#gifts from a soul { submission }
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epicorigin · 10 months ago
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tag drop!!
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girlatmirror · 2 months ago
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bend my rules | jjk
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in which jeongguk jeon, the frattiest of all frat boys, has been trying to get you to go out with him since freshman year, no success. what if the events that occur in junior year change your opinion on jeongguk and you actually give him a chance?
rich! jeongguk x reader
warnings: detailed virginity loss (minors, go away!), use of yn, jk is a little dumb sometimes but he’s a sweetheart, jk is a frat boy, minor mention of SA (nothing too triggering (i hope)), i love yn, taehyung mention 🫶🏼, yn is thick asfff (#needthat), desperate jk, use of both jeongguk and jungkook (i’m an indecisive bitch sorry), he gets the girl!
another scenario with this couple ‘couple’s getaway’ !
——-
Jeongguk needs no introduction. There was not a single soul at Berkeley University that didn’t know of him. Even the freshmen got introduced to who he was on their first day. With a powerful presence, daddy’s money, and unfortunately for you, a gorgeous, gorgeous face and muscles for days, Jeongguk takes the entire world by storm. He had that something about him that makes every guy want to befriend him and makes every girl want to be with him.
He was a business administration major, now in his senior year; his goal? To take over his father’s many businesses when he graduates. He could have done that without college, but his family put a lot of importance on education.
He was simultaneously in a frat and also lived alone in a penthouse off campus. You always wondered how he was allowed to be in the frat if he wasn’t living in the fraternity itself. But he’s the king of Kappa Sigma; they couldn’t vote him out. You met Jungkook at a party thrown by a friend’s friend, who is also friends with Jungkook, during the second semester of freshman year. He approached you with charming confidence, asking for your number. You declined politely, and he has not left you alone since—following you around, asking you out, giving you gifts, inviting you to parties that you never ended up attending, asking your friends about you, pretending to share your interests to get closer to you, and so on and so forth.
The one thing that was good about freshman and sophomore year was that you had no classes with Jungkook. So the last two years, you had Jungkook-less classes, except for the ones he decided to barge into uninvited and declare his love for you. Junior year came, and with it, Jungkook decided to sign himself up for the 18th-century literature class with Professor Sullivan.
Your major was English literature.
Professor Sullivan’s class was one of your favorites—the debates, the topics, the atmosphere. Also, the fact that Professor Sullivan liked you a lot. The topic of this lesson was: the role of women in literature in the 18th century.
"Women in the 18th century played very crucial roles as empowered figures; that is a fact. Authors like Mary Wollstonecraft, for example; she challenged societal expectations and wrote incredibly critical narratives that advocated for women’s rights,” you argued with a steady voice.
From across from you, you heard a voice you dreaded. "Yn, no one can argue with you about the existence of women authors at the time, but were they really all that empowering? I mean, they pretty much all were dependent on men. For example, ‘Oroonoko,’ written by a woman, yet it represents a male hero, while the female perspective is secondary.”
“Well, Ben, if you had taken my argument or really, any historical context into consideration, you would understand that, male hero aside, a woman producing literature of any kind in that era meant that she was asserting herself in a male-dominant, or rather, in a female-submissive world, and that in itself is resistance. It embodies power. I rest my case."
Ben was about to open his mouth to argue back when the door to the lecture hall interrupted him.
"Mr. Jeon, you are half an hour late," Professor Sullivan spoke to the interrupter.
In that moment, Ben became the least of your worries, sexism and all. You felt as if your life was upside down and you couldn’t get it up. What the hell was he doing in this class? This isn’t even his thing; he will fail! He will fail miserably!
"I sincerely apologize, Professor. It won’t happen again," the deep voice apologized before stepping forward and finding a seat.
As his piercing brown eyes found yours, the usual smirk found its place on his lips, and them and their owner made their way directly towards you. He sat down with the same expression on his face. "Hey, gorgeous. Miss me over the summer?"
He put his muscular arm around your shoulder and kept his head tilted to the side to stare at you, admiring the beauty before him from head to toe. You were wearing flared jeans and a tight pink long-sleeve shirt that accentuated your generous breasts. "Cute outfit, baby. Pink is your color; I’ll make sure to buy you lingerie in that same shade."
Before you could answer, Mr. Sullivan stated: "Mr. Jeon, we were just discussing the woman’s role in 18th-century literature. I am sure Ms. Ln will fill you in on what you have missed so far, but I wish for you to pay attention to the rest of the lecture. I know Ms. Ln is much prettier than I am; nonetheless, I hope you can find it in yourself to pay more attention to me and less to her."
The whole hall broke out in laughter, amused at the professor’s wit. Jungkook just continued smirking at you, seemingly also amused at the professor, and you sat in silence for the rest of the lecture, blushing.
The lecture ended quickly after, all the students making their way out, and you would’ve done so as well, but you needed to have a little talk with the man sitting beside you first.
"What are you doing here?" you nearly hissed at Jungkook, who was still sitting, your arms crossed around your chest.
"What do you mean, baby?" he provoked. "You don’t want me here or something?"
One thing that can be said about Jungkook was that he was a very persistent man. Even after your countless rejections, he somehow managed to come back stronger, bigger, and harder to fight off.
"You know I don’t want you here! What are you even doing here in the first place, Jungkook? What do you want?" Your hands were on your full hips as you questioned him.
He looked up at you with a shimmer of amusement and a raised eyebrow, his eyes tracing every curve. "You know, Yn, you look really good from this angle."
The thought of kicking him in the head came to you, but you fought it off. "Answer my question."
"I’m not gonna answer a question you already know the answer to. You know damn well why I’m here; I want you, and I wanna see you, and I want you to finally go out with me so we can live happily ever after and put me out of my misery," he proclaimed, with the spirit of Romeo possessing him.
"You just did, though," you noted with a smirk.
"Huh?"
"You just answered a question I already know the answer to." With that, you grabbed your bag and swayed away from the man, who was too distracted watching you walk away to comprehend that you were gone.
___
On a Friday night, you had a lot you could do: read a new book, talk to your mom, whom you hadn’t seen in two months on the phone, organize a sleepover with your friends and watch a movie, finish the five essays you haven’t finished yet, go off campus and try new food, and if you don’t like it, get the food you know and like and eat it.
But in Avery’s opinion, there was nothing better to do than to go to the Kappa Sigma party. You would usually not necessarily disagree; a party is sometimes exactly what you needed, but not this Friday and not at Kappa Sigma.
"Avery, did you forget the 100 times that I have told you he is now in my 18th-century lit class? I had to see him three times this week for almost an hour each lecture. Those are three hours where I had to see him, where I had to hear him speak," you dramatically articulated. "And if you count the times that I have seen him in the halls, and the one time I saw him in the library, and the one time he came into my poetry class and sat there, watching me for 20 minutes before Professor Sinclair told him to leave, and the one time he came here to give me flowers and ask me out, that makes like a hundred thousand hours that I had to see him this week. I do not wanna go to his party!"
Your roommates all looked at you like you just fell down from an alien spaceship. Nora was the first one to react. "Your math skills are really bad, Yn."
Avery rolled her eyes. "True, but that’s besides the point; Yn, why are you whining that the hottest and richest guy at this entire university wants you and has been wanting you for the last two years? That’s a flex, girl! Now, go put on a sexy ass outfit on that sexy ass bod and let’s. go. out."
"Woooo!" you heard Sasha yell from the kitchen, making you crack a smile amid your misery.
"Alright, but next Friday, I choose what we do," you claimed, with full intention of keeping that promise.
_
You and all four of your roommates arrived at the Kappa Sigma house with outfits that nobody else could compete with. You were wearing a tight, black off-shoulder shirt and a red mini skirt that emphasized your already emphasized thickness. Topped off with soft glam makeup and black heels, you felt like a real woman.
"Welcome, ladies," the deep voice that could only belong to Taehyung greeted you. "Sasha."
"Hi, Tae," Sasha purred, her hands quickly finding his neck, leaning into a passionate kiss.
These two had been a couple for a few months now, after a whole year of being on and off. Despite the stereotypes of frat boys, Taehyung knew how to treat his girl right.
You entered the house with one friend less; Sasha disappeared with Taehyung into the chaos that is the current state of this house. Your other roommates quickly disappeared as well, much to your dismay.
Now, your goal was to socialize, maybe drink a little something, but not too much because of the essays that you would have to write the next day. Your eyes scanned the house for a familiar face, and it landed on one.
One that was looking you up and down with hunger. He signaled you to come over where he was sitting with a bunch of girls and one other guy. You shook your head no, so he came over.
"Yn! I’m glad you came, baby." He hugged you, and you only half-hugged him back. "You look gorgeous, of course."
"Thanks, Jeongguk," you said politely.
You and he had a complex relationship; the first time he saw you, he showed romantic interest in you, showering you with affection and gifts. He never stopped. You always rejected him, no exceptions, even at times where you wanted nothing more than to say yes. Yet he was always kind to you, and you were kind to him (most of the time). Your mutual friends always brought you together; it was as if you couldn’t escape one another—to his pleasure and to your dismay.
"Lemme get you something to drink," he went into the kitchen and came back with a soda can. "Here, I know you usually don’t drink, so I got you a cola; hope that’s fine."
"It is, thank you," you smiled softly and started drinking the cola. "So, you’re interested in literature this year."
You only started a conversation because you knew he would not leave your side the entire night anyway, and you would prefer it if you picked the topic of conversation instead of him.
"Hell yeah, I love me some Samuel L. Jackson," he stated, making you laugh.
"You mean Samuel Johnson, you idiot," you said, giggling as you pushed his strong arm playfully.
He watched you giggle, gazing as if you hung the stars. "Yeah, yeah, same thing, same thing." With his boyish smile, he said, "Look, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by signing up for the same class as you. It was kinda out of pocket, even for my standards. I know the last person you wanna see is me, so if you want me to drop it, I will."
Your jaw metaphorically dropped at Jungkook’s words. Those are words that came out of Jungkook’s mouth? Does that mean that he will leave me alone completely if I wish? What does this mean?
A strange emotion settled deep inside you; you started wondering if you had done something wrong or if he perhaps found another girl he wanted to ask out even more than he wanted to ask you out.
"Jungkook, it is your right to choose whatever class you want to be in; I can’t be mad at you for that. Besides, you will learn a lot from Professor Sullivan; he’s great," you reassured him with a sweet voice.
"Yeah?" He grinned, recognizing that this was your way of saying you did not want him to leave.
"Oh yeah, he is a delightful old man. The stories he has to share are amazing. Did you even know he’s married to Professor Martinez? The reason why she hasn’t taken his last name is that he was against it, telling her, ‘Maria, if you take my name, that is erasure. Erasure of your life before my appearance, and erasure of your beautiful Mexican heritage, Maria. Do not change your name to mine; I am technically your oppressor.’ He told us that story maybe about 23 times, and he made sure to roll the r real hard," you found yourself joking with Jungkook, as your mind took you back to Avery’s earlier words.
It was not the first time that your friends said the same words to you; they always expressed their envy and their confusion about the situation with Jungkook. But you were thinking much deeper than them.
Much to everybody’s surprise, you never had a boyfriend, and you were also still a virgin. The most you did was a kiss you shared with a guy at your high school graduation, which you immediately regretted. You had high standards. For yourself, for your future, for your future husband, and for everyone you allowed to enter your life. It was not about not having options; God knows you had many. It was about knowing for sure that the man you give these things to—your trust, your dignity, your virginity, your love—would be the right one, the one that deserved it. The idea that Jungkook—the man who gave you his undivided attention for two years straight and spoiled you without being asked—was perhaps the man for you didn’t sound so unbelievable anymore.
When you were a freshman and before you met him, you heard stories about him—stories of the parties he threw, the money he had, the many girls he fucked. These stories made you cautious, even though he put in real effort to get closer to you, you were hard to impress, and it was even harder for you to get out of your shell of self-protection.
Jungkook howled with laughter at the things you told him about your professor; either he found them genuinely amusing, or he was just laughing because the stories came out of your mouth.
“So, what will you do?” he asked once the laughter died down a bit.
You tilted your head innocently. “What do you mean?”
He looked at you with such tenderness, your innocent eyes captivating him.
“When we get married, will you keep your name, or will you take mine?” he posed the question so casually, yet so longingly.
You shrugged your shoulders elegantly, taking a small sip from your forgotten cola. “I will probably take yours.”
The words you said that Friday night made Jeon Jungkook the happiest man on planet Earth, and probably all the other planets in the universe.
_
“So, you little minx sat down and talked to Jungkook basically the entire fucking party, and you didn’t even get up once? You didn’t even complain about it!” Avery was almost lost for words; key word, almost.
“What’s the big deal? We talked, so what?” you shrugged it off.
“Everybody’s talking about it, you know. They think you might finally give the guy a chance,” Nora chimed in. “I always knew you would eventually cave; I mean, with those arms and that black card, I would’ve folded a long time ago. There’s a rumor he has a seven-inch dick, by the way.”
Just as you were about to say something, Sasha entered the living room, having just finished talking to Taehyung on the phone. “What are you girlies talking about?”
Avery answered, “Oh, just about Yn and Jungkook getting married and having six kids.”
You threw a pillow at her head in response, and Sasha smirked at the mention of her boyfriend’s buddy. “Yeah, I heard what happened. Tae told me Jungkook went crazy after talking to you, saying that this will be the year that he will claim you as his and that there’s not a single person that can take away the happiness that he’s experiencing at the moment. He literally can’t stop talking about you.”
You suppressed your smile successfully and shrugged your shoulders again. “I don’t see why it’s a big deal. I mean, you all left me lonely at that party, and he was the first familiar face I saw, sooo… I had nothing better to do.”
“God, you’re such an odd person. The guy wants you so bad, just give him a chance. You think it’s not noticeable that you are also kinda into him, but if you weren’t, you would’ve blocked that guy a long time ago, and you would’ve gone crazy on his ass with all the things he does to get your attention, but you don’t,” Tanya argued with a sly smirk on her face. “You may be mysterious to other people, but you can’t fool your best friends, who have been living with you for two years.”
Avery and Nora both agreed with Tanya’s words by nodding their heads crazily, and Sasha said a loud ‘true’ from the kitchen across the living room, where she was preparing five hot chocolates for you.
“I do go crazy; I always go crazy; I always tell him off. You all have personally experienced me going off on him for things he did and said,” you defended yourself the best you could, before taking the hot chocolate out of Sasha’s hands with a small ‘thank you, S.’
“Yeah, but it’s not really a ‘fuck off, I don’t ever wanna see you or hear you again’ type of ‘going off’; it’s more like a ‘ugh, Jungkook, I can’t believe you did this again. Please do it again’ type of thing,” Avery mocked with a high-pitched voice and fluttering eyelashes.
“Oh my God, I do not do that.”
“You kinda do, now that I think about it,” Sasha finally sat down. “I mean, I have seen you pick fights with men flirting with you before, and you are a completely different person with them versus with Jungkook.”
The others thought about what Sasha said, and it was almost like a collective epiphany. They all looked at you with the same look on their faces; almost an accusatory expression.
“You totally like him; oh my God! Yn likes Jungkook. It makes so much sense; I can’t believe I was so stupid,” Nora expressed with exciting energy.
You felt a rush of relief coming over you, almost as if you were carrying a secret that you wanted out. You had no idea if that feeling was a good sign or a bad one.
“Okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, girls. I do not ‘totally like him’; I may be just starting—emphasis on just starting—to warm up to the idea of giving him a chance,” you revealed. “But Sasha, promise not to tell Taehyung about this, ‘cause if you do, Jungkook is gonna know by default, and I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”
“I won’t; I promise. This is just soooo exciting,” she spoke. “It’s just gonna be really hard to keep to myself, but I will try.”
“No, you won’t just try; you have to actually not say anything. You forget how indecisive I am; I could change my mind about this in an hour, so if you tell Taehyung, he will tell Jungkook, then Jungkook builds up hope and confronts me about what he heard, and I’ll just be like, ‘Oh, that was nothing; he’s just messing with you,’ and can you imagine how hurt his feelings would be? I really don’t need that on my conscience,” you explained thoroughly, your dramatics intact as they always were.
“Oh my God,” they all said in unison.
“What?”
“You care about his feelings!” Avery exclaimed, standing up dramatically. “You like him, like, like him. Admit it, admit it, please, please, please.”
“Shut up. I’m going to bed now. Buh-bye.” With that, you exited the living room, leaving your friends to talk about your situation for another hour before also going to bed.
“Remember when he got her a Cartier bracelet?”
___
“I will form six groups consisting of four students; each group discussing the topic I will be assigning them,” Professor Sullivan revealed.
“Ms. Ln, you will be grouped with Ms. Jones, Mr. Jeon, and Mr. Davis,” he spoke loudly. “You will be discussing Rousseau’s ‘The Confessions’ and prepare a presentation on identity and selfhood that is due next week, on Monday.”
You dreaded being in a group with Ben Davis, who had been nothing but a pain in your butt since you got to know him, but at least the assignment was the one that you wanted.
Jungkook, who sat next to you, smirked and nodded his head. “They couldn’t tear us apart if they tried, angel; this is meant to be.”
“Who are you even talking about? Who’s they?” Confused by his words, you asked.
“Just the world. You know how much these people hate real love,” he flashed you his trademark smile, making you push his arm playfully.
"Could you two stop flirting so we can start with the assignment?" the annoying voice of Ben whined, sitting across from you, with Lily Jones joining in the seat next to his.
“Alright, let’s dive in,” you started talking. “I personally think the most transfixing part of ‘The Confessions’ is how Rousseau emphasizes his intentions to be authentic. He exposes himself without shame or any sense of privacy, which for the time challenged societal norms completely.”
Lily nodded in agreement; Jungkook was busy staring at your lips as you articulated your opinion, smiling with his arm still around your shoulder. Ben, on the other hand, pulled a face you could only describe as disgusted. “Authenticity? The only authentic thing about Rousseau is that he is able to whine about his feelings like a pubescent girl. It feels almost like narcissism to me.”
"What a stupid take, Ben. With Rousseau writing this book, he laid the foundation for modern notions of individuality; the book challenges the reader to think about their own identity, their individuality," you explained your point further.
“I don’t need a stupid book like this to tell me about my identity or my individuality. It’s literally just a dude whining and rambling about his feelings and whatnot. No one wants to hear it,” Ben snapped.
Jungkook looked between you and Ben while you were arguing; seeing your agitated face when you hated someone made him realize you didn’t hate him at all. You even leaned closer into his arms.
“Well, I think we can use this as a talking point in our presentation,” Lily stated her idea. “How our perception of the book is similar to how we perceive ourselves; there are people like Yn, who confront and explore their feelings, thus creating a healthy relationship with the self, and there are people like Ben, who repress and ignore them, which makes for an angry person; which, by the way, is also an emotion.”
You and Lily giggled at her words, sending each other glances as to say, "God, I fucking hate that guy."
Jungkook decided to chime in. “That’s a good idea. We can use it as an opportunity to dive deeper into the self, to question it. If you are so opposed to Rousseau’s vulnerability, that’s a big indication of your own issues with vulnerability.”
You observed him as he spoke, astonished at his participation. You leaned in even more, to the point where your bodies touched as a way to show him you liked what he said.
“Oh, shut the hell up, man,” Ben shot back. “We all know you’re just here ‘cause of her; you don’t actually give a crap about all this.”
Jungkook simply smirked at him, already having figured out how easily provoked Ben was.
“He obviously cares more than you, ‘cause with that attitude, we are never gonna get a presentation done, much less start,” you defended Jungkook sassily, with a displeased expression sent Ben’s way, who just mumbled, “Yeah, go on, defend your boyfriend.”
“True,” Lily sighed. “By the way, where are we gonna prepare our presentation? The common rooms are always too loud, and all lecture halls are always occupied, and I don’t know about you guys, but my dorm isn’t exactly a mansion.”
You thought about Lily’s concern for a second, and the same resonated with you; your on-campus apartment wasn’t small, but you shared it with four very loud girls.
“We can do it at my place; I don’t mind,” Jungkook offered with a squeeze on your shoulder. “Then I finally have an excuse to invite my baby over.”
You looked up at him, meeting his mischievous eyes. For a moment, you shared intimate eye contact before Ben coughed to get your attention. “At your penthouse? Pff, no thanks. I’m sure a professor will let us use a room here.”
“You are not serious, Ben. Jungkook just offers us to go to his huge penthouse and you decline? I must say, I have never known such a dedicated hater; it’s almost admirable,” Lily admitted her admiration for Ben’s consistency.
