situation, it's only turning you on.

"where do you want me to touch you?" junhui's smooth voice sends shivers down your spine, and you don't get the chance to respond before wonwoo interjects with a "don't ask them, they're just a filthy slut who will bend over backwards to please anyone."

the filthy words from wonwoo's tongue only had you spreading your legs open and letting him have free access to you, from which his filthy tongue now connects to your inner thigh, teasing the flesh just far enough away from where you want it.

"please..." your voice comes out as a hoarse whisper, but probably just sounds pathetic in their eyes. you can hear them both chuckle, a moment of silence ensues and you are then laid down on a cool fabric, you assumed silk.

"please what, slut?"

"please, fuck me."

[bitchlessdino]

repeat rebound (m) Ch.6: Repeating Insecurities (18+)

Chapter list Pairing: Fem!reader x fwb!soonyoung (smut ft.wonwoo) Genre: Crack, smut, fluff (18+) word count: 3.4k tags: mentions of kids, mentions of gambling addiction, mentions of food, messy!reader, richboy!mingyu, dilf!wonwoo, cunniligus, soft dom!wonwoo, yearning!wonwoo, face riding Summary: The best way to get over someone is to get under someone. Again and again and again author note: hi guys, shes back but at what cost

tag list @nikkell @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @darthlunaa @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan

There isn’t much you know about Wonwoo, but in the short time you’ve reconnected with him, you’ve managed to learn a lot. For one, he likes energy drinks like no one you’ve ever met before as he stockpiled Monster energy by the 12 pack. Two, he doesn't seem like it, but the slightest nudge at his ego will show on his face. Whether it’s the subtle down turn of his smile or a crease of his brow, he displays his emotions on his face just like anyone else.

And three, he’s a damn, damn good kisser.

Wonwoo’s lips, slotted between yours, moves fervently as if chasing something just out of reach, bewitchingly sweet. Meanwhile, his hands hold you with a rough and eager grapple, unable to keep them off of you when you feel absolutely electrifying, the thrum of your pulse buzzing under his fingertips. He then pushes you inside your apartment, a growl stuck in his throat, pushing the door close behind him.

Your heavy lidded gaze finds his narrowing at you intensely, visibly intoxicated, as he inhales every ounce of oxygen left in you in a ravenous lip lock. He presses you against the edge of the entrance hallway table and the oak digs against your backside. As it embeds in your flesh, you feel it strike you in pain, sounding out in soft wordless groans.

Luckily for you, Wonwoo knows when to take action. Swiftly, he lifts you from the ground to have you loom over him as your tush lands on the table, letting your legs border either side of him. His eyes flutter open when he breaks the kiss, hands clasped against your face, and his thumb gliding over the swell of your bottom lip.

“Have you right where I want you,” he says in hushed tones.

You tug him by his hips, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth in intrigue, wondering what more it is that he’s been wanting. “Well, don’t stop now. I might just run away again,” you tease.

He lightly scoffs, pushing pressure against your lips, finding that your head hits the wall mirror behind you. “Why do you think I brought you to your place then?”

He elicits a moan from you as his clothed groin brushes against your arousal—then comes grinding, addictive as the size of bulge presses against your core, and you clench at the mere thought of him inside you. Your fingers run up to find tufts of his hair, legs coming around his torso, and matching his rhythm as you lock him closer against you.

”I don’t know, maybe to give you a chance to swipe a souvenir?” You flirtatiously accuse.

Wonwoo’s eyebrows meet down the middle, lips parted in offense. ”Are you referring to me stealing something from you?”

”Maybe not a mug or a lamp,” You shrug innocently enough, “but maybe a pair of dirty panties.”

Smirking, Wonwoo’s gaze briefly flickers down south before his smile sweeps over your jaw and trails your neck, his incisors scraping against your skin. “Now you’re just giving me good ideas.”

“Well, I’m full of them” you whisper, lips kissing the tip on his ear, “But I'd rather be full with something else.”

His groans vibrate against your collarbone as you palm over his raging hard over his pants. He starts cascading his kisses as he gropes the underside of your breasts in his greedy hands. “Trust me, that’s my plan.”

In a blink of an eye, the buttons of your shirt scatter across all floors like marbles, spinning out of control in chaotic spirals as they disappear into the darkest corners of your apartment, perhaps to never be seen again—or worse, swept away by Mr. Roomba. You loudly gasp, eyes pointed directly at the perpetrator who’s hands tease the hems of your shirt with an apologetic smile. “Wonwoo!”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he quickly quips before his smile descends down your bare torso, wet and hot kisses following his path. 

You have no fight left to argue when you realize it’s easy to become clay in his hands. His wet clay that just gushes effortlessly between his fingers, while his knuckles work kneading your malleable body to fit his very desired mold. Meanwhile, his moans bounce off the wall deliciously, his breathing staggering before he mouths over your bra, finding the rigid peaks through the fabric and tracing over them with his tongue, and you whine from frustration.

“You’re gonna bring me back home just to tease me?” You dramatically cry.

“Maybe, I should, if that means I get to have you longer to myself,” he points out, cupping around the curved shape and thumbing through the space between the barrier and flesh underneath, sending a tantalizing chill running down your spine.