“Why the fuck would we go there? It’s off campus, and it’s a penthouse; it’s so… distracting and unnecessary,” Ben debated, irritation written all over him.
“It’s a 15-minute walk and a five-minute drive, man; it’s not in Mexico,” Jungkook concurred, unable to find reason in Ben’s opposition.
“And what’s wrong with it being a penthouse? I personally would love to just hang out at a penthouse. It would make uni work a lot easier, actually,” Lily stated.
“I agree,” you shared, making Jungkook grin like an idiot at the image of you in his house. “And since this is a democracy, and we have one vote against three, we will meet at Jungkook’s penthouse next Sunday; of course, if that works for you, Jungkook."
“Works perfect!” he excitedly responded.
Ben was looking pissed as always; Lily was already thinking about all the pictures she was going to ask you to take of her in the penthouse for her Instagram, and Jungkook and you seemed to be in your own little world, gazing at each other.
“Thank you, Jungkook; that’s really nice of you,” you expressed with a smile, lifting your face to his to plant a short kiss on his cheek.
His heart raced at the unexpected movement; you had never done that before. He froze, his gaze lingering on you for a long moment while you gathered your belongings at the signal of class dismissal. One by one, the students gradually walked out, and you followed suit with Jungkook trailing behind you. He advanced in your direction, watching your hips sway.
“Yn!” he called after you, resulting in you turning around.
“Yes?”
“Go out with me tomorrow night at 7:00, just you and me,” he called out flirtatiously, gaining the attention of everybody around him, but only having his eyes on you.
You grinned mischievously at him before replying, “I don’t know about that… you’ll have to impress me first.”
To anyone else, it might sound like a rejection, but to Jungkook, it sparked a glimmer of hope that made his heart leap with resolve. Until now, it had only been ‘no’s and ‘no thank you’s. He was more confident than ever that he would capture the heart that had captured his.
___
“Yn, what did you do to Jungkook?” Sasha came back from a date night with Taehyung. “Tae told me he can’t stop smiling and is just sitting there, being cheesy as fuck.”
You were writing a sonnet for your poetry class as she barged into your room, looking stunning. “What made him think it’s about me? Let the man smile and be cheesy in peace.”
After Sasha looked at you with a look that said ‘you know damn well,’ you confessed, “He asked me out, and I—”
“You finally said yes??” she quickly interrupted with a dropped jaw.
“Nooo, I said maybe if he impresses me,” you continued. “Oh, and I also kissed him on the cheek.”
“You. Did. Not!” Sasha put a hand over her mouth, a loud gasp leaving it. “No wonder he is a smiling idiot; you broke him!”
“No, I didn’t ‘break’ him; I’m simply doing what I already said I am doing; I’m warming him up, giving him hope,” you explained, putting your pen down. “Because there is a very high chance that I will agree to go out with him soon. I just need that something.”
“That something?” Sasha repeated, confused.
“Yeah, that something; that one moment that makes me go yes, this is the man I want,” you further explained. “I have a good reason, two actually; I’m picky, indecisive, and also a virgin, so if I let him in and then, for some reason, regret it, I will be destroyed. And if I suddenly change my mind after giving him a chance, it will hurt Jungkook really badly, and I don’t want that.”
Sasha looked perplexed and deep in thought at your words, as if puzzling them together and making sense of them. “Oh wow, I never thought of it like that, but now, I totally get you.”
“Well, finally!” you smiled at her and giggled. “Anyway, what are you and Tae wearing to the Halloween party? Cause I was thinking…”
___
You and your girls took Halloween very seriously. You loved the dressing up, the makeup, and you always utilized the only day in the year where it was socially acceptable to be someone else entirely.
Of course, there were always at least six simultaneous Halloween parties going on on campus, and you had to choose between them, which was never a hard decision to make since Kappa Sigma always won. If they’re throwing a party, no other party stood a chance.
You decided to dress up as something cute yet sexy but very recognizable. Last year you came as Jane Eyre, and not a single person guessed your costume right. You decided to go with Chel from ‘The Road to El Dorado’; a white maxi skirt with two slits on the sides, a pink tube top, and statement jewelry with your hair down. It was low effort, yet very effective.
Nora went with Cher from Clueless, Avery of course was Shego, Tanya went creative and dressed as 2010 Justin Bieber, and Sasha and Taehyung were Morticia and Gomez Addams for the night, catching many envious stares.
After all the assignments, the essays, and the overall stress of uni the past few weeks, you hadn’t felt that alive and sexy in a while. Your maxi skirt was clinging to your full lower body seductively, and your tube top took on the very shape of your chest. You looked damn good, and you were ready to feel good too. Promising you wouldn’t drink too much, you took it slow.
Moving your hips seductively to the beat of a The Weeknd song while closing your eyes and tilting your head back, with Avery and Nora dancing together in front of you. Tanya was nowhere to be found, and Taehyung and Sasha were having their own dance party, grinding and kissing like there was no tomorrow. The dancing continued, and with it, the staring. You wished you could just dance at a party and have everybody mind their own business.
After a couple more rounds of dancing and drinking, you felt a firm hand gripping your hips. Turning around immediately, you pushed the guy away and looked at him, terrified. “What the fuck?? Get your filthy hands off of me!!”
Your friends stopped their dancing for a moment to see what was going on. They found Ben, dressed as Patrick Bateman, groping your hips like you were his property. “Just having fun, bird; don’t get all upset.”
Avery and Nora yelled at him, but it wasn’t effective. The scene caused such a huge stir that even Sasha and Taehyung got out of their trance, watching your fight with Ben.
“Yo, dude, get the fuck outta here, or I’ll call the cops on you,” Taehyung stepped in, pushing Ben completely out of the way. “What the fuck made you think you could do this, huh?”
As if he knew just when to step in, Jungkook in a cop uniform just arrived at the scene, asking what was happening.
A very drunk Ben slurred his words in an almost incoherent tone, facing Taehyung. “Look, man, she’s dressed like a slut. So I’m gonna treat her like a slut.”
Jungkook’s eyes widened at Ben’s words, trying to make sense of the situation. He followed Ben’s eyes that were directly watching you, all of your friends and Taehyung just standing shocked, and the only thing between you and Ben was a protective Taehyung. Ben was talking about you.
Without putting any thought into his actions, Jungkook stepped in and punched the guy in his face, causing him to stumble down to the ground, where Jungkook kicked him in the face before crouching down and spitting on him. “What the fuck did you just say??! Did you touch her, huh? Did you fucking touch her? I swear, I’ll kill you; I’ll fucking kill you, man; this is your last day alive, ‘cause I’ll kill you.”
You had no idea what to do in this situation, so you just watched with a shrinking posture, similar to your friends who were all in shock at the scene of Ben lying on the ground, his blood pouring out while Jungkook continued to throw punches. At that point, the entire party stopped and just observed the scene.
"Jungkook, that’s enough. I’d love for you to kill him, but I don’t wanna see you in jail, bro," Taehyung calmly spoke, in order to ease the tension. Jungkook listened to him, standing up; a look that furious had never been on his face.
He turned to you, taking your hands in his, his face softening at the sight of you. “Everything okay, baby?”
You nodded weakly, semi-visible tears rolling down your cheeks. Your instincts told you to hug him, so you did. He immediately pulled you closer to him, his hand on your back and your chest against his as he soothingly rocked you back and forth. Everybody was watching you, but you didn’t find it in yourself to care.
“Come on, I’ll take you upstairs to relax,” he took your hand, guiding you through the crowd and into one of the bedrooms. “Want me to carry you?”
For the first time in those 30 minutes, you cracked a tiny smile, knowing that he was so very serious about carrying you in front of an entire party. “No, that’s fine; I can walk.”
Ignoring the intense eyes of the crowd, you two made your way upstairs.
Your eyes were still slightly watery with tears, and you were still holding onto Jungkook’s hand as you both sat down on the bed. “Thank you, Jungkook.”
He offered you an irresistible smile and brought you in tighter against his solid chest, allowing you to hear his every heartbeat clearly. “That’s my job, baby; no need to thank me.”
“You really didn’t have to do that; I don’t want you to put yourself in danger for me, Kookie,” you spoke against his chest, with a soft, alluring voice, using his nickname to make him happy. “Ben really isn’t worth your anger at all.”
Jungkook took in your entire figure from above you with a gleam in his eyes. “Yn, I will do anything to protect you. I won’t ever allow anyone to harm you.”
You gently pulled away from his chest to meet his loving gaze. You never understood the books where the main character described a romantic encounter by saying ‘it felt like we were the only two people in the world’ until that moment. He leaned in closer, maintaining eye contact. You placed a delicate hand on his muscular arm—too gentle to stop him from getting closer, yet firm enough to prevent yourself from melting into him.
You were face to face with him now—breathing the same air. “You really mean that?”
“I couldn’t be more sincere,” he whispered, the warmth of his words meeting your full lips, his hands firmly placed on your soft, naked waist. “You know, we’ve never been this close before.”
“Yeah,” is all you managed to say, avoiding eye contact.
Suddenly, Jungkook pulled away, standing up, offering you his hand. “As much as I want to kiss you, I don’t think we should do that right now. You obviously drank tonight, and I want you to want to kiss me, and I want you to remember kissing me.”
You nodded and took his hand, not knowing what to say or do. As you stepped outside again, Jungkook’s broad shoulders became your view, him leading you downstairs again to take you home.
“Jungkook?” you said his name quietly, almost in a whisper.
He turned around, watching your shorter and smaller frame from above, looking absolutely tempting. “Yeah?”
“I’ll go out with you.”
___
The week after the Halloween party was exhausting; there were exams, essays, and seminars.
Besides the exams and usual uni duties, Jungkook was very enthusiastic about your first date. Being secretive about what he’d planned, getting your friends to ask you what you expected from a first date in an unsuspecting way, not wanting to annoy you so that you wouldn’t change your mind. It was very endearing.
You were also looking forward to the date, but you were much more subtle about it. Jungkook didn’t care about secrecy as much, telling every single person he knew that you agreed to go on a date with him; the news spread fast, and every student knew about your date.
Taehyung reported to Sasha that he jumped up and down, screaming and shouting out of the windows, “I DID IT! I FINALLY DID IT!” And later, when the pizza they ordered arrived, he tipped the delivery guy 300 bucks and told him, "The love of my life finally agreed to go out with me; I wish for you the same. I wish for every longing soul to experience the same happiness I am in right now, but I don’t think that’s possible because only she is capable of making a human feel this way. Goodbye and good luck, brother."
As for your shared class, he was insatiable. It was about the only time that week where you were able to see each other, and he had made good use of those three hours. In just three lectures, he got you a Swiss chocolate cake with a picture of himself printed on it because Avery informed him chocolate cake was your favorite. He got you a beige rose Lady Dior purse because it "goes well with your complexion," and a pink diamond ring, which he said was "nothing compared to the future engagement ring, of course." Before he signed up for your class, he gave you a gift once every two weeks, so this was a lot even for Jungkook. You told him it was all unnecessary, and he said, "No, this is very necessary; gotta spoil my future wife."
You were drowning in your assignments, your MacBook completely overheating when your name was called.
"Yn! There’s a package for you on the table," Tanya, one of your roommates informed.
You got out of your room confused; you couldn’t remember ordering anything in the last few weeks, and Jungkook usually liked to give you his gifts in person. “Are you sure it’s for me?”
Tanya playfully scoffed at you, reading what’s on the package again. “Is there another Yn here that I have yet to be introduced to?”
You scoffed back, taking the package into your room. Your impatient self couldn’t resist tearing it open to see what’s inside. A note, a small box, and a big white box with the words ‘Givenchy’ on it. Your breath hitched.
The note read: ‘Wear this to our date, gorgeous. Yours forever, JK.’
Almost scared to do so, you opened the white box, revealing a gorgeous, long blue silk dress. Then you opened the smaller box, which held a beautiful 24k gold necklace and matching earrings inside it. That idiot. You smiled to yourself, but quickly realized you shouldn’t.
You were a princess, and you deserved to be treated like one; he was just a rich enough man to comply.
You freed yourself from the clothes you were wearing. Carefully, you took the dress out of the box and put it on.
It fit like a glove, harmonizing with your every curve. The neckline was low, exposing the perfect amount of cleavage.
How did he know my size?
You put the dress back into the box neatly and pulled out your phone.
7:26
Yn: How do you know my size?
7:29
JK: I’m glad you got my little gift. Do you like it?
7:31
Yn: Yes, it is very nice; thank you. It was not necessary at all.
7:32
JK: I’m glad, baby; can’t stop thinking about tomorrow.
7:34
Yn: I’m really excited too.
7:36
JK: Promise you won’t be disappointed.
___
Whistles and girly screams were heard all over your apartment when you stepped out of your room, wearing the blue silk dress that clung to your wide hips and showcased your full chest perfectly; in soft glam makeup and your hair in an elegant updo, dazzled with the matching set of necklace and earrings, a pretty black purse in your hand. You looked the very image of beauty.
“Damn, girl!” Nora let out, impressed by your beauty.
“Does it look good?” you asked. You knew you looked beautiful, but you needed the extra assurance.
“Are you kidding me? You look ravishing, absolutely radiant; your body is just wow,” Avery complimented, observing you from head to toe. “Is that a new dress? It’s soo fucking gorgeous.”
“Yeah, it is; Jungkook actually sent it to me to wear today.” You felt your cheeks heating up at the knowing glances of your friends.
“Mmhmh, he’s a good man, Yn; a good man,” Sasha quoted a TikTok sound. “He’s so gonna freak when he sees you!”
“Is that what was in the package a few days ago? The guy’s got taste; gotta hand it to him,” Tanya chimed in. “When is he picking you up?”
You looked at the clock and answered, “Just in 3 minutes.”
About two seconds after you said that, a knock was heard from your front door.
“Ooooh, somebody’s eager,” Nora wiggled her eyebrows.
You walked to the front door, opening it after letting out an ‘I’ll get that.’
Before you stood Jungkook, wearing black tailored pants and a sophisticated white button-up shirt tucked into his pants, emphasizing his small waist and his muscular frame. In his hand, he held a big bouquet of pink and red roses.
“Hi, Jungkook,” you greeted him with a million-dollar smile.
He observed you with the biggest grin in the world, letting his eyes travel up and down your frame. “You are the most beautiful woman on Earth. Here, these are for you.”
He handed you the bouquet, which you took gracefully. “Thank you! They’re beautiful.”
Your friends freaked out, all attentively watching the interaction.
“Let’s go?” Jungkook said in a questioning tone. You nodded.
“No funny business, mister! We want her home by 11,” Avery screamed while you and Jungkook made your way out. Jungkook laughed, giving her a thumbs up.
“Yeah, you better not try anything with our girl; remember, we see all!” Sasha joined her, while Tanya and Nora made kissing and moaning noises, causing you to facepalm.
“Let’s just go, Jungkook,” you expressed in an embarrassed voice. “I’ll see you girls later!”
Once you were out, you looked at Jungkook apologetically. “I am so sorry; they’re literally so embarrassing sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” Jungkook chuckled, taking your hand in his. “Let them have their fun; they’ve been waiting for this day as long as I have.”
You bit your lip as your eyes met his longing ones.
“Now, let’s go,” he started walking faster towards his car. “I got us reservations at Quince.”
Quince was an Italian restaurant that you only heard of but never entered; it was much too expensive for you to even consider. It was not like you were poor; it was just that Jungkook was wealthy.
You both made your way to the car together; he opened the door for you and then entered himself.
“This is a really nice car,” you stated, taking in the car with a wide-eyed look.
“Yeah?” He started the engine. “It’s a Mercedes-Benz Maybach Exelero.”
You simply nodded, still looking around amazed.
“You know, I’m beyond happy you finally agreed to go out with me,” Jungkook admitted, one hand on the wheel and the other hand finding your thick thighs. “I lost hope there for a while, you know?”
“Well, what can I say? I’m an incalculable girl,” you teased, putting a hand over his, linking your fingers. “You will never figure me out, Jungkook.”
Jungkook’s dimple was visible as you gazed at him while he looked ahead.
“Remember when you told me you’re never going out with me? Well, now you are,” his voice reminisced. “So, I think I will figure you out, Yn.”
You decided to push his buttons a little. “Are you telling me you would wait over two years to figure me out? I didn’t peg you for a patient one.”
“I would wait a lifetime just to get a little piece of your heart and be able to call it mine, Yn,” he professed, his hands tightened, and his eyes gazed at you with yearning.
You didn’t know what to say.
_
The dinner at Quince was a dream come true; Jungkook rented out the entire restaurant for you, the view was breathtaking, every dish was a work of art, and the service treated you like royalty.
“So, do you like it here?” Jungkook asked you as you shared a slice of the best chocolate cake you had ever tasted.
“I love it!” you enthusiastically replied. “It is so beautiful here, Jungkook; honestly, thank you so much.”
The harpist was in the back, playing soft melodies that warmed your heart. You could not believe Jungkook planned all of this for you, and a sense of regret washed over you as you realized this was the man that you had been denying for two years.
“No need to thank me, baby; the important thing is that you’re with me,” he took a piece of cake with his fork and held it in front of your mouth, which you then ate, blushing. “I got something for you.”
Jungkook made a hand gesture, and as if on cue, a staff member came in, holding a framed picture in their hand, handing it to Jungkook.
He held it up for you to see; it was a star map, a very beautiful one. “This is the star map of the day we met—3rd of October, 2 years ago.”
Your eyes widened. “You remember the day we met?”
“Of course I do.”
“Jungkook, it’s so beautiful. I’ll hang it up on my wall,” you admired it while he admired you. “You’re really spoiling me.”
“Of course, baby, that’s my job,” he answered, taking your hand in his. “Now, let’s go; I have something planned for us.”
_
“Where are you taking me now?” you inquired; his secrecy wasn’t scaring you, but you were a naturally curious person.
“It’s a secret, baby. I promise you’ll love it,” Jungkook kept his eyes on the road, responsibly, and his veins ripped along his forearms, your eyes glued to the thickness of his arms.
“Ugh, fine, if you wanna be secretive about this, be secretive about it,” you feigned dramatic annoyance. “Just know that I’m hating every minute of it.”
“I think I can live with that since we’re just three minutes away,” he teased, his dimples evident.
“Three whole minutes of me hating it… you are a very cruel man, Jeon,” you shook your head, enjoying the breeze of the Californian air.
When you arrived in the parking lot of a bar, he pulled up saying, “We’re here!” before stepping out and jogging to your side, opening the door for you. You took his hand, letting him lead the way into the bar.
“A bar?” you asked in a suspicious voice. “Jungkook, a bar is not the place you take a lady…”
He knew you were joking and chuckled lightly.
“Just wait till we get in; you’ll love it,” his excitement was apparent, which confused you even more.
You stepped inside the bar, which was actually prettier than you imagined it would be; it had a calming feel about it. It didn’t look like a traditional bar; there was a stage set up and seats for an audience where about 30 people were already sat.
“Sit here,” Jungkook took your hand and brought you to a seat right in the front.
He made his way onto the stage, which led to you asking him, “What are you doing?” but he didn’t answer your question and just stood in front of the mic.
“So, uh, I wrote a poem a few weeks ago about the girl I love—a girl I have been trying to get with for two straight years and failed every time. I know how much she loves poetry,” Jungkook spoke to the crowd, his eyes gleaming with happiness. “And exactly a week and two days ago, she agreed to go out with me. Actually, this is part of our date; she’s sitting right there.”
He pointed at you proudly; the crowd cheered at the cute story he told and then observed you and cheered some more before letting him continue.
Jungkook looked self-assured, but there were little hints that showed you he was nervous to be standing in front of a crowd the way he was. “Yn, I know your writing is way superior to mine, but I hope you like this regardless. I’m gonna read it now.”
The crowd slightly giggled at his comment, but you could only focus on catching your breath and stopping your tears because you had never expected Jungkook to be as amazing as he was.
“In grand halls where soft echoes linger,
I spread petals, gold on gray floors.
Yet no amount of riches can sway you
To feel what’s in my heart, what I adore.
Two years have passed like silk through fingers,
Each moment woven with hopes and dreams.
But in your eyes, there’s a distant wonder;
You craft your path, and it’s not what it seems.
I’ve painted skies with vibrant colors,
Called stars to shine above you, glowing bright.
But love, I find, goes beyond gold and shine—
Sometimes a simple heart knows what feels right.
Yet here I stand in this space, laid bare,
With wealth at hand, but your laughter’s far away.
I’d give it all, just to share a moment—
To glimpse the dreams you cherish and replay.
Though riches fade like whispers in the dark,
My love, unyielding, still holds the spark.”
The crowd erupted into applause, gasps, and "awe's" and "Girl, marry him's" as Jungkook finished. You sat there, frozen in time and frozen in the words he dedicated to you; your heart beating faster than it should be, and singular tears rolling down your face.
Jungkook left the stage, eagerly approached you with the softest smile. “Did you like it?”
You couldn’t utter a word; you only stood in front of him, shook your head slightly in disbelief, and threw your arms around his neck tightly, jumping into his arms, hiding your face in his chest. You cried.
“Hey, why are you crying? Was the poem that bad?” he half-joked, running his hands over your hair soothingly.
As you finally parted from him, you glanced at his face, adoringly and implored, “Kiss me.”
And so he did. He kissed you hard like a soldier reunited with his loved one after many years; his hands were firmly on your waist, exploring other places of your body—in that moment, you were alone. In that moment, it was only Jungkook and you as you lost yourself in each other.
You stayed like that for a few minutes, lost in each other before staying at the bar for a while, listening to talented poets reciting their work.
___
“I can drive you back to the dorms, or you can—” Jungkook started.
“No, I think I wanna go back to your place,” you quickly interrupted. “Of course, if that’s okay with you.”
After leaving the bar, you entered his car, lips still swollen from all the kissing.
“Of course it’s okay with me; you said exactly what I hoped you’d say,” he smiled. “You know, the girls will probably beat me up tomorrow for not bringing you back.”
The drive to his penthouse wasn’t long at all; it was just enough to talk for a while and enjoy the evening view.
“Oh, absolutely not; they are totally secretly celebrating this because all they’ve been wanting me to do these past two years is give you a chance,” you admitted, also smiling. “Now that that happened, I can just tell you the complete truth; there is nobody more into this than them.”
“Damn, so even with a whole secret support system behind me, it took me two years?” He tsked, finding amusement in the admission. “That’s embarrassing for me.”
You looked up at him through your lashes and tilted your head; he was focusing on the road, but glanced at you as much as he could. “If you were anybody else, it would’ve taken you five more.”
He leaned in to steal a quick kiss; the prideful expression on his face was clear to see. “That’s really good to know.”
You drove around for the next 10 minutes; finally, you arrived at his luxurious penthouse, which was adorned with a huge terrace and a chic entrance that you rushed to hand in hand.
You had already been to his penthouse for the project, yet its beauty didn’t fail to impress you once again; being in this position made it look even more magical.
As soon as you stepped inside, Jungkook grabbed your waist and gently held you, with his lips finding yours again. You stumbled into the spacious yet warm living room. As your lips still moved in sync and passionately, your hands roamed his body, exploring every muscle, every inch. Your gasps intertwined with his heavy breathing, your chest against his. He guided you to the couch and sat down, without breaking the kiss, and with firm, strong hands on your hips, he seated you on his lap.
Your heated core met his clothed, hard dick in sensual movements, the grinding gradually getting quicker and more effective. You felt his hardness press against your covered pussy, leading to feelings unknown to you. Your dress crept up higher with every movement of your generous hips, his hands now on your ass, kneading it while moaning into your mouth.
“Fuck, Yn, you don’t know how fucking long I’ve been waiting for this,” he breathed, breaking the kiss for just a second before going back immediately, earning an agreeing moan from you.
His hands wandered over your entire body, holding your slightly pudgy stomach and traveling up to your full breasts. You couldn’t contain your moans from coming out, your lips moving against his as if they were made for them.
But there was something on your mind that you still had not mentioned to Jungkook.
“Wait, Jungkook—” you interrupted your session with a breathless voice. “I—I have to tell you something.”
He was confused, his face slightly flushed with hazy eyes and parted lips. “Yeah, anything, baby.”
“I’m—I’m a... virgin,” you almost whispered, still sat on his lap, lowering your head so you wouldn’t have to face him. “But I wanna do this.”
His grip on your hips loosened for a second before he firmly grabbed you again. “Oh.”
Your heart sank a little, not knowing what to make of his response.
Just a few seconds later, he continued, “We can take everything slow, baby; we don’t need to rush into anything; we’ll do everything at your pace.”
You nodded, raising your head again to look into his eyes. “Thank you, Kookie.”
“Of course,” he kissed you gently.
“Okay, we can go back to making out now; I just have a tiny problem,” you noted, easing the tension caused by your revelation. “I don’t have anything to wear, and I can’t stay in this dress the whole night.”
Jungkook chuckled and slowly stood up. “Wait here; I’ll get you a t-shirt.”
The few minutes it took him to get you a shirt gave you a chance to take in your luxurious surroundings; the lavish, over-the-top kitchen facing the living room brought a smile to your face, knowing that Jungkook in no way cooked or had any culinary skills whatsoever.
“Here, wear this,” Jungkook came back with a black shirt in his hands. “Next time, we’ll be prepared. Gotta make sure you have your own closet here.”
Your heart beamed at his display of commitment, knowing he was serious about everything he said.
You took the shirt, turning your back to him. “Can you help me zip the dress down? I can’t reach it.”
He obliged happily, zipping the dress’ zip down, his hands lightly brushing over your uncovered back, his lips pressing a small kiss on your shoulder. You turned around, letting the dress fall down, exposing you in just a lacy black lingerie set that left little to the imagination.
His gaze traveled over your entire figure, lips grazing his teeth with a spark in his eyes that conveyed a thousand unspoken thoughts.
“Damn,” he uttered after you put on the shirt, which barely reached your thighs. “Can’t believe you’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”
With newfound confidence, you pushed his chest, resulting in him ending up on the couch once again, and sat down on his lap with an alluring smile.
“I wanna finish what we started now,” you purred against his lips, guiding his hands to your waist. The rhythm of your seductive hips brought his breath to a halt, guttural "fuck's" escaping him.
You quickly stripped away his shirt, revealing his muscular arms and defined abs—all for you to run your hands over and admire, his dick noticeably growing. In response, Jungkook took off your—or his—shirt, leaving you in just a lacy bra, your tits practically spilling out of it; a sight he adored more than anything.
“Shit... please, let me take off the bra,” Jungkook desperately implored, to which you just as desperately nodded. “Just wanna see you like that.”
His fingers toyed with the clasp of your bra before completely unfastening it, exposing your big tits and hard nipples. You were surprised at your lack of shyness, feeling completely free and comfortable, exposed in front of Jungkook like that.
“Fuck,” he growled at the sight of your bare breasts before leaning in, gently taking one into his mouth, sucking it and swirling his tongue around it. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
You pushed your head back from the overwhelming pleasure, one of your tits getting sucked and the other one getting kneaded, while you desperately chased the friction, your thinly clothed pussy rubbing against his dick. It was an erotic experience; Jungkook was introducing you to a new world.
“Baby, if you keep moving like that, I’m gonna cum in my boxers,” he hissed, his strong arms stopping your movements momentarily.
You were both in a state of haziness; desperation was strongly felt in the air. Your pussy was sticky and slick, aching for more.
“Then fuck me, Jungkook,” you whispered urgently, his breath stopping for a second.
“Are you sure about this, Yn?” he sincerely asked, locking eyes with you to look for a speck of uncertainty; he didn’t find it.
“Yes, I’m so sure,” you answered him steadily. “All I want is for you to fuck me.”
With that, Jungkook didn’t waste any time. He stood up, still grabbing your hips firmly while your legs were wrapped around his waist, and carried you toward the elevator, your bare chest pressing against his and your head lazily resting on his broad shoulders. Finally, he carried you to his bedroom, gently throwing you onto the bed.
He looked at you from above, lips caught between his teeth. He hastily put his hands on you, wanting nothing more than to take off your lace panties, the only thing holding him back from seeing you completely bare. So, he did, slipping your panties down your legs until they’re completely off.
His fingers traced your now bare pussy, lightly teasing it, eliciting a gasp from you. “That’s the prettiest, wettest fucking pussy I’ve ever had.”
You blushed, not knowing what to say.
Slowly, Jungkook’s hands moved to the waistband of his boxers, taking them off entirely. His thick, long dick was freed, settling on his lower belly. The pre-cum shimmered on it, ready to enter you at any moment.
Your breath hitched, taking it all in for a second; your eyes widened at the powerful sight before you. He stood above you, symbolizing dominance, while you were naked, sitting on the bed, looking up at him with innocent eyes.
“Can I just…” you leaned forward, facing his pretty dick, giving it a lick.
“Fuck, Yn, yes please,” he stepped forward a bit to give you easier access. “You ever done this before?”
You shook your head, maintaining eye contact. His eyes darkened, turned on by your innocence. Strong hands found your hair, guiding you closer to him.
You gave him more licks and kisses, swirling your tongue around it and kissing every inch of it before finally taking it into your mouth entirely. He was big, so you struggled a little to breathe properly, but you wanted to keep going for him.
“Shit, baby, you’re doing so good,” he groaned as your hands started working him while your full lips were wrapped around him, sucking him. “Just like that.”
Bobbing your head up and down, you slightly gagged around him, but your hand on his hip signaled him to thrust into your mouth further, which he gladly did. The huge bedroom echoed with his shameless groans and praises.
He smelled clean and tasted salty, sort of musky; it was comfortable having him in your mouth. You continued to explore his dick, recalling all the blowjob wisdom given to you by your friends and the internet, and implementing it.
“Baby, I’m close,” Jungkook’s words were barely a whimper, sending more arousal to your slick pussy.
His words elicited desperation in you, desiring nothing more than to give him pleasure. You bobbed your head harder, his groans getting louder and his thrusts quicker. His hands tightened around your hair; it was obvious he was losing control, chasing his high.
The heat was building, Jungkook’s voice getting louder, and a few seconds later, a warm, salty liquid filled your mouth, which you instinctively swallowed. You released his dick from your grip and looked up at him.
His head was tilted back, eyes closed and breathing heavily before he finally looked down at you, leaning in and giving you a kiss. He put his boxers on again.
“You did so great, baby,” he praised, now sitting next to you on the bed. “I’m glad I’m your first... and last.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, hiding your face in his shoulder. “I’m glad too.”
You stayed in his embrace for a few minutes; he soothingly whispered sweet nothings into your ear. With determination, you started grinding against him again; this time, your bare pussy against him. A rush of blood was sent to his dick, slowly getting erect again.
“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” Both of his hands were positioned on your moving hips, furthering the friction between you.
“Yeah, I do, actually,” you admitted in a sultry whisper, licking his upper lip playfully.
“Yeah?” His eyes traveled from your eyes to your lips.
“Hmmm, yeah,” you tilted your head flirtatiously, giving in to another kiss. “So, are you gonna fuck me today or not?”
Jungkook chuckled, clearly amused by your directness. “Baby, I just want to be sure you’re 100% sure about this.”
“I am sure!” you spoke with a tinge of urgency. “Can’t you feel my wetness? I need you, Kookie; I need you to be inside of me.”
The contrast of your words and the usage of his silly nickname made Jungkook’s heart race. He felt the urge to take you right then and there.
With a quick shift, he stood up, grabbed a soft towel and put it on the bed, and gently pushed you so you lay on the bed, ready for him to enter. He towered over you, fingers finding your wet pussy again, playing with it. After removing his boxers again, he fisted himself, the sticky sound of pre-cum finding you; you enjoyed the view more than you would admit. He opened a pack of condoms and took one out, wrapping it around his big dick.
“You sure you’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, I’m sure,” your bratty attitude started to show.
Jungkook came closer, parting your legs slightly, taking in the sight of your pussy, glistening for him. As he approached your entrance, he maintained eye contact. “This is gonna hurt a little at first, baby, but tell me as soon as it’s too much, okay?”
You nodded, your eyes filled with anticipation and nervousness. “Okay.”
He held onto you gently and slowly entered your wetness, eliciting a loud gasp from you. As he entered further, you grabbed onto him tighter, burying your head in his shoulder and clawing his back with your nails. “Fuck, this pussy is so fucking tight.”
“Does it hurt, baby?” he gently asked through heavy breaths, his thrusts continuing to be soft. You nodded. “It’s okay; just a moment and it’ll feel good.”
And he was right; just a couple of seconds into more soft thrusts, the pain transformed into satisfying pleasure that quickly took over, your gasps turning into soft moans.
“Jungkook… fuck me harder,” you begged, pushing him down and closer to you; your bodies sticking together even closer than before. “Please.”
Gradually, his thrusts became harsher, lips moving from your neck to your tits that were begging for his attention and his big hands that gripped your ass. Your desperate grip on his back firmed as you clenched around his dick, causing his breath to hitch. He deepened his thrusts, hitting your walls sensually, introducing you to a pleasure you never knew you could feel.
“Shit, you feel so good around me,” his deep, grunting voice hugged you. “Gonna fuck you stupid; nobody else can touch you like that.”
His ongoing rambling about how good you felt, how beautiful you were, and how long he had waited for this made you feel like you were the most cherished woman on Earth. You couldn’t believe that this was happening. If someone had told you two years ago that you would be in Jungkook’s penthouse, his dick ramming into you deliciously; you would laugh in their face. But here you were.
To add an element of surprise, you suddenly changed the position, turning the both of you around and pushing him down to the bed, taking control as you rode him up and down. A cocky smirk formed on his annoyingly pretty face, looking up at you in admiration.
“You learn quick,” he praised in a grunt, putting his head between your bouncing tits.
You were too lost in pleasure to respond, your ass clapping against his balls and your hands were all over his broad upper body, savoring every inch of him. Your head tilted back in bliss as his dick slipped in and out of your wet, tight pussy; a sight that Jungkook enjoyed very much.
“Baby, I’m close, shit… I’m so fucking close,” he informed with a breathy voice, bitten lips, and hazy eyes, dick thrusting up more desperately than before.
Your walls tightened more around his throbbing dick, indicating to him that you were also close. “Yeah? Me too, baby.”
After a minute of passionate thrusting and bouncing, Jungkook’s body suddenly tensed, reaching the edge. He released a warm flood of cum with a loud “fuck” coming out of his mouth.
With a grind of your hips, a moment later, you also reached a pinnacle, your breath hitching and your eyes closed. You got off of Jungkook and laid next to him on the bed, both of you still trying to come down from the high you experienced.
He slowly stood up, grabbed the bloodstained towel he laid under you to put it in the washing basket, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips. “You did so good, you know that?”
You simply smiled sheepishly, also getting up to clean yourself and pee. When you came back from Jungkook’s extravagant bathroom, he was lying on the bed now wearing boxers with an eager smile. “Come here.”
You obliged with swaying hips, your naked figure waltzing over to his king-size bed, laying your head on his chest. “Today was amazing, Jungkook. Thank you for everything.”
He held your hand in his, kissing your head gently. “Baby, that was nothing; I wanna thank you for everything. It’s really special to me, what you did.”
“It was easy, being with you and all,” you admitted in a soft voice. “You know, I feel surprisingly very comfortable with you, Jungkook; it’s weird.”
That made him chuckle; his chest left a vibration. “I think I’m gonna take that as a compliment…?”
“You should.”
“I don’t think this needs to be said, but I hope you know this means we’re together now,” Jungkook started, now looking deeply into your eyes from above. “Like an item, a thing, boyfriend and girlfriend, soon to be wed, a coup—”
You stopped him with a giggle, laying a loving hand on his chest. “I get it, Jungkook, and I know.”
“Good.” He tightened his grip on your shoulder, smirking as he looked down at your naked body. “Next time, I wanna cum inside; so you better get started with birth control.”
“Jungkook!!”
——-
i hope whoever reads this enjoyed it🫶🏽🫶🏽 btw the poem is completely AI generated😭 i really wanna make this sort of a series like write a bunch of different scenarios for this couple; pls tell me your opinion on that.
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haggishlyhagging · 7 months ago
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In 1847 the stereotypes for male and female writers were very rigid. Critics expected from a male writer strength, passion, and intellect, and from a woman writer they expected tact, refinement, and piety. They depended on these stereotypes so much, in fact, that they really didn't know how to proceed, what to say, or what to look for in a book if they were unsure of the author's sex.
So Jane Eyre created a tremendous sensation, and it was a problem for the Brontës. The name Currer Bell could be that of either a man or a woman and the narrator of Jane Eyre is Jane herself. The book is told as an autobiography. These things suggested that the author might have been a woman. On the other hand, the novel was considered to be excellent, strong, intelligent and, most of all, passionate. And therefore, the critics reasoned, it could not be written by a woman, and if it turned out that it was written by a woman, she had to be unnatural and perverted.
The reason for this is that the Victorians believed that decent women had no sexual feelings whatsoever—that they had sexual anesthesia. Therefore, when Jane says about Rochester that his touch "made her veins run fire, and her heart beat faster than she could count its throbs," the critics assumed this was a man writing about his sexual fantasies. If a woman was the author, then presumably she was writing from her own experience, and that was disgusting. In this case we can clearly see how women were not permitted the authority of their own experience if it happened to contradict the cultural stereotype.
But even more shocking than this to the Victorians was Jane's reply to Rochester, a very famous passage in the novel. He has told her he is going to marry another woman, an heiress, but that she can stay on as a servant. Jane answers him thus:
"I tell you I must go," I retorted, roused to something like passion. "Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton, a machine without feeling and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I'm soulless and heartless? You think wrong. I have as much soul as you and full as much heart. And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should've made it as hard for you to leave me as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionality, nor even of mortal flesh. It is my spirit that addresses your spirit, just as if both had passed through the grave and we stood at God's feet equal—as we are."
This splendid assertion violated not only the standards of sexual submission, which were believed to be women's duty and their punishment for Eve's crime, but it also went against standards of class submission, and obviously against religion. And this sort of rebellion was not feminine at all.
The reviews of Jane Eyre in 1847 and 1848 show how confused the critics were. Some of them said Currer Bell was a man. Some of them, including Thackeray, said a woman. One man, an American critic named Edgar Percy Whipple, said the Bells were a team, that Currer Bell was a woman who did the dainty parts of the book and brother Acton the rough parts. All kinds of circumstantial evidence were adduced to solve this problem, such as the details of housekeeping. Harriet Martineau said the book had to be the work of a woman or an upholsterer. And Lady Eastlake, who was a reviewer for one of the most prestigious journals, said it couldn't be a woman because no woman would dress her heroines in such outlandish clothes.
Eventually Charlotte Brontë revealed her identity, and then these attacks which had been general became personal. People introduced her as the author of a naughty book; they gossiped that she was Thackeray's mistress. They speculated on the causes of what they called "her alien and sour perspective on women." She felt during her entire short life that she was judged always on the basis of what was becoming in femininity and not as an artist.
-Elaine Showalter, ‘Women Writers and the Female Experience’ in Radical Feminism, Koedt et al (eds.)
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darkdemeter · 11 months ago
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・issue #--・ 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄
⚤ Dark Pirate!Bucky Barnes x Siren!Female Reader Pirate Bucky — semi dark Bucky — submissive/soft captive reader — possessive Bucky — SMUT 18+, Minors DNI! — P in V sex — memory loss/wiping via magic (reader affected) — light use of physical and sexual acts to avoid conflict — indirect breeding kink? — pet names — brief consumption of alcohol — I think that's it? ✎ 4.1k He is your captain. There is no place you'd rather be than by his side, nothing you could ever want for that is not him. You owe everything, your entire self, to him. Yet overboard and on the tide you sail across, in search for a great and ancient treasure, a song continues to seep through the cracks of your heart and soul… a song so familiar yet unknown. Forgotten. Bucky reminds you yet again that there is no place else for you that isn't beside him, that there is nothing out there.
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↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────
  There lays a song forgotten in your heart and soul, distantly faint as the receding tide to the shore. With each spare moment of peace you were given to dwell beneath the lapping waters, you spend a portion of it in search of that song. And what time remains within the falling sand’s glass, you bask in the blue and faded black abyss. 
  Tonight is no different. You could not remember the forgotten song that lulls you tenderly, pulling through skin and scale, calling you somewhere far, much too far, away from the balancing hull above. 
  You could not abandon your captain. Betray the trust between you both. After all, it was he who found you washed atop the rocky crevices of the island, who rescued you from a fate of drying out in the sun’s merciless heat. Who took care of you when there was nothing left of the life you once knew. 
  To break that earnt trust, to betray him, you can’t think of anything far more heartbreaking than that. 
“Time’s up, my Siren,” the voice of your captain beckons you. He calls you to the surface. 