”We’re going to neighbors,” you pout, “Time won’t be much of an issue with us.”

His hands glide around your bust, fingers fiddling to find the bra’s hooks. “Promise?”

”Promise,” you recklessly assure in a single breath. 

And like that, your breasts are falling out of the confines of your undergarment before Wonwoo tosses it and your shirt aside to take a drag of your savor, finding its beguiling aroma only growing stronger the longer he allows himself to indulge. He tugs at you by your hips, your molten heat mere inches from his but still worlds away with a wall of jeans and thoroughly ruined panties.

Wonwoo moves on to the top button of your pants, gaze flickering up back at you impishly as he undoes them and slides down your thighs, caressing the skin he exposes from your ankles and up, following a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Leading to your inner thighs, he breathes in the heady cocktail that he could only describe as something that would’ve caused the Trojan war, or lead to rehabilitation from withdrawals. 

“…fuck,” He barely manages to mutter, before ducking down, vanishing from view and causing a sensation on your core that knocks the wind out of your lungs.

Your jaw falls slack, breath hitched in your throat, and you brace from impact by the edge of the table as your hips are possessed by his mouth. Meanwhile, Wonwoo—showing how he's both disciplined yet unhinged—works through the wetness soaked through your panties, sucking every bit of your arousal like it was sauce off a napkin, and then wrapping his lips around your core to engorge himself on a feast long overdue. His hands, large and coarse, cosset your breasts, thumb and index plying with your stiffness between before pinching, and earning whistles of a whine.

”Wonwoo…” You reach down for his face, lifting it up just slightly to bring him into view and instantly see the remnant you leave behind smudging his glasses as he’s latched onto you still. “You got your glasses dirty,” You mention weakly, fingers extending out to pry them off before he halts you by the wrist.

He holds your tender watch, eyes glistening awe behind his defiled frames, and guides your hand on his crown, burying him deeper, the metal rims pressing against your swollen clit. You give out a groan, doubling over as his tongue pierces your folds, slipping aside the scantily shaped piece of fabric and stroking generous stripes down your soaking lips, coating his mouth and cheeks just the same.

You could speak in only shattered breaths, mustering the courage to use Wonwoo’s helping hand and find your grip, leveraging it to ride his face. His groans echoes inside you, buzzing against your fluttering walls as he bobs in your aching cunt. He starts grunting in excitement as he eats you, enthusiastically even, the most you’ve even seen from him—then again this is the most enthusiasm you’ve ever seen from Wonwoo in general.

“Shit, shit, shit. You’re gonna make me explode on your face!” You grit as sweat beads down your neck.

And yet, he doesn’t stop. In fact, he goes harder, collecting your thighs in his biceps and hooking them to clench around his face, so absorbed in your pussy and what treasures await him inside that nothing else matters. 

He is suffocating himself between your legs—willing, may you add—and his world is quite literally fading to black. And although he looks so goddamn pathetic—and is frankly so demeaning and pathetic, it’s hot. It’s sexy. And oh, fucking days could ride this train all the way to hell if you had that ticket.

“Wonwoo…god…you—“ you tightly hold on him, a loud agonizing groan leaving your body as your pupils fall behind your skull. Your hips trembling out of control, you unleash the build up that comes alive in his mouth, coating every crevice in your viscous, salty ambrosia. You leave him with the taste of you that would last hours, maybe days, not that he minded.

As your shaking begins to falter, the kisses he leaves on your pulse beating out of your legs ascend up your body, following up your stomach and gently caressing your waist. They eventually land on your breasts in soft sighs, finding themselves in his mouth, the symphony of moans escaping him once again. His arms come around to embrace you, seizing your sides by his hands in a firm grip.

You’re too tired to speak at this point and just observe, watching as he touches you fondly, wordlessly doting on you with utter tenderness that you aren’t even bothered by the silence.

He finally comes up for breath spreading a wide and exhausted smile across his face, glasses smudged beyond repair of any wet lens wipe and you let out a chuckle. You steal them from his face and reaching for your shirt once fallen to the ground and run its fabric on the lens, seeing it do absolutely nothing for the clarity. “You’re so messy,” you softly nag.

He gently takes them away from you, stuffing them in his pocket before reconnecting your lips, sharing what’s left of you. “I gotta go.”

He picks up after himself, plucking your jeans and bra from the ground and folding them neatly to be put aside. Meanwhile, you just stare at him, speechless for an entirely different reason. “Whu—what do you mean you have to go? You just got here,” you pull him closer towards, your breasts pressing against his firm chest through his tee-shirt. “What about you?”

He grins, cupping your cheek. “I got so distracted about taking you home…I forgot the baby monitor, and if I come in and out so often I might wake her up with the noise. I’m sorry.”

You groan, your head falling on his shoulder. “That is so incredibly considerate of you, you’re a good dad. God, fuck. That’s hot.”

“Hey,” He lifts his chin to meet your gaze, “Time’s on our side right? It isn’t an issue for us?”

”Yeah, yeah, yeah. Prepared to be jumped the next time Winnie is napping.”

He laughs at your honesty and reels you in for another devastating kiss before having to leave. You see him out, clutching your top close for dear life and staying hidden behind your front door as he enters the neighboring one. There’s a soft “Bye,” that leaves his lips, and soon enough the ghost of his presence haunts not only your front door hallway but your body that craved more than one measly orgasm.