  A sigh ripples through the water and your head tilts up towards the surface, the darkened slits in your milky white eyes shrink away from the moonlight penetrating through the waves. The long limb of your tail sweeps back and forth, thrusting you upwards, skin and scales shimmering brighter as you near the barrier between water and air. The breach pulls a lungful gasp of the night's chillingly crisp air, the only warmth coming from The Avenger. 
  Hair drench-pressed and thinned forms a curtain over your features as you peer up at the looming figure pridefully arching over the ship’s wooden rail. The slivered slits of your eyes grow wider as they focus on him, with a lantern beside him, glass scorched and worn by smoke, it illuminates the upper portion of his body. His white shirt ruggedly wrinkled and loosened to showcase a muscled chest, skin tanned by the sun’s heated kiss, sleeves rolled to the elbow, black ink painted legendary stories over his body in memorabilia. Stories forged into his flesh for all to study and cower in fear.
  He summons you with a kink of his finger and you obey his silent command with an all too eager nod. Around you, the water spirals into a column and rises up, pushing you higher to reach the wooden railing. Aboard the ship, the crew is merry in their celebrations. Another successful day of conquest and battle on the high seas, another amassed sum of gold and valuables to add to hull and reputation. 
  Of course spirits would be high and cheerful tonight. And of course, what was a conquest without the captain’s prize at the end of it all?
  Gathering yourself over the rail and onto the deck, the glistening shine of your tail morphs into two shapely legs, the milky hues of your eyes and other remnants of your true body hide in their human disguise. Your eyes find the hourglass on his opposite side, the sand all gathered in the bottom glass pit. Your captain holds something out for you and you graciously accept his gift, pulling the thin veil of your robe over your naked body. 
  His ocean blue eyes scan you up and down, the left corner of his plush, chapped lips turns upwards. 
“Did you find what you were looking for?” He purrs his question and it brings a cold chill to run up and down your spine, your lungs freeze with what little breath they had at that moment. 
  He turns his body properly to face you, burly shoulders and thick muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. His eyes fold slightly into a sharpened stare of interrogation. 
  “I–I don’t…” You shake your head, breath hitching. “I don’t understand, Captain. I search for nothing that is not you.”
  “Aye?” 
  Your gaze drops to the limb of his remaining flesh hand, the other limb itself brings an uncomfortable yet hazy familiarity, you dare not to look at it up close when in the awoken presence of his intimidating stature. Often you would question its being there and admire its raw and unique - mystical - materials, when your captain lay beside you fast asleep. 
  Wrapped tightly over and under the callousness of his palm, the golden chain twinkles in the pale moonlight, the larger pearl at its centre holstered by binding gold and tinier pearls, beneath the gilded net a more refined shape of a pearl dances on its link. 
  However, your mesmerised pupils flicker up in an instant, brought to the attention of your captain awaiting your obedient answer. A noise is pitched in your throat with the answer but it dies swiftly before its deliverance. 
  Your vision focuses behind him then, up near the ship’s helm, her fingers lace slowly in their hypnotic movement as the fabric of her scarlet magic is weaved together. A warning. You do your best to hide the distressed visage of fear, batting your eyelashes and brushing aside the death of your verbal response, you bow your body forward submissively to his that towers over you.
  When your lips touch his, he almost instantly devours yours in a hungry kiss, the soft caress of your fingers tracing the curves of his chest brings pride and lust to possessively reel you into him, your nude front colliding against the hardened wall of his own. 
  Your hands run their course of exploration up the swollen bulk of his arms until they find purchase and entangle themselves in his dark locks. His own hands ravage your body, kneading the flesh and slim muscle of your hips.
  He groans when you submit to his overpowering will, mouth parting to his eager tongue that shoots forward like a fired cannon, aimed to dominate you in every sense of the word. Your soft whimpers beneath him bring him unimaginable pleasure, the sort that drives him to seek it evermore, with no seeming end to his insatiable hunger for what is you; your entire being. Wolves are known to be ravenous beasts. It’s why he’s known by the moniker as the White Wolf. 
  His tongue fiercely dances over yours, swirling and his bottom teeth tease you by nipping your lip, earning a high pitched squeal from you. He chuckles, the sound rich and dark in its intention. Your core comes alight, burning hotly and the once cool air dissipates as heat courses through every vein and nerve in your body, your mind swimming in the ocean pools of his eyes. Eyes that at times are the only thing you need to be connected to the sea. 
  The prominent tent of his erected endowment presses against your stomach and lower abdomen. You finally pull away, however, in his caging embrace it’s not very far you’re able to move back. 
  “Wait for me in my cabin, little Siren,” he orders gruffly. Your mouth falls agape and you sputter in your rattled confusion. 
  “But I—” Still he penetrates you with that cold stare. It prods at you with radiant intensity, it matches the ominous scarlet glow that now burns brighter now as it moves down the upper deck’s stairs. Your eyes dart between the woman who controls the rolling waves of red magic and the ferocity of your captain’s hardpressed gaze. 
  Your head bounces quickly. “Yes...” 
  A few words of compliance are cut off by a gasp. As you attempt to follow his order and return to his cabin, he halts you within his metallic grasp and pulls you back in, curled lips mere inches from your own, in the clutches of his brazen hold, he commands your attention. Your hands are forced to rest over his chest. 
  He drawls with a warning growl, “Yes?”
  “Yes, Captain Barnes.”
  Bucky nods his head once and lets you go, his eyes flicker between the cabin door and you, silently instructing you to hurry along. Your bare feet barely make a sound over the wooden deck in your traversal towards the cabin, where you would await your captain to claim his prize. Treasure that he greedily gets to have all to himself. The conquest he takes glee in ravishing himself full of. 
  Once you’re tucked inside, exactly where he wants you, Bucky scratches at his stubbled jaw, his recent shave already beginning to grow in again. Wanda approaches his side, the fabric of her magic ceasing at her fingertips like embers passing over into lowly ashes. 
  “That was a close one,” Bucky growls, his tongue that savours your taste runs over his teeth. She hisses with a hushed tone, “With each outing she is given to delve into the sea, my magic weakens, Captain.”
  His eyes roll to glare at the woman beside him. She sighs with a bow of her head, eyes downcast as to not provoke him into thinking her words a challenge. 
  “All I mean to say is that you must reinforce her rules. She’s beginning to suspect far too much, and with each piece of recollection, my power is sapped by her own. Enforce her rules once more.”
  Bucky’s shoulders shrug upwards with an all too arrogant huff, haughty in his conviction. He idly tilts his flesh hand, admiring the piece of you he has wrapped up in his iron grasp. 
  “She will do well to keep in mind her place. She’s intimidated.”
  “She’s conflicted, Captain.” Her words bring about a scowl to Bucky’s face, lips coiled into a snarl and nose wrinkling, eyes thinning. “And it will be a matter of time before she is free of you, and you will be known as the captain who lost his siren.”
  The bridge of this knowledge leaves Bucky in a state of strife. An aspect to his notorious reputation was garnered by your captivity. The White Wolf known by all as the fearsome pirate captain who tamed a siren; held you in the oyster of his clutches. If he did lose you, then his reputation would be suffering a heavy loss. As if to sense his change of demeanour, her hands raise up with her glowing, magic tipped fingers. His nostrils flare and the harsh prestige that made him a force not to be trifled with, he commands,  “Do it.”
  Bucky struts off with a roll of thunder beneath his leather worn boots, swiping up a half drunk bottle of rum and swallows an animalistic gulp, joining in on the festivities of his crew. Wanda observes her captain for a moment before diverting her attention towards the cabin. Her hands fold over one another, and with her palms outstretched, the scarlet hue dances through the air in a thin, cloudy blanket, searching and finding the miniscule gap beneath the wooden door. 
  He pummels into you until your back pushes far into the mattress, eliciting sharp whines and sultry moans from your parted lips, breath caught in a pattern of shallow pants. He chases after his second high as he drives his cock deep into you, the sound of skin slapping skin perverts the cabin’s air and already you begin to feel your core tremble in its own pursuit for its fourth orgasm. With each powerful snap of his hips, his throat chokes out a grunt in his exertions, the girth of his cock sinks deep into the channel of your hot, velvety cunt. 
  “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls lowly with a hiss, “so fuckin’ tight! You feel so good, you’re— taking me so well.” 
  With an exceptionally powerful rut of his hips and he has you on the precipice of screaming, thighs quivering in their hold around his waist, heels digging into the dip of his large, muscular back. Any coherent thoughts and words die on the vine of your vocal cords, only able to procure sounds of pleasure, to chant his name over and over again. 
  “Captain Barnes!” you mewl with fervour. Bucky’s chest vibrates with a husky chuckle. “That’s right, scream my name, let the crew hear you, Love. Let them hear how drunk you are for my cock.” 
  His one palm is laced with sweat, thick and roughened fingers squeeze yours in a passionate display of his dark possessiveness over you. Your captain could be very jealous when another’s eyes lingered on you for even a second too long, many others had suffered the brunt of his fury - weapons ablaze - and you in the end suffered the brunt of his envy with his cock pounding into you for the next several hours. 
  To remind you to whom it was you belong to. 
  His lips suckle one of the erected peaks of your breasts, moaning as his tongue leaves a wet trail around it before passing over to the second to repeat the treatment. Your head turns to the side sharply when the head of his cock splits you open even further than you could previously imagine, hitting a hidden crevice that leaves you without breath. 
  He gauges your reaction, the colour of your eyes blurring, phasing between the natural milky white canvases and the hue of your disguise, your canines and incisors now elongated, all because of the pleasure that pools at the junction where your bodies meet. But for a moment, you catch the glimmer of gold still wrapped around his hand, glimmering metal gnawing and rubbing across his skin, you’re torn between your euphoria and clouded curiosity. 
  “Say it again,” he grunts with a hard thrust that makes his muscles ripple insanely beneath his skin.
  “C’mon, say it for your captain, Love.” 
  Your lips and tongue drag across the flesh of his wrist, the pulse of his racing heart beats through, you can almost taste the rhythm. His sweat tastes strong with his musk, a strong flavour of the salty sea, sandy beaches and gunpowder. 
  You moan softly, almost in a whisper, “Captain… C-Captain Barnes.”
  The effect you have on him is indescribable to him. Never has he been able to put it into words, all he can do is feel it; carnally. The repetitive pounding into that deeper and sweeter spot has your back arching up, the smooth layer of your sweat covered body rubs against his, able to feel each defining muscle, he uses his metal hand to grip hold of one of your thighs, angling you so that you’re spread further apart for him. Your eyes begin to fall heavy and roll back into your skull in your drunken haze, the shimmer of scarlet presently blooms from time to time in them.  
  “That’s right. You belong to me, little Siren. It’s my cock that has you dripping wet.” His thrusts become faster, losing the precise edge he had before, his climax inevitably as close as your own. Your nails embed crescent moons into the skin of his one hand while the other bites into his shoulder. 
  “I’m the only man— fuck! The only man who gets to have you like this. Shit… shit. ’M going to fill you up.” 
  “Please, please… Cap—”
  “Aye, I’m going to fill you up, have you nice ‘nd full until my cum is leaking out of your little cunt, Siren. Fuck… you want that, don’t you? I know you do.” 
  You gasp with each attempt to breathe, each push and pull of his cock strikes you like a match to light the powder keg, the explosion of your climaxes comes as a white hot flash in your vision, momentarily blinding you. Your hot walls squeeze around his large endowment, forcing him to thrust back and forth even harder, grunting hot breaths against the shell of your ear. 
  His seed is flushed into the channel of your pussy in thick, seething spurts that paint your walls that milk him for every precious drop. 
  What he gives makes your lower abdomen weigh a little heavier, a little bit fuller than you were before. His hips grow slower with each dissipating explosion from his tip. His large chest expands hugely with every intake of air to his lungs before deflating as a pleased groan. 
  In his reverie of contentment, having had his fill of his prize - for now - he withdraws his softening cock from your pussy, a moistened pop echoes in the emptiness of your thoughts. Bucky rolls off of you to lay at your side, atop the furs and silken drapes of the bed. Before you can make a move he uses his metal arm to drag you in closer, tucking you into his side, the coldness of his fingers skimming the delicate texture of your arm. 
  The soothing rock of the ship is enough to lull you to sleep, the lids of your eyes inching closer and closer together. 
  “Still deny that you found nothing?” 
  His question only brings your brows to knit together. You shake your head and huddle closer into his side, basking in the comforting warmth of his body. Why on earth would he ask you such a silly question? As if there was anything of importance that outranked him, by being at his side. 
  The answer you give is instant in its resolve, “I don’t understand, Captain. I needn’t find anything out there… I have you.” 
  Your answer, though unable to see it from your position, pleases him and his lips curl into a toothy smirk, long sweeps of his dark brown hair tousled about in his post sex state. You lay your head against his chest to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, eyes closing to seek rest and refuge in the arms of your beloved captain. The man that grants you safety, that promises you nights of passion followed by the comfort of his body next to yours. All he asks in return is your loyalty. Your devotion.
  For you to be his siren. 
  Behind the blurry curtain of sleep layered over your eyes, you awaken and by your estimation, only for around an hour or maybe a little more. The morn still hasn’t risen over the ocean’s horizon, the moonlight shimmering and shining over the waves. The candlelight that bathed the cabin with a sensual atmosphere had now burnt out. 
  Breaths of deepened sleep sound next to you, the chiselled sculpt of his chest you’d used as a pillow takes steady form, as he sleeps. It makes you wonder as to what he dreams about, sometimes a scowl is etched into his attractive visage and he becomes restless, leaving you to somehow comfort him. And other times, mostly after he’s spent drawing orgasm after orgasm from the two of you, he finds respite. 
  You take the time to thoroughly yet delicately rub your eyes, robbing the tiredness of its hold to take you once more. With a tilt of your head, hair coming over your shoulder to graze the top of your breasts, his other hand lay out over the bed, residing just over the edge. 
  The mysterious object that somehow you know is linked with you, but as to how or why, or its significance to you in any case, is still laced around his calloused palm. Despite its odd gleam of familiarity, you believe this is the first time you’ve seen it before, however, the tiny voice in the back of your mind says otherwise. Then you must have seen something like it before somewhere. 
  Something deep in the recess of your heart, you have to know. Is this somehow linked to the estranged longing to a home you can’t remember? Does this necklace bind you to the lost melody of times erased from your memory?
  You take caution in moving carefully, inching your way to lean over the sleeping form of your captain, skin brushing skin, you slowly rotate your hips and hoist a thigh over his waist. Heated crimson flushes into your cheeks as you analyse your newfound position, but also from the way his body stirs lightly, still enraptured by sleep yet his body adjusting to your core lining over his naval. 
  Thawed from your frozen idle of panic, you take a moment to calm the racing of your heart that hammers vigorously against your chest, your nimble fingers reach out towards his flesh hand that clings protectively to the mysterious necklace. 
  This almost feels… too easy. You swallow a silent gulp, fingers grazing against his palm when his body shifts, bumping up into yours, you pull your reach back so fast, your hand slaps against his ribs, doing your best to cover up your true intentions. His stills beneath you once more and your shoulders fall lax with a sigh of relief. 
  Again you dare another attempt to grab the necklace, this time you don’t risk breathing, holding it for what seems like forever until your lungs begin to swell with an ache that makes them feel like bubbles about to burst. 
  You work the chain until it's loosened and finally allow your held breath to escape you, the strain to remain silent proving far more difficult than you would have liked. The weight of your body shifts backwards, now sitting up, you allow your eyes to take in every detail of the object in your hands. The gold chain is light, ghostly as it graces your hands, your fingers lace and loop it around amidst the process of your conjuring thoughts. 
  Like a puppeteer pulling the strings you raise the necklace up by its precious thread. The pearl encaged by its makeshift net swings from side to side, as though even when you are completely still, it has a soul of its own accord. 
  Everything you knew about pearls is forfeit, the identity of this one brings the bevel between your brows to form in thoughtful wonder. Therein lies the piece of some puzzle, the missing notes to the melody to which you only recall the faint rhythm of the song. 
  It has to mean something of greater importance. But if it did, then why is your captain so adamant to dismiss your curious nature to find the answers?
  As if the pearl itself is the key, you hear within your heart and soul the song. Voices sing a tone that is calming to your senses, a sweet and endearing lullaby meant for you to hear whenever you find yourself in the loneliest of places, in the darkest reaches of the ocean, the connection will bring you somewhere you call home. 
  But your home is The Avenger. Aboard the ship with Captain Barnes. The man known as Bucky to his closest inner circle. So why do the voices mingling with the tide call you away from all that? With each passing second you become ensnared by the spell of the pearl, the voices of whom you somehow find solace in become louder, the softened chorus of their song echoes a hundred times over in your head. 
  Before you even give pause to reason, your own voice becomes paired with the orchestra of sirens. You have no words, and maybe you never did, all you did need is the pearl to help guide you in remembering the melody. The uncertainty of your humming eases, the unforeseen instructors aiding you, your voice is soft within its deep reverie when it all comes to an abrupt pause, a gasp severing the tune. 
  He has you by the wrist, fingers bruisingly tight and giving you no choice to pull away from him, as he often did whenever he saw you retreat from him without his say so. 
  Bucky’s eyes bear into yours, penetrating the barrier of the necklace, he stares you down the way a wolf does the lonely prey in its path. His eyes match the brooding darkness of a storm at sea, a breed of villainy that threatens those who dare to try him. 
  “Captain…” Your throat bobs with a nervous swallow.  “I– I wasn’t—” 
  Out of pure instinct to not tempt his fury, your hold on the necklace ceases and it gathers in the roughened pad of his palm, large thumb that has caressed your sensitive nub plenty of times now works against the spherical shape of the pearl, brows heavy in their judgement to assess your punishment. His movement is sudden upon the brink of your awareness, a sharp gasp that cuts into the tender muscle of your chest as he plants you flat on your back, hands both of flesh and metal pin your wrists on either side of you until the bruising ache becomes far too unbearable. But you do nothing to voice the level of your pain. He would not hear of it. His newly erected shaft ghosts over your entrance, the beginnings of your slick painting his already drooling tip.  “I’m beginning to think you like breaking my rules, Siren.”
THANKS FOR READING!
✎ a note from the author, Yes. Yes... YAAAAS! IM DOING IT! I'm frickin' writing a pirate Bucky! Mmmm! Fuckin' love pirate stuff, I'm just living for Bucky being a hot pirate commanding a vessel on the high seas.
on this issue's taglist, we've got: @identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic
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bloddysnow · 7 months ago
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Love me more
By Sylus
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"Tell me... tell me that you love me more than them"- his voice trembled as he held your hands tightly as if afraid that you might disappear, peering into your eyes. His look was tense, full of expectation and anxiety. You felt his heart beating, his every breath echo in you.
Sylus knew that he was not the only one in your heart, and this knowledge did not give him peace.
He knew you spend more time with Rafayel. This fact burned him from the inside, because he understood that you love him for the mercy and naivety that made him so special for you. He was tormented by the realization that you find solace in Xavier's arms. Thoughts about how Xavier embraces you, how you seek comfort in his hands, did not give him peace. But most of all he was tormented by the knowledge that you love Zayne.
He knew that Zayne had a special place in your heart. You loved Zayne not just for his qualities, you trusted him.
They give you their love through gifts, walks under the moon, romantic dinners and confessions. Their feelings were sincere and strong, and you appreciate every moment spent with them. They created for you a world full of beauty and happiness, a world in which you felt loved and desired.
But he believed that his love surpassed all this. He didn't need loud gestures and magnificent expressions of feelings. His love was quiet but deep, it permeated every cell of his creature. He was ready to endure pain and suffering for you, he was ready to sacrifice his happiness for your well-being. He wants to know that you see his efforts, that you notice his presence. He will become anyone for you.
Do you like a submissive partner? He's ready to be like that for you. He will kneel in front of you with a collar around his neck. He will beg you if you order him to do it. His hands will reach out to you, but he won't touch you if you don't allow it.
"Tell me, - his voice was quiet, but persistent, - that I'm more for you than they are. That you feel for me what you don't feel for them. That I'm really important to you. That I belong to you… Please."
He’s waiting, his eyes did not break away from yours, hope and fear were read in them. Sylus wants to hear that every time he touches you, you feel the same as him - deep affection and desire to be close no matter what. He wants your heart to burn with the same passion, that your soul would strive for him as much as his soul wants you. He wants you to know that he would always be there to support you, hug you and say that everything would be fine. He wants you to feel this devotion, so that you would know that nothing is more important to him and dearer than you.
You've seen him struggling with his doubts, trying to find answers in your eyes. His soul was naked in front of you, and he was waiting for your words that could dispel his fears.
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sorchathered · 2 months ago
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All I want for Christmas is you🎄
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A/N- Hey y’all! This is my submission for @bellaireland1981 Hallmark Holiday writing challenge! A little corny, perfectly christmassy, and just in time for the holidays! I hope you all love it!
Pairing- Jake Seresin x reader (callsign Fawn)
Warnings- Language, Angst, Jake Seresin in love
Summary- the squad gets roped into a holiday charity auction, where dates with single male aviators are the prize. Will you bite the bullet and tell Jake how you feel before Christmas break? Or will you have to watch him go on a date with someone else?
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The air was filled with excitement this week. Christmas block leave started in a few days and Maverick could tell that everyone on his team was going to be completely useless. No one could blame them though; it had been a hell of a year and going home for a few days was a guaranteed way to boost their spirits and get them back in the game for the new year. The knock on his office door was unexpected though, and when Admiral Simpson marched into his office he knew the time for celebration was probably on hold. Matching orders in hand he groaned as he made his way down to the ready room; the guys were going to hate every minute of this. It would be hilarious.
"I guess Cyclone's wife is part of some fancy supper club and they decided to auction off dates with single aviators as a big prize. I mean it all goes to charity so l guess it's not all bad." Natasha says with a shrug as she digs into her lunch, Bradley looks less than enthused about the whole ordeal and Jake doesn't seem to have a care in the world. "It's more like we got volun-told to do it, the only consolation is a four day weekend, if you ask me we could have at least gotten a gift card or something." Bradley grumbles, and you can't help but agree it does seem pretty meager considering they are basically being sold to a bunch of middle aged women to ogle them. You can't help but be a little annoyed at how chill Jake seems about it though; it's not like the two of you were serious or anything, but the little green monster was clawing at you at the thought of someone else holding his attention. You'd unpack that later, now wasn't the time.
If Jake seems unphased to you then it must be a Christmas miracle, he can’t stop wondering what you’re thinking about this whole ordeal; would you bid on him? Would he have to go on some stupid date with a 50+ year old divorcee and make small talk? He didn’t mind being ogled for charity, it was for a good cause and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t know he looked as good as he does. He should tell you how he feels, just bite the bullet and ask you to be his girlfriend. The thought of you laughing over the ridiculousness of him settling down has kept him from making the declaration, he may seem cocky and cool headed but on the inside? Well he’s a big ball of nerves when it comes to you. You weren’t like anyone he’d ever been into before, and the thought of getting turned down was down right soul crushing. So he’d settled for casual hook ups, late night booty calls and shitty diner food late at night when you wanted company. He wanted more; real dates where he held your hand and got dressed up to eat fancy shit he couldn’t pronounce, waking up and eating breakfast together, goodnight kisses before you passed out in each other's arms. He was getting soft, or at least that’s what Javy said when he got that dopey look on his face when you entered the room. He’d tell you after Christmas block leave, surely by then he’d have his shit together enough to make his case.
You had to admit that while the San Diego women’s supper club was a stuffy bunch, they certainly knew how to throw a swanky affair. The ballroom of the Lafayette Hotel was decked to the brim with an old Hollywood Christmas vibe. Garlands covered in holly and poinsettias covered the doorways, Christmas lights and candles as far as the eye could see, as a jazz band played holiday classics while the crowd of upper class ladies mingled with their crystalline glasses of spirits. It very much felt like stepping back in time; almost as if Sinatra himself was preparing to take the stage. You were definitely glad Phoenix had the forethought to drag you and Halo out to dress shop earlier in the week, your cocktail dress you usually donned for weddings wouldn't have cut it for something like this. The event said black tie and they weren’t kidding, even the guys in the squad had shown up in tuxes, and you had to keep your composure because Jake Seresin in a suit was a feast for the eyes. He mingled a little with the group as he made his way over to you, beer in hand because you can dress him up but he’s still a good ol’ southern boy at heart. His gaze over your frame heated your skin, and he knew damn well he had you flustered, flicking his toothpick around in his mouth as he grinned at you.
“You look good Fawn, damn good.” You felt good too, it was a beautiful night and he was by your side, now if only you could get yourself together enough to tell him how you felt. “I have something I need to talk to you about Jake, before we all go on block leave and don’t see each other until the new year.” He cocks an eyebrow at you and leans in so he can give you his full attention, this is it, just jump off the edge headfirst and tell him you want a real relationship. “I want us-“ You hear someone clear their throat behind you, it’s Admiral Simpson and his wife- beckoning all the eligible bachelors to meet up on stage so the auction can begin. With a groan Jake drops his head to your ear, squeezing your hand as an apology as he asks you to hold that thought. Ugh! You should’ve just said something sooner, now you’ll be left with your anxiety to keep you company while you watch a bunch of women place their bids. The girls make their way back to their seats, Halo suggests that Phoenix should place her bets on Coyote; Lord knows neither of them have been subtle about their hookups these days.
“I doubt any of us has the money to throw around that these rich old bags do.” “Oh my God Phe!” You crack a smile at her crassness, she and Javy seem so solid; nothing like the uncertainty you feel in your gut right now.
“Oh shit, isn’t that Admiral Roger’s ex wife? The one Jake got trash duty for hooking up with?” Halo whispers as an elegant looking woman walks past them with a sneer. “Fuck. Yeah that’s her. She got reported by Mav for stalking Jake too, went completely bat shit after their hookup and wanted to be his sugar mama or some shit. She’s bad news. You don’t think she’ll bid on him do you?” Phoenix said, frown etching her pretty features as she looked at you for an answer. You didn’t have one, you hadn’t even thought about her in months. She’d really fucked with Jake mentally, it was part of the reason you’d kept relationship talk off the table because you were afraid you’d run him off after that train wreck. If she was here it was almost guaranteed that it was to stir the pot, you had to do something, anything to keep him out of her cross hairs. “Phe, I gotta go talk to Mav- but we have to protect Jake. See what everyone’s got in extra cash- we may need it.”
The auction was definitely a success, these ladies knew what they wanted and went for it. Harvard had gone for 5,000 and as the rest of the guys were filing out you imagined the prices would just keep rising. The feeling in your stomach felt more like a boulder as you watched the former Mrs. Rogers and her gaggle of snotty girlfriends ogle over each of your friends. This was supposed to be a fun joke for charity but the more you thought about this woman using it to manipulate the man you loved the more sick you felt. Mav had assured you that he’d handle it as best he could; Iceman seemed confident that combined everyone could place a bet to win Jake and that there was no need to worry but it did little to calm your nerves. Finally Jake takes his turn on the stage, flashing his trademark grin and playing it up for the crowd. He caught your eye and gave you a wink, and as much as you wanted to return it you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. What if someone else won him? What if she won him? I mean yeah it’s just a line dancing date for charity but still. This woman is a nightmare in heels and you’d rather not watch him suffer through an evening with her.
“I’ll start the bidding at 100 dollars!” Mrs. Simpson calls out over the microphone, and a chorus of bids ring out through the ballroom. A bidding war breaks out between Mrs. Rogers and an ancient looking woman seated in the front, bringing the price to nearly 10,000 dollars. Jake looks off kilter as he watches his stalker fight over the bid prices, and you realize that none of you have the cash to help keep him from getting away unscathed. “Oh god, he’s really gonna have to deal with her isn’t he?” You groan, Phoenix rubbing your arm absentmindedly as the price skyrockets to 30,000. It appears though that Mrs. Rogers has finally met her match, at 35,000 she gives up and relinquishes her place to the little old lady. Finally you can breathe a sigh of relief; cheers ring out among your table as the older woman stands up and takes a bow, digging in her purse for her black card. When her name is announced you can’t help but laugh; it turns out she’s Icceman’s beloved mother in law, she loves charity work and has a ridiculous amount of money and nowhere to spend it. She pinches Jake’s cheek as he makes his way over to her, with a robust laugh she shoos him off to the table your squad resides, and he is back to grinning like he won the lottery himself.
“What did she say to you? Ice’s mom?” You say later in the evening, Mrs. Rogers' husband apparently got a very interesting text from her someone about her whereabouts and left shortly after the auction ended with her tail between her legs. “She said I have a damn good squad looking out for me, but it’s more about what Mav said that I want to talk about. How about we take a walk, sugar?” He downs the rest of his whiskey and takes your hand in his, leading you out to the lobby where it’s quieter.
Before you can say a thing he’s got you all wrapped up in his strong arms, leaning in with a gleam in his eye as he kisses you by the obscenely large Christmas tree. You melt into it, the noise of the party drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, your head going a little fuzzy as he deepens it to the point of indecency. When he finally pulls away you chase his lips and he chuckles, stroking your jaw and soaking up the moment. “Mav told me you saved me from an evening of hell with my stalker, that true pretty girl?” You’ve been caught and you know it. “I just didn’t think it was right; you deserve better than that. A-and if I’m being honest, I didn’t want anyone else to have your time…especially not her.” You frown in frustration and he can’t help but find that little crease between your eyebrows so damn endearing.
“What did you want to tell me earlier? I can take a guess and hope like hell I’m right but I need to hear you say it.” He looks at you with so much love, it’s overwhelming and heats you all the way to your toes.
“I want us. I know we’ve been keeping things casual, but I fell in love with you Jake, and I want more with you. If that’s what you want too.” You’ve got his heart in your hand and you don’t even know it, he leans in to kiss you again as he whispers against your lips. “All I want for Christmas is you darlin’, couldn’t ask for a better gift. I’m yours, loving you is the easiest thing I can do and I’ll do it forever if you let me.” It was the best Christmas gift you’ve ever received.
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Tagging- @bellaireland1981 @roosterforme @attapullman @honeytwrites @heavenssins @djs8891 @kmc1989 @mynameismckenziemae @kissmecaitie @sunsetsimpsblog @sio-ina-bottle @pinguhub @lenafromthenordiccoven @shanimallina87 @trickphotography2 @teacupsandtopgun
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astrow1zar6 · 1 year ago
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Astrology Observations- 013
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I notice Cap Mercurys think so maturely even from such a very young age. These were those kids that always wanted to hang around people older than them. They are old souls at heart and sometimes it’s harder for them to connect with more childlike energies. People their age can see them as boring because of their serious demeanor.
Leo Risings never like to show the sides to them that make them look bad in anyway. These people have big egos so any assumption from others that they aren’t anything but great can take a big toll on their self esteem. They come off so confident but most are really insecure & don’t think they are interesting so they tend exaggerate a lot of facts about them to keep people thinking they are really interesting and amazing. (U guys don’t need ti do that people already think you are before you even speak)
Capricorn risings always look so annoyed when people are speaking to them. Most of the time they are. They have very honest expressions and when someone says something stupid or uninteresting they are more willing to show their uninterested while most are just willing to smile and take it out of being polite. This is why they can come off as rude or snobbish but really the just don’t have time for bullshit. (I definitely think Wednesday Addams has this placement) many don’t know they are being rude but most don’t have the energy to be fake if they really don’t like what the others saying. Very Real people many mistake them for being Scorpio risings.
Venus in Scorpios were probably shamed a lot for their their sex appeal/drives. I notice these people have a very provocative vibe to them that causes a lot of ppl to sexualize them ( especially the women). I’ve seen women with this placement be virgins and still get slut shamed. People always assume they sleep with mad people even if it’s not true.
Moon in 5th housers are actually very secretive about their talents. A lot are so talented but most tend to keep their hobbies and interests to themselves unless they really trust you.
When someone with Venus in the 7th house likes you they will talk about their future a lot with you. This one guy had a big crush on me and would always joke about getting married and starting a life someday ( he made it sound as a joke but in a way I can tell he meant it). Also can be obsessed with weddings. I have a friend with this placement who says she’ll only wanna get married to experience having her dream wedding lol
Venus in 2nd house women always have people buying them things bro. They don’t even have to ask and men will be buying them expensive gifts or paying for their food or trips. Definition of pretty privilege.
Mars in Aquarius like very eccentric things in bed. It’s almost like they enjoy the opposite of what should be expected in bed. Like the women would like to take normally the male role in bed and vice versa a man with this placement could like a very submissive role. The weirder and more out of place the more turned on they get. Can also be really experimental they are willing to try anything once even if it’s outlandish.
Mars in Aries are usually natural athletes. They have amazing endurance and can become pros faster than most.
Virgo moons usually have bad stomach problems or eating disorders. They are also always giving unsolicited advice no one asked for. They feel this need to solve everything but it can come off as kinda judgmental.
Mars in Pisces are usually victims to bullying. They usually have a hard time asserting themselves and standing up so they get pushed around a lot easier by stronger more dominant energies.
Cap moons are always in denial of their feelings
Mars Square Venus synastry can be really awkward at times in a friendship. Theres this bizarre sexual and touchy tension usually that both aren’t fully comfortable with. The mars person can come off a little too strong and can treat the Venus as if they own them. This attraction can be one sided sometimes with the mars person wanting the Venus and the Venus getting repulsed and distancing themselves. I’ve seen the mars person get jealous if the Venus would hang out with others whether it be other friends or family. And if the Venus is dating someone else this can get really heated on the mars end. Venus will feel the attraction but I notice it’s not as strong.
Venus in 5th house synastry is soooooo flirty. These are those cheesy cringey couples that are always acting like little kids around eachother. It’s actually a really sweet placement. This person will be able to bring out your inner child.
Venus in Libras are always crushing on someone. They jump into relationships I think faster than people with Venus in Aries the only difference is that they can maintain longer term partnerships & don’t bore as quick (even if their feelings are a little superficial). They just don’t know what to do with themselves when they are alone.
Scorpio risings I notice get really strong reactions out of people (like Lilith/asc people) their words make others blood boil even if they really don’t say anything offensive or rude. Most people are jealous of their authenticity which is why a lot of Scorpio risings are quiet and not as willing to open up. People just hate on them so intensely for the littlest things. They also have this ability to know if people are genuine or not which can be intrusive to certain people causing intense reactions. They can see thru everyone’s mask which can make other feel uncomfortable to be around them. This is why they usually have few friends and the friends they do have are as authentic as themselves. Literal human lie detectors
Men that have a water sun with a water moon are BIG SIMPS
Cancer sun women will be passively rude to you if they don’t like you or are jealous of you. They won’t straight say it but they will say little comments in a nice way that’s actually really rude. Then usually play victim if confronted
Everyone’s crush in high-school was either a Scorpio sun or a Libra sun/rising. Tell me I’m lying
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m4rried2the-moon · 8 months ago
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𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒐 & 𝑨𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑼𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔
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scorpio and aquarius are both signs that are attractive in mysterious ways. both fixed and both known for their depth, their approaches and affects are much different. this may also apply to PLUTO, SATURN, URANUS and MARTIAN NATIVES & SCORPIO or AQUARIUS VENUS/MOON/MARS or any significant aspects regarding these planets under the sign.
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— scorpio is a fixed water sign, ruled by pluto and mars. known for magnetism, secrecy and intensity
— aquarius is a fixed air sign, ruled by saturn and uranus. known for creativity, wisdom and eccentricity
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⋆ the scorpion approach to romance and matters of attraction is obsessive, direct, unrelenting. the elements of pluto (death, endings, cycles, obsession, the hidden) trying to be romantic or pursue attraction is difficult.
⋆ pluto wants to completely consume the object of his affection. slow but nothing less than precise, pluto sets a tone that is dooming, inescapable for their prospect. it is without warning, without explanation and takes even the native surprise at times.
⋆ the affections of scorpio are intimidating because it is protruding and unstoppable. immediately, they want to go as deeply as possible. spilling their guts onto their potentials as soon as that plutonian aim sets in.
⋆ mars (planet of sexual drive, general drive, ambition, defense) wants to see just how far they can push the potential. what they can take of not only the scorpions authenticity, but to see how much they'll give of their own. it's challenging and this can also be intimidating to potentials, to essentially having a soul-level autopsy done by the native.
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⋆ the reaction of the others which they attract is similar to a submission against one's own will. the image that is best suited to this, i find, may be the way a snake strangles it prey to lifelessness. it's a slow but intimate fatal squeeze of allure until their prospect has completely given.
⋆ pluto and mars together singlehandedly create an ambition that takes on a plan if it's very own before these natives realize what it even is that draws them to their potentials.
⋆ the pitfall of scorpios seduction is that while their mystery can be attractive, they bleed onto their potentials in a true act of authenticity but reserve a lot to themselves still. scorpion natives strive to create mystery to protect themselves from future trauma, but are ultimately unabashed in their feelings.
⋆ this may cause their potentials to step back and question the native, wondering if their truths are actually what they claim to be. this is not to say that the gravitational pull of scorpios attraction is menacing or purposefully misleading only, it is simply the mystery—the morbid curiosity—that insights that thrill of the scorpion seduction. the morbid curiosity that most, if not all, of us have.
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what is secret only makes us more ambitious to uncover it . . .
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⋆ the aquarian approach is vastly different from the scorpions. while pluto + mars encourages a diversity unbeknownst to the scorpio natives besides alienation, they almost don't even realize the power of their affection. this is not the case for aquarians. their diversity is their m.o. exactly.
⋆ these natives choose which potentials they interact with based on their own uniqueness often times. they want to create a better world (internally or externally) with these chosen prospects.
⋆ scorpio wants to dissect these fears and the soul-level consciousness of their potentials. they often store it away for themselves to reflect or use later while aquarius wants to show their potentials this underbelly. causing their potentials to see aquarius as a leader and their own personal oracle, in a way.
⋆ while being ruled by uranus and saturn may ground them about their own gifts and talents to the world, saturn also restricts their emotional field to first consider the reasonable and long-term (often to their more fling-ilk relationships).
⋆ the authority of saturn and the authority of pluto are intimidating in the way that they are final, uncontrollable and just in nature. the authority of mars and uranus are intimidating in the way they are chaotic and often unreadable.
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⋆ these natives can be seen as possible more comfortable with themselves than their scorpion counterpart, but they are both comfortable with their truths enough to display it but reserve a lot for themselves. 'i want you, but i do not need you' kind of energy that is often irresistible, if cultivated properly.
⋆ there is an outward care for the tangible and intangible, the material and the spiritual. aquarius educates on the metaphysical, the value of the mysterious, the value of the soul. it's their perceived authority that catches the eyes of their prospects.
⋆ the pitfalls of aquarius' seduction will always be that they are concerned with their best interest first. they are well aware of their gifts. this and saturn makes them more likely to see through oncoming foolery and put themselves first if need be (rightfully so). this may also pull potentials out of the dreaminess that accompanies the attention of the aquarius native.
⋆ the reaction of the others they attract might be like the way a peacock attracts mates. the glittering colors and the wonder that overcomes their onlookers to stop and stare, to make them pause and consider the beautiful things in the world. the magnetism is shiny and appeals to our regressive brain while the all too serious energy of saturn looms waiting to strike.
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— conclusion ⭒
⭒ overall, it is the temptation of a world beyond the surface level. however, being fixed, these signs will always resort of these ways of attraction, to these modes of thinking because it works best for them.
⭒ they are steady and persistent, this takes the shape as their commitment to themselves and their potentials, their intensity and authority, their awareness of the unknown and their tie to it what connects them and produces this “fatal attraction”.
⭒ these two signs and their energy dominant natives harness their attraction by harnessing both the seen and unseen and revealing themselves slowly to their potentials like a spiritual strip-tease. the true prize of knowing them totally.
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hi hi ! thanks for reading <3 this was kind of simple imo but i think the corresponding aspects of these two signs are so fascinating. they are both pretty intense and serious in their own ways but ultimately transformative. if you were interested by this or inspired, please leave a like / reblog ! xx
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soleilapproves · 26 days ago
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Lucid Submission - chapter 1
Synopsis: Sukuna Ryomen is reborn as a human being as punishment for ruining the balance of good and evil in the divine realm. To lift his curse and return to his original form, the former demon king must complete the condition bestowed upon him by the deities. Except it can only be done by having a child with the street thief who stole his coin pouch.
fanfic masterlist
prologue < > chapter 2
There wasn’t a day where Sukuna didn’t miss his old form. His extra set of eyes helped him see dust particles in the tiniest of corners, his multiple hands helped him fight the strongest of spirits, and his inhumane demonic strength had everyone fearing him: every human, divine being, and spirit. 