“I’m getting the worst Deja vu right now,” you whisper ironically to yourself as you close the door behind you, recalling another moment you received head with dick on layaway. “I hate men.” You sigh.

Tired to do anything else, you take your well-deserved shower and head off for bed. But something decides to keep you up at night, something that makes you toss and turn, lying awake whether you're going crazy or not. Like you’re up wondering how things would’ve gone if he hadn’t forgotten the life line between him and his daughter. Or if it hadn’t happened at all.

Or if had he done that on purpose?

Get you all hot and bothered, eat his cake, and then leave when you’re ready for more. Giving you a taste of your own medicine like how you handled him the last time you were together intimately. His two birds and one stone. 

You immediately reach for your phone, instinctively pulling up a contact that's always the first to come to mind when it’s to rant about these sorts of things, but stopping before you could type out a message or send a call. Jeonghan’s profile image taunts you, reminding you’re supposed to be…disappointed that he’s keeping things from you.

But he’s your best friend. The first person you think to talk to when it’s superficial and reckless behavioral things like this. Surely, you can get over this hump.

You check the time to see it at about 11pm at night before deciding to call, nail to teeth about him picking up as you lay slump in bed, hearing only the dial tone on the other end. It rings steadily, and you take a breath with each beat, telling yourself after the fifth, you’d hang up.

”Hello?”

You sit up against the bed frame, moving too excitedly at the sound of his voice. “Hey.”

”Hey.” He responds softly. “You okay? It’s a pretty late time to call.”

”Yeah, I know. I…I wanted to check in on you.”

”Yeah?” He teases, a smile heard loud and clear.

You roll your eyes, hugging a pillow nearby to your chest. “Something like that…Is what I heard today what I thought it was?”

He sighs, and movement could be heard in the background of his call. “What do you think it was that you heard this morning?”

”That…” You lick your lips anxiously, the words having a hard time breaking free from their cage. “The machines. The buttons. The bells. Jeonghan, were you gambling?”

He sighs again, and you manage to make out the squeaking of a bed. Before he could calmly say your name, following up with some excuse you know you’ve heard before, you interrupt. “Don’t you start.”

”It’s not that serious. Just a couple of slot machines.”

”Jeonghan. No,” You warn.

He groans before you hear a snap and a quiet hiss, following the familiar sound of crackle. “It’s not that deep,” He replies, and by his mumble you could immediately tell there’s already a cigarette between his lips.

”What happened to all the progress we made? Everything we worked hard for you to break this habit and keep you out of debt?” You remind him.

”I was one time. The trip had worn me out and right nearby had a place, I—“ He takes a drag, exhaling deeply. “I just have been going through things, okay?”

”Why couldn’t you have told me that? I’m your best friend.”

He takes a beat for however long for whatever for. That’s what you hate about phone calls. You can’t see what’s happening on the other end and the face of the person you’re talking to. But this is Jeonghan. If you are going to be patient for anyone, it’s going to be him. ”…I know. I know. You’ve done a lot for me, sweetheart—“

“Then why are you shutting me out? Why aren’t you answering my calls?” 

“I swear I’m not.”

”Then what is it?”

“I don’t want to argue over phone—“

”Oh, you want me to hang up?”

“No, I just want to meet you in person. Let’s do that, hmm?”

You swallow a lump in your throat, suddenly anxious at the thought of seeing him again after a while and unsure why. “When?”

”Soon. Sometime soon,” he reassures.

”Okay,” you relent easily, despite being the instigator.

“Okay?”

”Okay.”

He let out a satisfied hum, “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

Your brain suddenly teeters back to the thought of your original intent, your reservations of your reconnection Wonwoo. That had been an afterthought the second you heard your best friend's voice, the voice the source of all your joy or all your rage. You ponder just a moment longer before deciding against bringing it up, thinking perhaps there’stime and place for everything. 

“That’s it, but…”

”But?”

”I miss you.” You answer sincerely.

His chuckles are like a warm bowl of soup on a cold evening, simply comforting and never unwelcome. “You’ll see me soon. Get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.”

If anyone could calm you down, it was Jeonghan. If anyone could silence you, If anyone held power over you, it was Jeonghan. 

Here you are, having had phone sex with one guy in the middle of his work day and almost-sex maybe not even half an hour ago with someone else entirely. Yet, right now all you can think and worry about is Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan this. Jeonghan that.

You push a pillow into your face, letting out your screams, all the spiraling thoughts of what’s happened to you in the past several weeks—which was admittedly more than you ever had to handle—before finally letting your mind sleep. Tomorrow would be a new day. A fresh start. With no worries.

And boy, did tomorrow like to throw more curve balls.

“Mingyu, No.”

“It’s not even for me!” He defend, a childish whine in his tone.

You shake your head at the man’s words over the phone, “No, do you not understand the words coming from my mouth? No.”

“He just needs a pretty little eye candy on his arm for an hour. Max.”

”Then you do it.”

“Hmm, flattered because I knew you always thought I was pretty and never said anything, but this is serious. My guy needs the hook up!” He pleads, as if he’d die without your help.