Mothers in the mortal realm often told their children to sleep early if they didn’t want to be taken away by the King of all demons–Sukuna Ryomen. His fearful reputation takes its stake even in the smallest of villages. People often left offerings at his statue in a misty valley to please his immortal soul and protect themselves from the demons he ruled over. His stark tattoos signify his position in the Divine Realm, the controller of chaos and death. 
Alas, but that was no more. It had been hundreds of years since people had uttered his name. Apparently, receiving Divine Punishment and being reborn as a human being meant being wiped from the minds of all humans. His statue simply collected dust. Wearing away till his stony face weathered into a smooth curve. No remnants of his terrifying mug. Only an outline of what once was the demon’s face.
Sukuna stared down at the pool of water reflecting his human form–two swelling muscular arms, a single pair of eyes, no mask to hide half his face, and his cursed tattoos. His figure was worse in the past. All bones and no muscle to cushion them. Not enough blood to bring color to his face. He had to train rigorously to be as strong as he is now. 
Most humans would assume the man was the closest thing to a humanoid behemoth. But what he looks like now isn’t even a fraction of his former figure–humongous, horrifying, and unnerving. A true demon king. 
“Master, I have your coin pouch ready, and the bodyguards have been stationed outside the estate. We will take our leave as soon as you are dressed.” Sukuna hadn’t realized when Uraume, his servant, entered his private onsen. A disadvantage of having human ears was that you weren’t sensitive to the smallest of vibrations made against the ground. Sukuna clicked his teeth from snarling. 
“I have your robes placed in the dressing room.” Uraume shuffled back outside. Sukuna knew it was time to go when he began to shiver–another thing he never had to worry about in the Divine Realm. He had never felt more pathetic when he had to succumb to stupid human sensations, such as his nipples hardening when he was cold, eyes squinting when too much light passed through his corneas, or when his muscles ached after training too hard. It was humiliating, and it was all a part of his punishment. 
The worst part of it all was when he’d feel overstimulated, which was quite often. Too many sounds, textures, and sights. He'd try to steer clear of markets, brothels, festivals, and restaurants, but Uraume would push him to go to those places to find the other half of that cursed pearl—his only hope for redemption. Today was yet another day where he’d have to go to the local market to buy gifts for the many women he would meet at a brothel that just opened in the next town over. The most beautiful women had been collected all over the nation to please the abhorrent sexual needs of men. Hopefully, one of them would have the other half of his pearl.
The market was surprisingly pleasant to walk through despite the chill of the winter air. Uraume and Sukuna’s bodyguards followed close behind him as he looked at all the jewelry stalls. Ornamental hand fans with pink sakura were all the rage, even during the barren season. 
“Here, sir, I’m sure a very special woman in your life will want this,” the old lady across the table said to him with a bright smile, a single front tooth missing. The crow's feet beside her eyes and the multiple scars on her fingers told him she had been doing this for years. He’d met her when she was only a child, stitching together pieces of cloth and paper in the back of her father’s woodworking shop. A constant and dull life. If he wanted, he could make her as rich as a moneylender. His prosperous yet boring life as a human itched him to do good for her. 
But he bit his lip, hands tightening around his money pouch. He had a lot of questions, but the one that stood out to him the most after being reborn was if humans were innately driven to do good and if that habit would follow him once he’d returned to the Divine Realm. He often found himself trying to reason between his demonic and human sides. 
All he could do, for now, was pay a little more than she had told him to. She could probably buy fish and make warm soup for herself on this winter day. He pulled out the red pouch from a small pocket in his robes. But as soon as his eyes landed on his palm to fish out the coins, the pouch had long disappeared, leaving only a wisp of wind behind. 
“There, follow her!” A brawny bodyguard yelled from behind Sukuna. The band of three men ran towards the thief. Sukuna was often stolen from in bigger cities but not in the town he had been living in for the past three hundred years. He usually stood back and waited for his men to bring back the thief so he could humiliate them in public, but something in him was telling him to follow the thief. 
A ‘gut feeling’ as the humans called it. Sukuna turned to return the fan to the shopkeeper, but she pushed it back to him. “I know you will pay me later. Go and get your money pouch. I’m here every day at the same time.” He ignored her ominous smile and swiftly ran after the group, fan folded in hand—a stark contrast of pink against his black robes. 
The thief was relatively fast on her feet, jumping over a cart full of clay pots and rolling down the hill towards the forest on the outskirts of the town. Sukuna’s bodyguards followed suit, albeit in a tumbling mess, but enough to get ahold of her in the forest. They pulled the coin pouch out of her grasp and kicked her legs, prompting her to get down on the snow on her knees. One guard grabbed her left arm while another grabbed the right one. The third man had a sword held by her neck. 
Sukuna coolly arrived at the scene, his hat now covering his face to prevent the daytime brightness of the snow from blinding him. The thief was a mess. She wore dirty clothing that looked so brown that it was impossible to tell that it used to be red if it wasn’t for small, clean patches by her collar and sleeves (she probably drank from a stream nearby). Her face was decorated with several minor cuts because she was rolling down the hill, and her hair was a matted mess, with twigs and dirt sticking out. 
“You dare steal from me?” Sukuna’s voice boomed through the forest as he walked closer to the thief on the ground. The snow cushioned everything so only Sukuna’s voice could be heard, suffocating her with his presence. 
“Rich folk can always pull that money out of their asses. A few lost coins will not harm you,” she spat as she looked away from the man she stole from. His eyes were trained on her as he finally stood before her. 
“Stolen, not lost. I should rip your tongue out for being so crass with me.” With quiet anger evident in his voice, he dragged the fan from her temple to her chin. The path was painfully short, for her face was so small because of malnourishment. He could see her shiver, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or his indirect touch. Considering how thin her clothes looked, it was probably the former. 
He pulled her chin to face him and tilted her head upwards with the fan. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, street vermin.” Her eyes were closed. “Slice my tongue. I do not wish to speak to you because I have nothing to lose by being rude to yet another rich man,” Sukuna was, of course, never planning on ripping the woman’s tongue out, but she was slowly persuading him to do so. 
“Look at me in the eye as you make your request, you wench.” His red eyes bore into her lidded ones. “He said to open ‘em up!” The guard holding the sword snarled. She gulped before looking up at the former demon, beautiful orbs glaring at him. “You happy now?” 
But Sukuna couldn’t say anything. The man was cotton-mouthed. Staring back at him was a greenish-blue hue twinkling over her actual eye color. It looked like magic. Surely, no human was unique enough to have mesmerizing eyes enough to put the most beautiful of angels and spirits to shame. He had bedded many women in the centuries he’d been alive, but none of them had eyes as alluring as hers. “Megumi, look into her eyes–what color are they?” 
The guard holding her right arm looked down into her eyes and replied with her normal eye color, completely missing the apparent turquoise hue visible to Sukuna.
“I have found her,” he whispered to himself. “Three hundred years and she’s finally in front of me,” he yelled as he took his hat off and threw it on the ground. He rubbed his hands on his face and looked back at her again, and sure enough, the hues in her eyes were still there. “I should’ve known that you were a lunatic when you pulled out a whole pouch instead of a few coins in a busy street,” the confused woman mumbled as she watched Sukuna laugh to himself. 
“I am not letting you go. Oh no, you will come to my estate,” He laughed to himself like a madman. “Three hundred years, and now I am finally going to be free.”
“Look, you can have your pouch back. I’ll even give you all the money I have on me right now. Just don’t take me home with you,” the woman begged, but the guards only held on to her tighter.
“Not a chance. Now, come on, we have a wedding to attend.”
Confused, the woman raised her brow. “Whose?”
“Ours.”
260 notes · View notes
mysteria157 · 3 months ago
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Pairing: Demon! Nanami Kento x Angel Black!Fem Reader
Rating/CW: grey morality, religious undertones, corruption kink, worship, power dynamics (subtle fem submission), monsterfucking, smut, tongue fingering, pronged tongue, vaginal sex, oral (f! receiving), mild blood/biting. MDNI!
Summary: The thick muscle of your wings press against cold ancient stone as he circles you with wicked, stone-faced intent. Glimmering obsidian fingers trace along your feathers until they quiver--fluttering with touch-starved bliss no angel should ever feel. It's forbidden--this sensation in your belly, this humiliating slick between your legs that be can smell, this overwhelming desire that you've spent eons trying to quell.
But now, trapped before a demon so captivating that you can't help but feel equally terrified and dreadfully aroused, reality burns your skin like the holy water that bubbles whenever it's within your reach.
You're not here to serve a divine purpose--you're an offering. And only Heaven knows if you'll fall to your knees before him, begging for corruption.
Author Notes: Here it is! My submission for @tsukimefuku 's Spookinky event! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you, Fuku, for hosting such an awesome event, and I truly apologize for the filth (I do not apologize). Thank you all for your support, and thank you, @aliasnnmknt, for letting me use your art for my banner and helping me create it. Your art really inspired most of this fic!
Header: art by @aliasnnmknt | Divider: @arcielee @enchanthings | network tag: @pixelcafe-network
JJK Masterlist | Twitter | Ao3
©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.
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You’ve never set foot in a demon’s realm.
You’ve heard the stories—flames that burn flesh from bone, screams that echo for eternity, demons that feast on corrupted souls. For the many eons that you have been in existence, the pristine light you thrive in tells enough horrid stories to keep you away.
You do what you can to show you are pure in your thoughts and heart and that you will walk the line given to make the one above you proud in His selection of you. You’ve done well. It’s why you’ve been given this task—a pilgrimage to a sacred altar within this dark realm, to find the relic it holds and be promised enlightenment and a deeper connection to your spiritual life. For once, you feel special. You are special.
The relic you search for holds ancient divine text that the Heavens would like to make sure does not fall into the wrong hands. Your ability to decipher that text and other old tongues made you the perfect choice—though you try not to question why that ability exists at all. This mission feels important and they insisted you were the perfect choice. Your gifts would serve the greater good. Serve Him.
Maybe that’s why they sent you alone. A single angel, moving quietly through dark territory, would draw less attention than an entire group.
Finally, after so many years of wary glances and hushed concerns. Your many ‘gifts’ that have set you apart—the way ancient texts rearrange themselves under your touch, how you see patterns in chaos that other angels cringe from, your thirst for knowledge that shouldn’t be explored. Finally, it’s all paid off.
Or…at least that’s what they told you. Even as something in your grace whispers warnings you choose to ignore.
Angels bask in absolutes, in the pure warmth of divine light and the straightforward clarity of purpose. There is certainty in right and wrong, never a grey in between. Your wings should bask in holy breeze, not in this thick air that tastes of dreadful sin.
You expected the realm to smell of death and destruction, to look as if every natural disaster had run through the land so the shadows could roam freely to commit sin. It’s what you’ve been taught at least. This Realm specifically is forbidden and faith has been used as a boundary to keep other angels in line.
The outskirts of this realm is covered in a haze, a thick russet fog that smells of ozone and decaying flowers. It settles on your skin like an uncomfortable garment, scratching the surface and burning your dermis. Your wings curdle in pain, burning to ash and regrowing through your bleeding muscles. Gnarled, skeletal trees reach up like claws, the birds that sit on their branches malnourished and dying. Distantly, you hear the constant drip of water from a faucet, yet there is no water in sight. Whispers of sin and moans of agony carry on the wind.
Your white dress flows like liquid moonlight, now stained with ash and ember burns. The neckline dips lower than most angels would prefer.
“To be comfortable in the vessel He gave you is to honor His creation.”
Is what they had said, their justification now seems like a cruel irony as the fog caresses your exposed cleavage with burning fingers. The bottom of your dress trails on the ground as you walk, the dirt burning with red soil that seeps through the toes of your bare feet. It feels as if you’re walking on hot coals, the heat burning the fabric of your hem in tendrils of smoke.
You knew to expect this pain, but it’s different. There is a calculated precision to it, intentional in how it burns you as if testing if your form is solid, if your soul is worthy of corruption. The bell sleeves of your gown flutter in a nonexistent wind, ash and soot collecting in the folds of fabric that they once praised as divine elegance.
Your eyes burn, tears streaking melanin-soaked skin that cannot absorb the shrouded sun up above. As you navigate blindly through the oppressive haze, the shadows around you morph with the darkness and skitter past you on multiple hands and contorted feet.
An infinitesimal part of your grace shivers in fear. It’s small yes, pushed away and ignored like you have been taught, but it’s there in the quickening of your pulse and the break of sweat on your neck, it’s there as you walk further through the vicious landscape of horror and pain, as you try to ignore the gurgling of what you do not know from all around you.
Your wings curl around your body, a small gesture of protection that you fall into when the fog gets thicker. It slides languidly up your nostrils and down your throat, catching along the corners. You cough, sputtering wildly through ash and decay, your eyes bubbling with more burning tears. That fear flickers again in your chest and wiggles like a worm in search of moist dirt in your rib cage.
You can do this. You have been chosen. Your lips curl and part as you recite your prayer in silence, asking for strength even as your fear climbs higher to the surface of divine worship.
Then—through burning tears, you see it. A path of pure obsidian that cuts through the horror, its surface covered in a thin layer of water that reflects starlight not in the skies above. Your feet pick up in pace, moving before conscious thought, drawn to its dark beauty and vast difference of the world around. The moment your toes dip into the water-slicked stone, the moisture sliding off your skin without wetting it, everything changes.
The burning on your skin and feathers stops. The pungent fog parts like a curtain and dissipates into the air. You pull in a deep breath, savoring the thickness that is no longer there, your throat coated in clean oxygen. Your dress, moments ago stained with ash and fiery burns, returns to its pristine white. Once the tears in your eyes clear, you take in the changed landscape.
Perhaps the realm only transforms if one gets this far, because now there is no destruction but a defiance of what you see. The sky is tinged a permanent grey, overcast even though there’s a warmth to the low hang of the clouds. There are no lakes of fire, and the ground beneath your feet is no longer hot with clay-colored dirt that seeps between your toes. The obsidian path winds before you through tall garden walls of pearly white flowers, the leaves pitch black instead of earthly green.
Above the dark canopy of the garden walls, a monolith looms tall, piercing the grey sky as if demanding to be let into the heavens. It’s built to resemble a vast tree, its surface rippling with starlight, the bright core pulsing like a heartbeat, beckoning you deeper into this realm of misconstrued beauty. The garden path must lead to it. Even the pearly white flowers weaved into the walls all point forward, ushering you on.
Your wings furl closer to your spine as you shuffle to one of the garden walls, hesitantly reaching for the flowers twined in the vines and leaves. It’s a beautiful white, with small petals that curl toward a sage core. They’re littered along the walls, a beautiful landscape against darkness but the closer you get, the more you realize—
Hemlock
A poisonous flower, the symbol of death, betrayal, and sacrifice. It sits in it’s refined beauty, enhancing the black leaves around you, but they are just as dangerous.
You snatch your hands away as if stung, clutching the fabric of your dress like a lifeline. You try not to think about how the hemlock watches you with pale eyes. You try not to think about what they represent. You try not to question why these flowers would point and line a path to the divine relic you seek.
With every step you take, the pulsing from the monolith in the distance vibrates through the ground, the water rippling currents with each beat. The obsidian path narrows, forcing your wings closer to your body, your arms so close to the deadly blooms. The garden walls rise higher, leaves trembling in that same empty breeze.
While the air no longer feels thick, it is heavy with a taste both nonexistent and flavorful. Flavored with the knowledge you seek when others do not look and secrets that make your eyes linger even as your grace warns you against it. The questioning urges of your nature that Heaven always tries to quell stir awake like a beast being poked after centuries of rest.
You should ignore it. You should ask for forgiveness and count the blessings you have been given in this long existence. But your heart leaps at the chance you have also been given, right now.
The monolith’s base reveals itself slowly, the garden walls parting gradually with dark promise. Your breath catches at the sight—this is no crude demon architecture. The structure rises before you like an otherworldly giant, jet black vines weaving within its bright innards.
You’re struck by the beauty of it all, a resplendent sight that you never imagined would bless your eyes. And as you draw closer, the glass obsidian floors open up before you. From the open floor, a column of marble rises, its surface bleached bone and covered in aging vines and greenery.
On that altar, rests the relic you seek. It is no crystal that contains energy to create vasts universes. It is no seed that once planted will wreak destruction with its pollination. It is no amulet capable of manipulating time.
It is a book.
A single book that is thick with words of forbidden knowledge, its cover worn and weathered from eons of hiding in the shadows, its pages yellowing along the edges.
Such a simple relic, but you feel it’s dark power from your spot at the altar.
You’ve been tasked to tuck it away and sneak back to Heaven, to deliver it to your superiors and be given your eternal reward. While simple in theory, your hands hover over it, hesitating with shaky fingers.
Do not open it.
Do not look at it for longer than necessary.
Do not look inside.
These are your rules—your absolutes. And yet…
Your fingers twitch, reaching and pulling back at the elusive call of the tome, your feathers trembling with a desire you shouldn’t feel. Your eyes burn with tears of veneration as the symbols on the worn leather illuminate and rearrange before your eyes like dancing embers, the translated text reading in your mind like an endless scroll.
Do not look at it for longer than necessary.
You snatch it up, pressing it to your chest as a means to stop your racing heart. Your soul palpitates with want, a baseless need to curl your fingers under the lips of the book and tilt it open.
It’s temptation, that festering desire that always seems to coil in your belly when the explanations you are given never feel right, when the world around you seems too pristine and you want to know more, when you linger in the mortal realm, watching the humans with a curious eye that is more than what is required of you.
It’s quick and on a whim, you pulling the book from your chest to look down at it, as if by looking it will answer the questions you seek. You trail your fingers along it’s ancient skin, soft and unmarred fingertips feeling along ridges and scars along the cover. It looks as if the relic has gone through it’s own personal Hell, no doubt jerked around from realm to realm over the centuries, pried open and its secrets stolen. There’s a faint beat of sadness that you feel in your chest at the thought of what it must have gone through.
But your fingers still finger beneath the lid, the worn pages jagged on your tips as you worry it up with a slow movement.
Do not open it.
You squeeze the tome, pressing the pages inside more into each other in a silent attempt to seal it and your temptation away forever. Your toes curl into the water beneath you, cold on your skin but still passing over you dry and without moisture.
But once again you catch yourself loosening your grip, your fingers adventurous, your mind begging for more and it’s right here.
In times like these, you find yourself turning to the one manifestation that has never answered you, but exists in your very being.
“Father,” you whisper, voice shaking. “Give me the strength against temptation.” Your wings draw tight, your spine aching from the sudden action, before they expand in a glorious span, feathers opening like extended fingers before they curl around you to shield you from your own curiosity. “Guide me from this darkness, keep my thoughts pure…”
But even as you pray, your body rebels—your fingers part a page and slide along the rough texture of papyrus. There’s a power to the book now, a deep pulse that seems to be in rhythm with the monolith, beckoning you further. The ancient text burns brighter, the translated words whispering in your ears to give in just this once—look inside, soak in your knowledge, seek what others deny.
Your lips quiver, eyes burning with unshed tears at the way your body betrays you. You’re no better than a fallen angel, than a demon or a human who walks the path of darkness—easily tempted and consumed.
You’re not damned, you’re not, you’re not—
“What do we have here?”
The voice slides through your tumultuous thoughts like silk, rich with bored amusement and something darker. Your prayers die in your throat, catching along the edges of your esophagus, your body icing over with a chill of what you try to rebuke as fear.
You’re not alone and you knew the dangers of wandering this realm so freely. You call upon your grace, manifesting a celestial dagger of light and purity, before you whirl around to face the demon who pursues you.
But you’re met with nothing—just the empty garden path you came from.
When you turn back to the altar, your scream catches in your throat.
He stands with casual power and predatory grace. His skin is a pitch lighter than the obsidian paths, but still scattered with constellations. His hair falls in golden-blonde waves, the ends touched with flame that frames sharp features and elegant black horns that curl from the top of his head. His eyes are a burning yellow, studying you with a calculating hunger that makes you shiver.
He stands tall, an inhuman height that makes you feel incredibly small, his wings the color of dark flames spread lazily behind him, their edges flickering with crimson light.
The armor that adorns his upper body is otherworldly and crafted not by divine or mortal hands—navy as dark as night, trimmed with gold that wraps around his shoulders and sides, his chest bare. His hip rests against the altar as if he owns it, expectant like he’s been waiting for you.
He’s beautiful, a manifestation of dark and light, a being that walks his own line not predetermined. As you study him, something tugs at your memory—flashes of encounters that have grown fuzzy over time. In the mortal realm, when you linger in the shadows to observe the humans, a tall figure in navy and tan, warm eyes hidden behind glasses with no arms, hair not tipped with flame but parted clean and tucked behind his ears.