You stab your scrambled eggs and imagine them as Mingyu’s head, annoyed that whenever he needs a favor he comes to you with a sack full of cartoon money and at yourself for even thinking about considering taking th deal.

“Just because I played one fake girlfriend for you doesn't mean I’ll do it for anyone. I know you and you have money and I was desperate.”

You hear his clap over the phone, assuming he must hav you over speaker. ”Ah! Money. How could I forget? Ten thousand.”

You inched the space between your brows, hissing. ”Kim Mingyu, you spoiled fucking bitc—“

”Eleven, twelve, thirteen—“

”Shut the actual fuck up!’ You shout at your phone like a mad person, “Why is this so important? Who is this guy?”

”I told my friend. Now it’s not any time soon but—“

And you hang up, not wanting to waste the rest of your morning on Ritchie Rich’s nonsense. And like clockwork, your phone vibrates soon after, a text message by the nuisance himself.

Mingew: hey! that’s fine ill just call u about it nxt month! thats when the plan really takes action Mingew: keep ur phone on u!

You roll your eyes, not planning on taking that call in the slightest, and went with breakfast, other more important things going on in your mind and for once it isn’t Jeonghan. 

No, you’re backtracking to Wonwoo, second guessing his intentions still. You’ve barely reacquainted yourselves (quite the understatement), but you’re started to grow this strange attachment, treading on early signs of a crush, maybe something more. You blame the proximity, cursing that bitch fate for putting such a hot dad with who isn’t a douche right at your doorstep when you were perfectly fine being single again.

But what’s hotter than a guy you know that’s good with kids? A guy that's good with kids and can put his mouth to use.

You need to talk this through with someone. Someone you can confide in. Jeonghan currently seems out of the picture considering he’s having his own issues he’s dealing with. So, it looks like you have to rely on someone else for the time being for that kind of attention, but you’re wracking your brain figuring out who.

Your phone buzzes again. Another text message. You assume it’s another from Mingyu and scoff, but are pleasantly surprised when it's not.

Soonyoung: mornin pal Soonyoung: friend? Soonyoung: i don’t know what to call you

You laugh quietly to yourself before responding.

you: morning…bud? soonyoung: weird isn’t it you: yeah soonyoung: so what ya up to you: just having breakfast in my pjs soonyoung: hot you: lol dude soonyoung: kidding sonyoung: what else you: well You: something’s on my mind lately Soonyoung: something or someone? you: are you in my fucking walls soonyoung: no but HA you: yeah it’s someone Soonyoung: wanna talk about it you: wouldn’t it be weird Soonyoung: whats weird about it You: you and me hooking up You: and then talking about someone else Im hooking up with Soonyoung: We are just friends Soonyoung: i feel like there no other better person to talk about to Soonyoung: unless maybe jeonghan. Have you talked about this with him You: no its ok. Let’s meet up

[ilikehimhessilly]

𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

I feel like this sort of turned into a mini one-shot lol. Once I get started I really can’t stop myself.

Please read at your own risk!

✦•················•✦•··················•✦

★ War is very, very aware of the size difference between you two. He knows how easy it would be for him to accidentally hurt you, hence why he'd need a lot of persuasion to be sexual with you. 

★ He has no lack of desire to be intimate with you, but due to his fears he ends up pushing that desire away to the back of his mind. 

★ Of course, the more he tries to bury that desire down, the more it wants to come back up. Every time he catches a glimpse of your supple flesh, whether it be your thighs, back, or neck, he has to hold back the growl of hunger that burns in his stomach and threatens to push up into his throat. 

★ You pick up on his change in behaviour around you pretty quickly. Even after all the time you've spent together and the bond you've built, War isn't particularly talkative. He talks to you more than with anyone else, but he prefers to talk through his actions. 

★ Which is why one day, when he's unable to hold himself back any longer, it all comes out at once. 

★ He's been with you at your home for the past few days, finally having the chance to spend some undivided time with you. 

★ Every day he somehow manages to hold himself back. When you get changed, when shower, when you walk around wearing shorts… but that self restraint only dwindles.

★ Until finally you step out of the shower one evening, your towel wrapped loosely around your body, stray droplets rolling down down your delicate flesh just begging to be nipped and sucked. 

★ Then he finally looses it and grabs you. 

★ Your towel falls from your body completely, leaving every inch of your body on display for him to drink in thirstily.

★ You're surprised, to say the least, as your back is press up against your bedroom wall. 

★ "War?! What are you doing?" You'd yelp in shock, utterly bewildered by his outburst.

★ All at once he'd come back to his senses, blinking at you in disbelief of himself. Gently, he'd set your feet back onto the carpet below. 

★ Giving a heartfelt apology, War proceeds to struggle to gather up the words to give you a decent explanation. 

★ With some gentle coaxing you do manage to get it out of his, finally understanding why he's been so much more quiet and avoidant of you. 

★ He's been horny this entire time but too nervous and uncertain to express it! Poor guy.

★ Now with a better understanding, you can help him to feel comfortable with being sexual with you. 

★ You go slow at first, more so for his sake than yours. He's not particularly experienced, but doesn't have a complete lack of knowledge. 

★ Mutual masturbation is the best way to go. Fingering, oral, all that good stuff with much lower risks of hurting you.