He lingers in the darkness, in damp alleys and abandoned buildings where misery and pain give birth to grotesque figures that terrorize the mortals. You’ve seen him—or you think you have—convinced it was a coincidence and ignored the way your wings would shiver at his distant presence, tilting toward him as if searching for someone lost.
And in your dreams too—dreams of large hands filled with experiences of the world, of whispers in your ear of eternal knowledge. You’d wake with your grace trembling, convinced it was just your mind playing tricks even as the apex of your thighs trembled with the sheen of your sweat and forbidden essence.
Perhaps that’s why your superiors ask for you after these dreams. Perhaps that’s why they press their fingers to your temples and bury the memories deep. So you do not have to worry. So that you can resist temptation. Right?
Yes. All of it is a temptation to test your faith.
But now he stands before you, solid and real, and those ‘coincidences’ suddenly feel intentional. Had he been watching? Waiting for this very moment?
You adjust your grip on your dagger, forcing away those thoughts that never seem to go away. You stagger backwards, your celestial dagger shaking in your hands, your prayer wielded before you like a shield.
“Our Father who art in Heaven,” you whisper, desperate words that feel as if they fall on closed ears, your fear radiating from your bare toes, through the strong muscles of your white wings, and up to the top of your skull. “Hallowed be thy—”
The demon moves towards you now, each step gobbling the distance between your retreating form until your back hits the garden wall, a gasp dying in your throat.
“That name,” he murmurs, sultry low as he cages you with muscular arms, “holds no power here.” His eyes drag down your form, cataloging you bit by bit, lingering on the sight of a shaking chest that is pressed to the tome you clutch.
He leans in close, too close, until you feel the burning heat from his skin. You press your back harder against the garden wall, dark leaves and hemlock brushing along your cheeks and neck as he inhales deeply along the column of your throat.
He smells like the archives you lose yourself in, like the green tea you love to drink in the mortal realm, like a dark concoction of burning honey that would make the noses of other angels crinkle but your nostrils open to inhale more. Your divine senses blur.
This is temptation, you tell yourself as your wings putter against the wall behind you. You’ve practiced for this, you know what you should do. But your body betrays you, your head tilting slightly before you can think about it, offering more of your neck for his inspection.
Horror at your sin, ice cold as it washes over you, makes you act. You press your celestial dagger upward, against his bare chest where one particular constellation burns brighter than the rest.
But the blade dissolves like sugar in the rain the moment it touches him, holy light scattering for a home as it shimmers across his skin to form new constellations.
“How interesting…” The deep voice inquires, hot as it puffs on your neck. “An angel, stealing what does not belong to them. Surely there’s a rule about that, is there not?”
You clutch the tome tighter to your chest, your mouth opening to snap that this is your mission, your divine purpose. But the book vanishes from your grip in black tendrils of smoke, your hand smacking into your breasts from the gap created.
“Give it back!” Panic rises in your throat as you try to meld with the leaves behind you, your fingers wrapping around vines and leaves like a vice.
A sigh, long and drawn out as if mentally exhausted, as if this isn’t the first this has happened, leaves his giant form and travels over your body.
“No, I don’t think I will,” he drawls, pushing off the wall and walking away as if your presence means nothing. He turns to face you at the altar, eyes half-lidded as he rests his forearms on the marble surface and opens the tome that is now manifested in his hands. He’s giving off every impression that the relic you seek will not be going home with you, and he is more than prepared to read it all until you go away.
“W-well, you…” you trail off, your eyes flickering to the open book in his hands. You can’t see the words inside, but you can practically smell the papyrus, a smell that warms you when you trail your fingers along the archives in Heaven. You tighten your grip on the leaves, flexing your wings to extend in a display of dominance, even though it feels as if this demon has read you the moment you stepped into this realm.
The tome sits like an infant in his hands, small and precious as he turns a page, long galaxy shimmered fingers gliding along the text as he reads. That curiosity beckons, a familiar pulse of sin that fires along the nerves in your legs to take a step toward him, to peak over the edge of the book and look inside.
“Demon,” you press, swallowing a lump of your frayed nerves.
His eyes flicker up at you, burning gold irises mildly offended.
“That is not my name.” He turns another page, pulling his gaze away from you, dismissive. “Though, I suspect you already know what it is.”
Why would you know his name? While the sight of him invokes some distant memories, you both have never spoken. The confusion mixes with your flood of panic, your eyes locked on the ancient text in his hands.
“I don’t—I’m here on divine purpose. The Heavens sent me to deliver this relic.”
“They sent you to steal this relic,” he corrects. He slams the tome closed, the sound making you flinch before he walks back to you in casual strides, his form almost gliding on the obsidian floors.
“I would not steal.”
“Coming to a place without invitation and taking the items inside is, indeed, stealing.”
You sink back into the flowers as he draws closer, your heart pumping erratically in your chest, your limbs filling with shame at the logic he draws. But still, you resist.
“I was invited.”
You’ve always been around to see the return of angels from long missions where they are surrounded by darkness and pain. They seem so strong, their chests puffed in pride, their wings shining brighter as a badge of honor. There’s a bravery that you wish you could have right now. But you’re afraid—whether that fear is pure or mixed with something sensual and dangerous—you still don’t know.
“I-I was chosen,” you insist, despite what you feel.
“Oh, I’m sure you were.” His head tilts as he regards you.
The book disappears from his hands before materializing in your own, warm smoke wrapping around your wrists before dissipating. “Take it. Return to your divine purpose.”
You clutch the tome, hoping for relief to fill your wings, but you can only feel disappointment instead. You hesitate, flickering your gaze up to the demon who stands expectantly with arms crossed, like he knows what the outcome will be. Like he knows you will be back.
You turn around and flea down the obsidian path. The garden walls adorned with pearl flowers blur past you until—
The walls part again, the altar and demon coming into view.
“That’s not—” you spin, turning back toward the path and running faster this time, your relic pressed to your body, your lungs burning with the truth that you’re trying to deny.
The hemlock flowers seem to laugh as you pass, their white petals pointing the way with mocking fingers until—
The altar. The demon, an eyebrow raised. Again.
“Stop this!” Your voice breaks as you turn around to try again, sprinting so hard that your wings flap against the wind, your toes touching the top of the thin layer of water below you. You come to the altar a third time, then a fourth, each leading back to his knowing and patient form.
“I’m not doing anything.” His voice holds a gentle pity that pricks at your skin. “But why? Why would they send their most curious angel into a demon’s realm? Why alone? Why you?”
Something in his tone, in the endearment wrapped around seduction makes your grace shiver. You long to have an answer ready on your tongue, and you do, but it’s more practiced, copied, and spit out and resonates in your bones incorrectly.
“The relic requires eyes that can transcribe so I select the right one. My abilities—”
“Your abilities,” he interrupts softly, materializing behind you, “the ones that they’ve tried to suppress. The ones that they’ve feared. Yet suddenly, all of it is for naught, and you’ve been given this divine purpose?”
The towering demon circles you slowly, analyzing you like a predator waiting for his wounded prey to finally submit. You swallow hard, fingers digging into the leather of the book, eyes downcast.
“They finally saw my worth,” you insist, but the words sound hollow even to your ears. “I am pure. Free of sin. I do not stray.”
Warmth by the shell of your ear, the rich smell of him forbidden, an erotic melody that makes your blood long to sing.
“Lies.”
Your wings slash through the air in deep powerful strokes, twitching in their plumage. “I would not lie!”
“Neither would I, little angel. But it seems you have been led here under false pretenses.”
“No.”
“There is no relic.” The tome in your hands disappears, it’s solid form no longer tethered to existence.
“Give it—”
“There is no mission,” he presses on. “There is no divine purpose. There is only you. Cast down here and given to me.”
“To you…”
“An offering, little angel.”
The word makes you chill over in disgust, the very thought of being a sacrificial lamb enough to make you sick to your stomach. You shake your head vehemently, insistently denying as best as you can even though your grace radiates with the truth.
“No. They would never sacrifice someone. They—they wouldn’t—they wouldn’t do that to me.”
The demon clicks his tongue, pity filling his otherworldly features with a slight pout of his lips as he studies you. Before you can take another breath, the realm shifts, reality bending in a plume of smoke. The monolith and altar disappear, the darkness of the garden walls fading to give way to the eternal light you recognize as your home.
The tall pearly gates that surround your kingdom smile down at you, pearlescent clouds that seeps beneath the doors kissing your bare toes. Your wings waft in the air with ease, pumping euphoria through your veins as you smile up at your home. The tome is back now, cradled safely in your arms, reminding you of your mission. With a hope bright in your chest, you rapt your fingers on the doors.
“Father! I’ve retrieved the relic! I’m home!”
But the doors do not open. There is no sound of movement on the other side, no shift in the white clouds around you. It doesn’t even feel as if someone is not home. You can feel your siblings, you’ve always been able to sense them in your grace, but this sensation is reluctant. As if they peak through closed curtains on the other side, watching through a window with their hand on the door to prevent you from coming in.
“H-hello?” you try again, voice shaking as you knock with more fervor, denial warring with growing dread. “I-I said I’ve brought the relic.” Silence. “Hello?!” You smack on the doors now, the holy wood splitting at your skin and healing over again. Surely someone must be home. Maybe they are away? Maybe they are busy and do not hear?
You press your forehead against the door, wings drooping. Through your grace, you feel them there, still watching. Waiting for you to leave. But not to welcome you home.
“Please,” you whisper, eyes stinging. “Will someone—”
“They will not open the doors, little angel,” the demon speaks from behind you.
You jump from his sudden appearance, your body drained of all blood at the sordid thought of what is happening right now. Reality shifts again, the divine light of your home sucking back into darkness, the monolith and marble altar and obsidian floors coming back into view.
Your legs threaten to give as realization washes over you. You shake your head, lip quivering as tears blur the edges of your vision, your fingers curling on the altar. How could they do this to you? You have always struggled in this life, always been so ashamed that you do not think like the others. But to cast you out? To give you these wings and then make you feel as if you are beyond saving?
“Perhaps it is a mistake,” you whisper, your hope crumbling with every word. You feel his large form next to you before you hear any steps. “Why would they do this to me?”
You have no choice but to look up at him, to seek some form of answer in his burning yellow eyes. There’s a flicker of something that crosses his face—amusement? Maybe pity?
“They have offered you to me. A sacrifice to take the darkness from their pristine walls and feed it to the realm it belongs to.”
The words hang in the air, the horrifying truth once again presented to you. Your heart lurches in your chest. You recoil, your wings drooping to brush along the water covered floor.
“They fear you, little angel,” he continues, voice softening. “Your potential, your curiosity, your unwillingness to follow their absolutes.”
You slap your hands on the altar, the sound reverberating through the emptiness around you. “I will not.”
The demon chuckles, a low, sardonic noise that crawls up your dress and wraps around your throat. “Such defiance,” he purrs. “It’s quite…alluring.”
You can’t help the noise of shock and anger that crawls up your throat, shooting him a dark look. “I will not be corrupted by the likes of a demon like you.”
“Like me? So you imply that another demon may have a chance?” His jests fall on rageful ears, your wings flapping in defiance as you gape at him. He leans in close, his breath warm against your lips as he whispers. “You deny it all little angel. But you already are corrupt.”
You try to pull away from him, but a large hand falls to the small of your back, his fingers weaving through your wings in a caress that makes you choke on a whine.
“Come now, my dear.” The tip of his nose trails along your cheek, the touch sending flames of desire down your neck. You curl your fingers into a fist on the altar, your body ramrod straight.
“I can smell it on you,” he continues, his voice a silken caress. “The insatiable curiosity, the yearning for more, the essence that pools between your thighs every night before you sleep.”
The fingers in your plumage massage your skin, your shoulders relaxing into a traitorous sigh before with a swift motion, he plucks a feather from its root. You wince, your hand flying back to bat him away before he holds the feather in front of you, its tip stained a deep, inky black.
“Do you not try to hide it? You sneak to the archives. You let them smother your dreams. You do not tell them that you sneak away to the mortal realm to watch them eat, and bathe, and sin.”
He turns your wing to expose the underside where the feather was plucked, your eyes widening as if you’ve been caught. The skin is marred with a dark scar, the muscle underneath dried with blood and presenting as damning evidence of you plucking those feathers over and over, your cheeks covered in tears as you did your best to hide them away.
“You pluck your true self,” he whispers, voice laced with dry amusement. “But they only grow back stronger, don’t they?”
A breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through your defenses that you have built with weak mortar and brick for eons. Your eyes catch his, your desire reflected in burning gold.
“Even so…I cannot leave?”
He hums in reverence, a pointy finger trailing along your collarbone to brush a lock of hair from your shoulders, exposing more of your scent for him to breathe in.
“You have tried to leave already and you cannot. There is nowhere for you to go. I can let you roam to any realm you choose, but the doors of Heaven will be locked for you forever.”
Your eyes bubble with tears. It’s an unfortunate hand that you have been dealt. A hand always opened to you in promise even as the other held a dagger behind the back of divinity. There’s a deep part of you that would try to find some sort of silver lining in moments of darkness, a silver lining that only benefits you.
“If I stay…what will you give me?” you ask, your voice small and defeated.
The demon sinks to one knee in front of you, his eye level now only a little taller than you, but still more humane than his hovering from before. He offers a slow, predatory smile, his lips parting to reveal sharp pearly white fangs.
“You already think in ways that will benefit yourself, don’t you? Whatever you desire, little angel, I will give it.” The sharp point of his nail trails down your cheek, casting a wave of arousal down your body, your stomach tightening. “Anything at all.”
You cannot deny the promise of whatever you want does not make you perk mildly with curiosity, the same curiosity that was always quelled.
You lick your lips in thought, a nervous habit that your siblings have always discouraged. It’s unbecoming of an angel, they’d say, a physical manifestation of want. But you’ve always like the way your tongue feels against the plump flesh of your lips.
“Anything?”
He inclines his head to you, eyes answering without having to say. You hesitate, your mind racing with possibilities, unleashed with nothing to hold them back.
“I want…” you begin, stopping short at the coil of desire that burns in your body. You’ve never given it a true voice, and now that you’ve been presented with the opportunity, you are unsure of how to proceed.
The demon’s eyes roam over your form before they brighten with understanding. “You wish to read the tome.”
You nod, unable to speak past the dry lump in your throat. He summons it quickly, the worn leather materializing in his enormous hands as he hands it to you like an offering of forbidden fruit.
“Take it,” he urges in a seductive whisper. “It is yours.”
You reach out with trembling fingers, your grace pulsing with desire, it’s feel growing bolder as you snatch it up into your hands and let it flow through you. The leather is cool beneath your fingertips, worn with the promise of centuries of words you’ve always wanted.
When you open the book and let your eyes fall on the faded script, they rearrange themselves like before, translating to you in a seductive dance that makes your toes curl. The knowledge overwhelms you, flooding your senses in a wave of information about this realm—its history and inhabitants and magic. You feel a thrill of excitement, a suppressed sense of liberation as you turn page after page.
From your peripheral, you see the demon offer that same predatory smile. With a snap of his fingers, the world shifts around you again. You are further from the monolith but instead of the altar, you are surrounded by looming bookshelves, all filled to the brim. Ancient tomes and scrolls, dusty relics that have been neglected over the years but kept in condition by this demon who rules this realm.
“This is a taste of what I can offer you. All of it is yours.” He steps closer, the energy that he radiates filling your space with darkness and seduction that terrifies and excites you. “There is so much more I can show you,” he whispers in your ear again. “Would you like that?”
Even though your body and soul buzz with satisfaction from the books around you, the shame is still there, still bubbling beneath the surface next to your dejection.
Sensing your unease, he places tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, a gesture that you long to fall into before the world morphs again.
He takes you back to where you began, the realm’s outskirts. However there is no russet fog that is thick and smells of decay and misery, this time your vision is clear. The shadows that once hovered around you in your quest to the monolith now reveal themselves as souls—humans that you recognize from your years of observation.
“Do you remember her?” the demon asks, pointing to a small woman tending to a bush of flowers. “The woman from years ago who stole medicine for her dying child because she had no money.”
You do remember watching with tear filled eyes. It was an ancient time where death was a sentence given freely, and this mother had been called to the land of the dead for stealing bread.
“You watched her pray for forgiveness even as she did what was necessary.” His hand rests on your lower back, reassuring in its pressure. “Heaven would have condemned her. I gave her purpose.”
“How do you give purpose if you are a demon?”
The demon huffs, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “It is true that I gain my strength through corruption. But it is corruption through intellectual rebellion and questioning minds. I am strong because no matter how many years may pass, there will always be a soul that questions.”
Each soul that you pass triggers a memory—struggles you watched but could never reach out and help. And in each memory, you gain more clarity—he was always there in the mortal realm, appearing in navy and tan just like you thought.
“You’ve been watching me then,” you inquire, tucking your tome closer to your chest as you cast a sidelong glance to him.
“It is my nature,” he rumbles from next to you. “You understand the beauty in grey areas. The necessity of balance.” His fingers glide along the empty space where you plucked your blackened wings. “Here, you could judge with mercy and justice. Rule in the knowledge they feared.”
Power.
A destructive thing that has elevated so many and torn them down. But the call of it has always been sweet, and now you are the subject of it. The very thought of it makes your knees weaken, your grace fluttering like a leave in the wind. This could be something more honest, not Heaven’s sterile authority.
The soil that is no longer red vibrates beneath you, pulsing up your ankles and calves, around your waist and torso in thick vines that pull you to the monolith miles away.
“Easy, my dear,” he murmurs, a muscular arm sliding around your waist to prevent you from swaying further. “The first taste of true power always overwhelms.” Your grace flickers between divine light and seductive shadow, somehow grounded by his hold.
Every soul’s story calls to you now, complex choices and grey morality making your divine nature pulse with stomped out recognition. You lean into him, falling more into his scent, your wings brushing his back to seek balance.
“I…” you trail off, clutching the relic in your arms, using it to ground you through your thoughts that fight between light and dark.
“What else would you like?” he purrs in your ear, his hand reaching out to the realm beyond that begins to shift again. A vast kitchen filled with warmth and enticing scents. “Earthly pleasures are denied amongst angels.” The pristine counter tops are soon overflown with rich goods and goblets of wine. “Even something as simple as this.”
You’ve never had wine—it’s forbidden—at least for you. But the way it catches the warm fireplace behind it, deep and rich…your mouth waters.
“Freedom to roam where you wish.”
Glimpses of different realms flash by—clouds of different shapes and sizes, landscapes of mountains and water as clear as crystal, beings that take on their own forms as they wander the lands—places you’ve only dreamt of exploring, of asking to see and always been denied.
His voice drops lower, more intimate and hot on your cheek. “Or perhaps…” Another shift. A dark room you remember faintly—through gauzy curtains, you see two figures entwined in candlelight. The brown skin of limbs and curves wrapped around tan that shimmers faintly. You recognize the hips of the woman, the collarbone and hair, and you realize it’s you. You wrapped around this very demon next to you who appears in the mortal realm as a human with carefully parted locks and a height fit for yourself.
Your blood boils beneath your skin as you try to look away. But like every forbidden thing that’s ever called to you, your eyes are drawn back to the scene—to the way your dream-self arches into his touch, the way your neck cranes, the sight of his tongue sliding along the sweat of your brown breast.
He hums from behind you, his demonic form pressing closer as you watch his human glamour worship your other self. That familiar wave of shame wars with the desire in your body, trying its best to smother the arousal that tightens your nipples beneath your white dress. All of it you suffer night after night—your grace singing, skin hot and sweaty—essence coating your thighs.
“I—” you stutter for words, eyes locked on the human form that rolls his hips and swallows a moan that shakes from your other-self. “This is wrong…”
His starlight fingers trace your collarbone, mimicking the tongue of his human form. “Your body remembers what they tried to smother away. How many nights did you wake burning for this? For me?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
The realm shifts one final time, the familiar garden walls and monolith appearing before you, the altar pressing into your back. The demon circles you, giving you no time to recover as his prying eyes pick you apart feather by feather.
“Even your grace recognizes where you truly belong.” He reaches out, trailing pointy nails down your spine, your body arching of its own volition. “Here. With me.”
His hands engulf your entire waist, his touch making you gasp as he lifts you up to sit on the altar before him.
“Every dream they tried to bury,” his hands trail up your thighs, “every desire they made you forget…” he steps closer, taking the oxygen from your lungs that you expel, his naked chest a hairsbreadth from your searching fingers. “All of it has lead to this moment. To me.”