★ He absolutely grunts and groans the way he does in game.

★ With an established relationship he'd already be more comfortable being armour-less around you, but nakedness needs a little more time. He's shy. 

★ Go slow with him. Take the time to compliment him. Trace his scars gently. Run your fingers through his hair and give him delicate kisses that leave his heart yearning for so much more of you. 

★ He loves to see you in your most vulnerable state around him. It sets off a deep, almost primal urge within him to protect you. 

★ He's a biter for sure. Those pointy canines aren't there just for show. 

★ Now onto the topic of his sword itself. No, not his Chaoseater. The sword in his pants. 

★ He's huge. 

★ Having him inside of you would hurt, I'm not gonna lie. Once you finally get to the stage of being comfortable enough to try, he won't go any further than carefully pushing his tip inside of you. 

★ The instant you wince in pain he's out of you and wrapping his arm around you.

★ Speaking of which, aftercare cuddles are the best with War. He's big and warm and will hold you there until you fall asleep and even then he won't leave. 

★ His favourite position is definitely lotus. He can see your face and hold you close to his chest whilst grinding against you. It's the best way for both of you to get good pleasure at the same time without him being inside of you. 

★ Please reassure him frequently that even with his size and missing limb he is still perfect for you and that he fulfils you and makes you feel good. 

★ Wear something lacy and red for him and he might just pounce on you.

[adamstanheightsleftshoulder]

go on, roll your eyes || adam stanheight

SMUT!!!!! (minors dni tq)

x afab!gn!reader | 2306 words

this is my first time um ever writing smut for public consumption so i would love to start off by saying i do not know what i am doing! eye yam raw dogging this <3

id also love 2 say ily 4ever hot girls love saw discord server for literally inspiring this whole thing,, enjoy spotting things we said in chat :3

Adam’s main goal is to make your eyes look directly into the back of your own head - conveniently, this is one of the things he does best. He barely has to try.

Doesn’t stop him from always giving it his all, though.

And he loves it. Loves it. 

Loves the way you lose yourself, the way your head falls back and you say his name like it’s the only part of reality your brain has held onto.

It happens when you’re at the mall - and God only knows why you’re even there, neither of you particularly like the mall - as he watches you in the afternoon sun from the skylight above. Watches you like you’re his world.

For all intents and purposes, it’s been a perfectly normal and sweet afternoon. 

“I’m just saying this mall wouldn’t have the reputation it does if anybody cleaned up after themselves,” You say, leaning on the food court table, “I mean look at that guy- five bucks says he gets up and leaves everything right where it is,”

“I’m not taking that bet, we both know you’re right,” Adam laughs and presses a kiss to your cheek, gentle smile on his face. 

You watch as the aforementioned guy stands up from where he was eating, wipes his hands on his pants, and abandons everything on his table - six steps away from a bin.

Time seems to slow down for Adam as you roll your eyes at the sight. His eyes glaze over - you, tangled in the sheets, twitching, on cloud 9. He feels like he’s there now, buried deep in you, filling you up, his teeth sinking into your collarbone and your nails in his back. 

His smile drops, his heart flutters, and… oh, there goes a rush of blood. How strange, such an innocuous motion can cause Adam to just about see stars.

“What’s up with you?” You ask, confused smile on your face. He doesn’t budge. He’s white knuckled, gripping the table. “Seriously, Adam, what’s going-“

But you recognise that look in his eyes. You know the way his breath stutters. 

Adam is falling apart. There is a tent growing under that table.

Suddenly a warm, trembling hand is on your wrist and you’re being dragged away from the table, leaving everything behind (and becoming the same as the person you were just mocking).

Before you really even register you’ve left the food court and entered somewhere else, your back is against a cool tiled wall and he’s pressed against you like he’s trying to crush you.

“God, you get me so worked up, you don’t even have to try,” His voice is a low rumble, halfway between a growl and a desperate plea.

“You can’t be serious,” You whisper into his ear as he kisses down your neck, “From one little eye roll?”

Suddenly his hand is on your face, gentle but firm, holding you in place so you have to maintain eye contact.

He can read it in your eyes, you’re no good at hiding it, not from him. He’s got you wrapped around his finger by now. You want him BAD.

He smirks, drinking in the sight of you like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

“If that’s all you think you did, then go on,” He challenges, and as he presses himself somehow even closer to you you can feel just how rock hard he is, “Roll your eyes,”

“Make me,” You bite back, and Adam just grins.

“Oh, I intend to,”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply. He kisses you feverishly, like he’s on death row. His left hand stays on your face and his right drifts to your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh so hard he can feel the bone under his thumb. He presses one knee in the space between your legs.

You whimper into his mouth and he groans. He knows exactly what this mix of pain and pleasure does to you. He knows that he’s ripping you into ruin.

Adam then drops to his knees, like this bathroom stall is Church and you are holy. 

His eyes are wide and pleading, he looks almost hungry, like he’s been in the desert for a thousand years and you are a blessed mirage.

He looks at you like he’s going to eat you whole. In a way he is.

Adam raises his eyebrows for a second, just a twitch, as if to ask if you’re sure you want him doing this. You nod with vigour. How could you not want this? Adam and his perfect lips…

Your head falls back as he unzips your jeans, yanks them down with the gusto of someone who’s been waiting to unwrap their present for years. 

Your hand finds his hair. He lets a pathetic little groan fall from his lips in response - it gets louder when your nails graze his scalp. 

“God, look at you. Fucking barely holding it together,” He quips, kissing up your thighs, “Eager little whore,”

You try to speak, try to banter back; tell him he’s being mean. He swings one of your legs over his shoulder before you can, and he takes the words out of your mouth as he teases his fingers under the very edge of your underwear. He laughs low in his throat as your hips roll against nothing. He wants you so bad he could tear you to shreds about it. 

“Use your words,” He breathes, “C’mon, baby. You’re not that far gone yet, talk to me,”

“Please,” Whispered like a prayer, “Please, God, Adam- Please,”

“Good enough,” 

He tucks your underwear out of the way with one hand, his breath makes you quiver just a little as it hits your sensitive skin. 

“Needy slut,” 

One hand firmly gripping your thigh and the other allowing him access, Adam kisses along the very very sensitive inside of your thigh, until he reaches right beside the dripping wet, wanton hole that belonged, truly, to him. 

Oh, yes. Adam wants you to see stars. Adam wants you to walk out of here on legs made of jelly. Adam wants to make those eyes roll.

He presses his tongue flat against that bundle of nerves he knows how to find so well, and you cry out in a strangled voice - “Adam!”. He flicks his tongue and you twitch. 

Adam has never been this hard in his LIFE. His jeans are suddenly a prison. But he has to take care of you first, he has to make the risk of a public bathroom worth it. 

“God you taste perfect, baby,” He whispers, and then his tongue is right back where it was a second ago. 

There’s little gentleness involved. It’s like he’s trying to find a way to say he loves you, but the only way he can is through devouring. 

His tongue is harsh in its flicking, in how he focuses hard on your already sensitive clit, the way his nose gets pressed against you makes you worry he might hurt himself - but there’s no sign of him stopping. If anything he’s getting worse. 

Every noise you make eggs him on. Tentatively at first, he presses one long finger inside of you. When your back arches off the tile, you feel the way he moans, before he pulls the first one out only to add a second finger.

He’s like clockwork. You manage to find the will to look down again, to find he’s closed his eyes, focussed. 

He curls a finger inside of you, and you’re ashamed to admit how close you are to coming undone already. You don’t have to admit it though, Adam knows. He can feel you clenching around him, and if he had the brains right now to do it he might just laugh at how desperate you are. 

His fingers pound now, setting a pace that is quick and even but rough. Adam needs you. Adam could cum in his jeans right now from the way you squirm on his fingers alone. 

You rock back and forth against his face and he just about loses his mind. HIS eyes are in danger of rolling back. He eats you out like a man starved, like he’s begging for more despite being the one in control. 

It takes you over before you realise you’ve reached that point - no warning, and you’re jerking back and forth, a twitching mess, fingernails in his scalp - and you cum. It washes over you, and you have to grab Adam’s shoulder for stability. 

If he didn’t know any better, if he didn’t know what you always wanted (more), he’d stop here. Thank God Adam knows better. 

He retracts his fingers and watches as you clench on instinct around nothing. He wipes his mouth a little, but not enough to wipe the taste away. The taste he savours, the taste he craved and craves more often than he should ever admit. 

A wreck. He’s making a wreck of you. 

He stands, letting your leg fall back to where it can try to support you. 

You practically fall into his firm chest, and he chuckles down at you. 

“Good, hm?” He asks, as if he’s not sure, “You terrible thing,” 

You can only hum in response, half sex-drunk, clinging onto him for dear life. 

“Can’t get enough, can you?” 

He’s teasing you? This is his fault! That asshole-

You whimper again, and he comes undone. 

“Fine,” He concedes, making quick work of his own jeans, “Ready?”

You in fact started to nod before he’d even finished saying ‘ready. 

And then, bliss - you feel him start to line his thick cock up with your entrance, the very tip of the head poking just inside. 

You feel like you could gush just at that contact. 

He kisses you quickly as he presses himself in, catching the cry of pleasure and surprise that you let out between his lips. He groans, deep in his throat - a deeply, deeply satisfied sound. Adam’s been waiting so patiently. 

“Taking me so well,” his whisper fans across your face and you lose any contact with the world of words. 

Adam doesn’t wait any longer because he CAN’T. He pulls himself almost all the way out, only to slam himself back in again a second later. 

Adam fucks you like he hates your guts. Like he detests everything about you so much he has to rearrange your insides into something he can stand. 

“A-Adam,” You choke out, and if it weren’t for the hand he’s just begun to rest on your cheek, you’d forget that he loves you. The harsh feeling of his teeth in your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder… you’d be forgiven for forgetting that he’s capable of being gentle. You roll in time with the violent pace he’s set, your hips slapping together so hard you know it’ll bruise. 

“G…God,” He breathes against your now bruised neck, “You’re so good,” 

Your core tightens and you know the second orgasm is coming, quickly. You cry against him, fingers digging into his back. 

“Go on,”

It’s like it was a taught command. He tells you, you cum. 

He’s nowhere near done yet. He’s got too much in mind. He can’t stop until you’re all but faded away from that pretty little head of yours. Until you forget your own name, but remember his. 

His pace never lets up, never even pauses. You’re making sounds that are obscene, bordering on pornographic, and if Adam wasn’t so determined he’d bust right here and now.  

Your head is pressed against the tile again, crying out like an animal in heat, when his hand covers your mouth and he stops moving completely. 

A whine comes from you, unwillingly. You’d be embarrassed of the sound if you could be right now. 

“Sh, sh sh. Someone’s going past,” He whispers, pressing his sweaty forehead to your own, “Wait, baby. Don’t want to get caught, do you?”

You shake your head but your body betrays you. Adam watches, jaw dropping a little at just how fucking perfect you are as you squirm around him. He’s still fully inside, fully sheathed. He’s hitting every place in there and he’s STOCK STILL. It feels cruel, crueller when you realise how much he’s enjoying watching you suffer in the stillness. 

You whimper against his hand, and he only presses it to your face further. 

“Stay quiet,” 

There’s a threatening edge to his voice and it doesn’t take long to realise why. The thumb of the hand that’s not desperately silencing you reaches down and plays with your clit - you could explode at this point. He barely has to do much, you’re squirming so hard and he’s so close to letting go inside of you-

It seems he decides the threat to your privacy is gone, and your torture is over, as he kicks back into action like a machine again. 

He loses himself, now, it’s his turn. The most desperate sounds you’ve heard him make echo on the bathroom walls.

“God- Fuck, fuck- baby, I- Can I- Please, please, can I- I need to, I-“ He stutters against you, getting a little sloppy but no less violent in his thrusts, “Let me fill you,”

You keen and he takes it as a green light, painting your insides white with his orgasm, and your third of the day comes crashing over you as he grunts your name.

Everything gets tensed for a moment - his fingers in the skin of your face and your hip, his jaw. His head falls to your shoulder for a second. He catches his breath, slow final thrusts pushing his own spend in and back out of you. 

He looks at you now, assessing the job he did. 

“You beautiful thing,” He pants, swallowing harshly, “There they go. Those fuckin’ eyes,”

[viridescentelf]

Yandere Bard x Reader - Elphael Introduction

Introducing: Elphael, a yandere bard drow

Universe: Baldur's Gate 3 or DnD

(heavily inspired by Aaravos from The Dragon Prince hehe)

Summary: your childhood, musical friend is madly in love with you, fantasizing about you in secret and planning to make you his

Warning: 18+ content, general nsfw, toxic, obsessive behavior

-----

The way your shoulder grazed his as you sat beside him. He wanted to pin you against the floor with his bodyweight, stuffing his dripping, black tongue in your throat to smother your voice. His lavender chest pressing against your soft skin, the nebula tattoos adorning his arms and abdomen alight with greed. His long, grey hair would fall and pool next to your head, intertwining with your soft tresses, as your velvet hands explore his arched, scarred back.

“Elph, did you hear me?”, you asked, blinking at him.

The drow, Elphael, twitched at the sound of your voice. He had been staring at you, holding his black violin up to his face.

“Uh, what? Sorry, I was … somewhere else,” he gruffed in his raspy voice. In his mind, he was frantically waving the dirty images away in order to concentrate.

“Can we change the tempo in this section? It feels a bit stagnate.” You were pointing at a part of the notes sheet displayed in front of you. Your voice was so enchanting. Why couldn’t he have one like yours? So sweet, like the soft sound of rain outside.

His grey eyes tore themselves away from your lips, to follow where your finger was hovering.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right. We can halve these notes right here.” He placed his calloused finger where yours was, just for the chance to feel your skin once again.

Elphael had longed for you, ever since you had met. He adored that face of yours. The second he saw you; he felt his heart drop into his stomach. The way your hair fell so effortlessly, it was so plump and alluring. He always wanted to entangle his long fingers in it. Pulling it, while his other hand held your hips.

But you were friends. Long time friends, too. You saw him more as a sibling. When you called him his brother, he wanted to prove you wrong. To hold your arms pinned together with one hand, drinking in your scent as his lips and tongue trailed down your neck, to your chest, biting. Feasting on that irresistable flesh.

Gods, if only.

“Let’s try that!” Your words yanked him back into the present.

You repositioned yourself, holding the guitar in your hands, strumming the beginning of the song you had been practicing, humming tenderly. As you swayed to the tune, your arm brushed his again. It drove him crazy.

Elphael spasmed and held his instrument firmer in his hand, joining in the melody at his part a bit frantically.

You would see reason one day and realize how perfect you two were together. The intensity of his desire for you terrified even him, he didn’t want to scare you away.

He needed to be patient. The moment would come.

And if it didn’t…well, maybe if you experienced how good it was to be with him. How delicious the pungent smell of your skin writhing under his could be. He would show you what a good lover he was. Persuade you with his caress. Convince you with his touch.

Maybe you’d understand then.

[helpimstuckposting]

I couldn’t get my earlier post out of my head, and then this happened so… I hope you enjoy a little famous!Eddie and dingus!Steve ficlet (ft platonic soulmate Stobin)

Part one | part two | part three

—

Steve and Robin had lived in Indy all of their lives. They shared the same schools, same teachers, same jobs, it would never end. They were platonic soulmates in a way they understood but couldn’t explain to anyone else, and that was okay. It worked for them.

Since they graduated, they’d been ice cream scoopers, movie rental employees, pizza makers, delivery drivers, movie theater security, bartenders, and now - surprisingly - musicians.

They had originally started messing around with song covers during their bartending era. Every Thursday was karaoke night, and they were both too competitive to see it as anything other than a chance to win, both trying to upstage the other. After a while, Steve started writing songs in his free time and Robin wouldn’t let anyone but her sing them. She posted their songs on Tiktok and Instagram just to see what would happen, and eventually they made their way onto Spotify and other streaming services.

A few of their songs went viral enough that they had a steady stream of listeners, and spent their free time putting more and more songs together. Their boss even let them play live at the bar on Wednesdays (and of course they’re still just as passionate about karaoke night).

It was a few months into their Wednesday shows when he showed up. Eddie Munson. It was just another bar in Indy, just a stop on their tour, just a coincidence that he happened to choose Robin and Steve’s bar. Steve noticed him during their set, and he was so glad in that moment that Robin was the lead singer because he was absolutely sure his voice would have cracked. Corroded Coffin was one of Dustin’s favorite bands, the kid wouldn’t shut up about them any time a new album or single was released.

Steve knew they were in Indy on tour, he’d witnessed Dustin’s spiral about not being able to afford a ticket, but he couldn’t believe they stopped in this bar. Dustin was gonna freak.

Once Robin and Steve finished their set, they went back to the bar to resume their actual jobs and Steve was once again stunned when Eddie Munson walked right up to him for a drink. Obviously Steve should have expected that, what else was someone going to do at a bar? But seeing someone he knows from the multiple posters plastered over Dustin’s bedroom wall, right in front of him - in the flesh, was beyond anything he could have predicted. Internally, he was absolutely freaking out.

Externally, he tried to keep his professional mask on. Munson was a regular customer, just a guy buying a drink, Steve could handle it without a meltdown. But man was the guy attractive. His band tee was ripped at the hem, jean vest with all its pins and buttons catching the light, and Steve could see the tendon in his neck pull as he laughed at something his band mate next to him said. Steve wanted to bite it.

He finished a customer’s drink, collected their card, and braced himself as Munson stepped up to the bar, a dimpled smile on his face that made Steve’s heart flutter like a dying butterfly in his chest.

“Nice set, man, your friend’s voice is gorgeous,” he said. “Can I get three rum and cokes?”

Grabbing three glasses from the bar, Steve began on the drinks. “Absolutely,” he said, his smile probably nowhere near Eddie’s level. “Are you here often, or just visiting?” Steve asked, attempting to play it cool, like Eddie was just any other person. This is ridiculous, Steve’s gonna throw up. Keep calm.

Eddie looked him up and down and smirked, “Just visiting for the weekend,” he said. A growing lump in Steve’s throat made him want to scream ‘I know!!! I know why you’re here!!! I know who you are!!! Hi!!!’ but he shoved that down as far as it could go, ready to choke on it if need be.

Steve set the finished drinks on the bar in front of Eddie, the musician handing over his card in exchange. “Open or closed?” He asked.

“Open. So, are those songs originals?” Eddie leaned into the bar, putting his face just a bit closer to Steve’s. He was gonna have a heart attack before the night was over, for sure, if Eddie kept this up.

“Oh, yeah, I uh… I wrote them,” Steve stuttered out. This was insane, he could pinch himself, there was no way this situation was happening. Eddie was gorgeous, dimples firmly in place because he wouldn’t stop smiling or smirking, his curls just begging for Steve to bury his hands in them and bring their faces closer. If Steve hadn’t been on the receiving end of hundreds of Dustin’s rants about Corroded Coffin, he knows he’d still want to drag Eddie out back and see what those lips tasted like, if they felt as much like sunshine as they looked.

Eddie nodded appreciatively and looked Steve up and down once again. “I’d love to hear more some time,” he said as he turned to leave, three glasses balanced in his hands.

“Well there’s karaoke here tomorrow night,” Steve blurted out, all attempts at remaining calm flying out the window because was that Eddie flirting with him? How did we get here? “You could stop by if you’ve got any free time.”

Eddie laughed, amusement flickering in his eyes and suddenly Steve remembered chasing fireflies in Robin’s backyard when they were kids. He started walking backwards towards his friends, “I’ll see what I can do!” he said with a raised voice, flashing one more smile that made that butterfly in Steve’s chest absolutely flip out. He was frozen in place, the shock of the whole situation settling deep in his bones. Honestly, Steve wasn’t sure he was still alive. Did he choke somewhere between the stage and the bar? Did he even make it to work in the first place? What day was it?

“Earth to Dingus!” Robin shouted at the other end of the bar. “A little help here?” she frantically gestured around her to the rising number of patrons.

A pretty decently sized mob was forming around the bar, snapping Steve out of his rock-star-induced-coma. He could freak out later in the privacy of his own home, right now he had work to do. And if his brain short circuited every time Eddie ordered drinks, that was nobody’s business but his own (and Robin’s).

—

Thank you so much for the encouragement !