“I—” you try to protest, but it dies in your throat as he tilts your chin to face him.
“You were meant for this realm,” he leans in, trailing his nose along your shaking lips. “I will make you mine. As my queen, my consort, my equal.” You press the tome further into your chest like a lifeline as his hand rests on the side of your neck, his nails grazing the lobe of your ear. “You’ve always known it. Even in those dreams where you surrendered to me so sweetly.”
His lips are close enough to kiss you, but they brush your jaw instead, trailing electricity down your throat. “Anything you want,” he breathes against your pulse, smiling at the sight of it’s rapid flutter, “you will have, little angel.” His mouth moves to that sensitive spot behind your ear that you discovered one night centuries ago. “But you must surrender to me. You have been offered and now you must be consumed.”
You clutch the tome tighter, using it as a tether even as your head tilts to give him better access. “I should not…”
“Surrender,” he whispers, lips ghosting your shoulder now, each kiss punctuated with promises that you should deny. “Let me worship you.” A kiss to your collarbone. “You will never be denied again.” His mouth traces back to hover over your lips. “Submit to what you have always wanted.”
The burn in your body makes your skin tingle, your core pulse with forbidden need, your nipples tighten in pleasure. Everything you’ve always wanted, could be given to you right now.
All of your dedication to faith has only led to tears and shame and disappointment. But here, you could be rewarded for your curiosity, exalted for your power to see what others do not, consumed in pleasure without the eyes of disdain looking down on you.
Here, with this beautiful demon, you can have it all.
For as powerful and as dark as he is, despite the patient hunger in his golden eyes, you realize he’s waiting. You must give the final say. A final say to do away with eons of denying, of plucking dark feathers, of letting them bury your dreams…
“Please,” the words shake from your lips before you can stop it, the tome slipping from your defeated grasp.
His eyes flash with satisfaction, mouth twitching with the urge to smile, but he relents. “Say it properly, little angel.” His mouth brushes the corner of your lips in not quite a kiss. “Tell me.”
Your wings spread wider of their own accord, trembling and stretching past invisible threads that have always held them down. “I want…I will to surrender.”
You hardly finish your words before you feel the press of his lips against yours, gentle and almost reverent. It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed, and it’s as euphoric as you’ve always thought. Your toes curl in satisfaction, your body hums with arousal, low and beneath the surface but quickly growing.
The hand on your neck tilts you up so he can feast further, a wet tongue sliding along the seam of your lips in a quiet ask for permission. You let your body guide you, opening your mouth to welcome him with a groan.
He tastes like he smells—green tea and honey, a hint of rich bread that you occasionally try in the mortal realm. It’s intoxicating, dark mingled with your fading sweetness. One that speaks of corruption and surrender.
What started as gentle quickly turns hungry and consuming. Your grace shivers as you catalogue every shift in your body, learning from the lessons of his tongue. Each stroke of him feels like corruption, like freedom, like finally coming home and you arch into him for more.
Your white dress slowly disappears before you, your body revealing to him naked and shivering. You try to cover yourself, an urge ingrained in you since your coming of existence, but the demon’s large hand stops you, gathering both hands in his strong grip and placing them at your sides.
He does not wait a second longer, his mouth trailing in worship down your neck and across your collarbone to pepper the swell of your breasts, your core pounding incessantly as he gets closer to one nipple before he wraps it in his hot mouth.
A moan shakes from your mouth, unexpected and loud into the quiet air of this monolith room. Your hands reach up to card in his golden locks, they’re warm and impossibly silky, the flame colored ends burning more than the rest. You let the pain of it singe your fingertips, basking in the euphoric pleasure pain of your skin growing back and burning all over again.
His hand envelops your other breasts, his sharp nails teasing your nipple before he drags it slowly across your areola. Your fingers tighten in his hair from the pain, your core dripping on the marble altar you sit on.
“You taste wonderful, little angel,” he purrs into the wet skin of your breast, pulling away before he gently nudges you onto your back. Your wings stretch languidly to make you more comfortable against the flat surface. The urge to cover yourself is not as insistent as before, the desire eating you up without reservation. “But I must taste more.”
He leans over the altar you lay on, kissing your lips gently before his tongue slides along the skin of your neck and down your body. It’s longer than a mortal tongue, and when they circle your nipples again, you shake at the pronged tip that flicks your bud.
He worships down your torso to dip in your navel, over the dip in your hips before his hands push your legs up onto his shoulders and he licks your sopping core from bottom to top.
You arch sharply, teeth digging into your bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moan from shooting from your throat.
You’ve watched the humans many times in the shadows, transfixed when their mouths worship these parts of their partner, but to experience it yourself? To feel the demons tongue part your folds and circle the bud at the top that makes you cry into your pillows at night. Heaven has hidden away beautiful pleasure.
“Look at how much you give me,” he whispers, kissing the inside of your thigh before you feel his tongue on you again, prodding your entrance that you’ve sunken your fingers into at night.
You bite down on your lip, shivering in pleasure as he prods further and further, your legs widening with each current of pleasure until he sinks his wide tongue inside of you. You taste copper from your bleeding lip that heals over quickly, your bare feet digging into the demon’s broad shoulders as he feasts on your essence.
With every gasp, your wings quiver in anticipation, curling into your body to protect yourself from a euphoria that is growing so quickly in your stomach.
“Please,” you whisper in disbelief, hands twisting his hair with your divine strength. He hums in satisfaction, satisfied with what you give and digging for more.
His tongue strokes inside of you with purpose, caressing something along the roof of your hot walls, his nose brushing your bundle of nerves once, twice, the pleasure enough to make your jaw drop, to make you pant feverishly into the air, to make your back arch until the base of your spine hurts as you come apart by the seams.
Your release makes you cry out into the air, the sound brushing along the monolith, the constant pulsing stopping to take in your pleasure before it resumes its steady pulse.
He rises slowly as you struggle to catch your breath, his golden eyes tracing over your shivering form from head to toe. His grey obsidian hands slide up your trembling thighs as he leans over you.
“Beautiful,” he purrs before he kisses your lips. You swallow your taste—tangy and rich like the divinity that courses through your veins. “But I must have all of you to make this complete.”
All of you?
You look down to find that his pants are gone, starlight shining bright on his hips that seem to point down to the member that hangs between his thighs. Your eyes widen—he’s definitely bigger than mortals, purplish veins that trail along the sides, a tip that is darker than his grey, the skin flickering with those shimmering stars you are growing to love.
He’s beautiful, and without thinking you reach out to touch. He’s impossibly hard but also incredibly soft, and you watch in fascination as his dark flame-colored wings expand and shake in supplication.
He leans his head back to the grey skies, swallowing deeply at your touch and there’s a sense of power you feel. To know that with a single touch you can make this powerful demon fracture just a little.
He wraps his hand around yours to stop you, pulling you up so that he can sit on the altar instead. Even though he’s tall, you’re able to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck.
Your wings stretch and flap behind you, sparse feathers wafting in their air to fall around you both in white, grey, and black. Even though you feel loose from your first release, there is a subtle power that thrums with every flap of your wings.
You look at the monolith again. The pulse has picked up steadily, seeming to match your own heartbeat. Maybe there is a connection to the power inside of it and what might be coursing through you now.
As you tail up the length of it until it disappears into the grey clouds, you think faintly of those who cast you out. The pleasure fractures a little with pain, your eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.
“My angel,” he calls to you, softly, turning your gaze back to him. His golden and flame locks are messy, his horns pulsing with shimmering light, the navy and gold armor gone so that he is as naked as you are. “That pain that you feel will go away with time. I will make sure you will never know it again.”
The promise fills you with hope, and the press of his lips to yours makes the sordid thoughts fall to the wayside, your pleasure humming to life at the base of your spine.
The touch of his fingers to your core makes you whine into his mouth, pulling away with only a gossamer of saliva connecting you both. He strokes your bud, drinking your sighs and moans as your thighs and stomach tighten, your fingers digging into his soft shoulders.
He pulls you up onto your knees, your wet entrance brushing the thick tip of him before he guides you onto him slowly. It’s a stretch, far thicker than your fingers and foreign inside of you.
The initial pain makes you gasp, tears pricking your eyes. It feels as if you’re being split in two from your hips, torn apart with a strength that only makes you shiver and moan.
One hand slides along one wing to soothe you, his lips pressing to your neck. Eventually, the pain gradually melts into pleasure, his hands possessive on your hips as he guides you with careful restraint. You quake at the feel of him inside of you, stretching and molding your muscles in each euphoric stroke.
“Perfect,” he breathes against your shoulder. “Look how well you take me.” His voice resonates deep in your core, a sound that both terrifies and entices you, a forbidden melody that you are slowly learning the notes to.
You whimper in response, relishing in his praise as you begin to move faster on top of him, bouncing with a newfound sense of purpose. Your wings flap with more insistence, stretching and bending with the power that begins to seep out of your skin, white feathers less in abundance with each flap.
The demon’s nails dig into your waist and you sigh into the pain, picking up the pace until you’re not sure where he stops and you begin.
The power takes you higher and higher, your skin breaking into a sheen of sweat, your gasps dying in the air as you pant and moan above him. The pleasure at the base of your spine heats quickly, bubbling with sticky satisfaction as it slides down your vertebrae and into your core.
“That’s it,” he growls, nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks, canting your hips toward him so the tip of his member brushes that spot on your upper walls once again.
You choke on a moan, head thrown back in bliss, nails dragging down the solid muscle of his chest. Your wings curl around you, dark feathers replacing white with each thrust.
“Transform for me completely. Embrace what you truly are.”
“Yes,” you hiss, your mouth falling open as you struggle for breath. Your core tightens around him, the bundle of nerves shaking even untouched, and you’re falling, you’re falling, you’re—
The demon shifts again, his member leaving your hot core and denying you of release, your hands now pressed to the altar as you’re bent over. You whine in annoyance, looking over your darkening wings at his large form as he heaves with breath.
He regards you with a dark look, one that shows just how capable he is of picking you apart, and your mouth fills with saliva at the thought.
He draws one leg up onto the altar before sliding into you once more without pretense. You groan around the stretch of him, marveling at the pinch of pain that bleeds into overwhelming pleasure as he picks up his pace inside of you.
What starts out as reverent and gentle soon turns feverish. His strokes are deeper, his hips snapping against your open legs, a haze of pleasure clouding every crevice of your mind as he kisses spots inside of you that makes you groan, hiss, and whine.
The monolith picks up in speed, pulse matching your heartbeat as you climb higher and higher up a ladder of darkness that has always been denied.
You don’t know why, you don’t know where it comes from, but the last slivers of your salvation slide to the surface, tickling your throat one last time before they leave your soul forever.
“Please, please, Father,” you moan, eyes filling with tears of satisfaction as your body jerks with every harsh thrust of the demon behind you. One of his hands weaves into your locks, curling tight before yanking you back to him, arching until our stomach presses into the altar. “Forgive me.”
“We will have none of that,” he warns, out of breath. “You seek forgiveness to someone who is not listening. You pray to someone who has cast you out. And here you are. Under me. Calling for him as you weep on my cock in pleasure.”
His sharp fingers slide down your hip to circle over your bud of nerves and you cry out, tears streaming down your face, power radiating up your limbs. “Keep moaning, little angel. Keep begging.” He leans over you, pressing his hot chest into your wings, his breath hot on your ear as the tips of his pronged tongue slide along your lobe. “In your eyes you are soiled. Filthy. And my sweet goddess loves it, doesn’t she?”
You shake your head to deny, deny, deny. But a hard thrust, a stroke of his thick cock that kisses your cervix, and you sob in the pain that molds into pleasure. Your nipples brush against the cold marble, each icy touch shockwaves down your spine.
“I’ve watched you, my dove. When you study the humans in their pleasure. I’ve seen the way your pupils dilate. I’ve smelt the essence between your thighs. You dream of this don’t you?”
You try to whisper your Father’s name one last time, to show with your last breath of divinity that you were an angel who worked hard.
“You won’t say his name here anymore. Not in my realm—in our realm. Not in my arms while you cum on my cock. The only name you will moan and beg and plead is mine.”
Your wings flap in reverence, responding to his demands as they stretch around you. No longer are your feathers white, now they are inky black, as dark as midnight, as mysterious as the darkness you peer into.
The monolith quickens, a hummingbird’s wings, the bright core sliding up and down the tree-like structure and bleeding with vibration through the ground and up the altar.
Even as your mind tries to deny what you are becoming, your soul speaks otherwise, your core clenches around him unwilling to let go. The demon behind you grunts with each thrust, low and seductive on the back of your neck, his nose smelling the skin.
“I can’t—” you choke, fingers sliding on the altar from your sweat. “Please.”
“Please what?” he groans.
“More, please more, more, more,” you beg, words and resolve splintering in your throat as he rewards you with deeper thrusts, each one making you see the stars that shimmer along his skin.
“Say my name,” he demands, one hand sliding up your throat. You gasp at the subtle pressure on each side, not enough to do anything, but enough to make a dark current of pleasure pulse inside of you. “Let the skies above hear who you belong to now.”
You don’t know where the name comes from. He’s never given it to you. You’ve never asked. But somewhere, deep down in some ancient place in your soul, you’ve always known all along. Known him.
“Nanami,” it falls from your lips like a broken prayer. “Nanami, please—”
His teeth graze your pulse, sharp fangs dragging along your skin as pleasure builds in your body beyond reason. Your wings spread impossibly wide, your skin hums in arousal, hot and stinging.
The monolith’s pulse quickens with you, its light growing brighter as the power in your body travels through your veins to complete a transformation you can feel in your fallen grace. Even with every harsh pump of his hips, you feel worshiped. Worshipped by his hands. Worshipped on this altar in front of a monolith that watches over you both.
“You were an offering—a gift to me. Molded by the heavens. And now you’re mine. And your Father sent you to me,” he growls against your throat. “My dark goddess.”
His thrusts grow harder, more desperate, each one a brand searing its mark into your very soul. A mix of your essence and his precum pools on the altar where you are joined. The last embers of your angelic resistance crumble completely, replaced by an insatiable hunger that mirrors his own.
“Let go. Surrender to me completely.”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
That hot lava at the base of your spine explodes like a volcano of unholy fire as his teeth sink into your neck, marking you as his. Your release bursts from you, your core squeezing his thick member, your muscles seizing as your mouth falls open and your cries echo through the realm as divine light fractures into starry darkness.
All of your abilities that have been repressed swirl within the darkness and mix with the forbidden powers awakening within you. It feels like the very essence of your being is changing, transforming into something wild, a reflection of the demon who guided you with a sultry voice down this path.
You feel a rivulet of your blood trail down the side of your neck from his puncture, blazing with the essence of darkness that now pumps through your veins. He releases his teeth from your neck and turns your head to him with more force than necessary, sliding his tongue into your mouth as he kisses you senseless.
You can’t breathe, your body is loose, your grip on the edge of the altar slipping with each relentless thrust but you love it. Every smack of heavy balls against your clit, every slide of sweaty muscles of his chest against your wings and back, every pulse of your cunt around his cock.
Nanami pulls away breathless, the hand around your throat tightening imperceptibly, the sharp tips of his fingernails breaking skin. His pronged tongue slides along your cheeks to collect your fallen tears.
Every noise that leaves your mouth is against everything you hold dear, a sound of sin, debauchery and lust.
“I’m yours,” you whisper against his lips, your breath punching out of you with each desperate thrust. Nanami’s eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles with a snarl, his wings pulsing with flame as his release climbs up his body as well. “I’m yours, Nanami.”
“Take my essence, little angel,” he demands, biting your lip until you draw blood. You lick up the coppery tang, falling into the prickly grip on your neck as he takes what he needs from you. “One day, when you have ruled with me for centuries to come, when you are one in your skin, perhaps my essence will take root.”
Your eyes widen at the implication, your soul no longer quivering in blasphemy but in satisfaction. How you would love that. One day. With him.
“Yes, Nanami,” you whisper into him, accepting one more kiss as he strokes once, twice, and a final time before he shivers from head to toe and groans with deep pleasure into your mouth.
His darkness seeps into the remnants of your light, a forbidden dance of shadow and flame now made true. He pumps hot semen into you, far too much for comfort and your essence combines with his demonic energy, feeding the power that still ebbs in your veins.
He falls into you, his hold on your throat vanishing to slide down to your naked stomach, pressing to the spot where he is still lodged inside. You reach back, carding your hands through his burning hair, reveling in the shiver he gives you.
He pulls out of you slowly and your cunt clenches around nothing, legs shaking at the feel of his semen dripping from you. He does not entertain the mess but gathers you in his arms, carrying you past the defiled altar and monolith that has fallen into a gentle ebb once more. The obsidian floors open up again, the thin layer of water rising within a large tub of water that steams with inviting heat.
He sinks you both into the steaming water, your new darkened wings flapping at the moisture that touches your plumage. When he dips your head beneath the surface, it feels like baptism in reverse—washing away heaven’s hold rather than blessing you with it. When you emerge, you feel reborn, your shame and disappointment for your former family now washed away.
You sigh at the effect hot water on your muscles, melting into the large expanse of his chest. He does not speak and you do not ask questions, content to watch him manifest a tray of oils and soaps that smell of green tea and burning honey.
He plucks a marble comb from the tray and drags it gently through your curls, each stroke bending with the texture of your hair to guide without tangle, each pass worship and calming.
Once your hair is untangled and silky, he washes your skin with the soap and oils that smell of him. You study him openly now—the way constellations shift across his skin, how his golden eyes hold both demonic power and intelligent precision, the careful way he maintains order even in darkness.
He dresses you in black fabric that flows like liquid shadow, clinging to your curves like his possessive touch. Instead of the starry sky, the black material is adorned by golden accents that match his eyes and armor.
The altar recedes into the floor and in its place, two large thrones emerge. Carved from pure white marble shot through with veins of gold, they’re identical in height and grandeur—a statement of what he promised you—equal rule.
Dark vines curl around their bases, blooming with black roses, while plush velvet cushions in deep navy make them as comfortable as they are magnificent.
He throws you an inquisitive rise of his brow, what was once used to pick you apart upon first meeting him, now make your lips curl in a smile. You pretend to ponder which you will choose, humming noncommittally before you sink into one chair, sighing into the softness around your body and wings.
Nanami bends down, taking a hand in both of his before he kisses your palm. “You look magnificent,” he purrs, your hand still in his while he sits on his throne.
With a snap of his fingers, the garden walls disappear, revealing the vast landscape that was once shrouded in horror and fear when you first arrived.
Now it appears without malice, without misery or shame, but of exotic greenery and souls who have been neglected for only choosing a path that feels wrong even though it is right.
The heavens is but a distant memory now, infinitesimal in the many years you will continue to exist. Now, you bask in the new power in your bones, in the brush of Nanami’s lips to your palm once more.
As the stars on his skin ebb and fade with light, you take in the muscles of his torso, the strength in his movements as he worships you without speaking.
It has taken eons to get to this moment, but some part of you preens with the satisfaction that Nanami has always been watching, waiting for you to come to him.
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Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween!
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schemmentigfs · 21 days ago
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Sweetening The Deal. (part 11.)
Summary: your first time with Melissa Schemmenti is the equivalent of paradise on its purest form.
tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9. Part 10.
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Good girl. Those words easily made your heart stop.
When Melissa Schemmenti calls you her good girl, your heart stirs, like a soft breeze brushing over still water. It’s not just a phrase; it’s a tender thread that weaves through the fabric of your very soul, a gentle, sweet ache that dances between your ribs and settles deep in your chest. It’s an affirmation, one that feels like a secret, only between you and her, a promise in her voice that wraps around you like a warm embrace.
The words slip from the redheaded woman’s lips with such ease, but for you, they carry weight, like a whispered prayer, as if you are hearing it for the first time, yet it's a song you have known all your life. It’s not the words themselves but the way they make you feel—a delicate, almost fragile thing, cherished in its own raw vulnerability. The simplicity of it makes you feel seen, in a way that nothing else can. Like the world outside has quieted, leaving only the space between their hearts, where you are both held and adored, soft but strong.
You have always been wary of your own worth, but in that moment, when she speaks those two words, it feels as though the air around you is charged, thick with the warmth of unconditional acceptance. It’s a balm to the wounds you hide so carefully, a kind of softness that pierces through you, unraveling the pieces of yourself that were once too guarded. It’s not submission but a gentle surrender—one that she offers freely, knowing it is not demanded but given, as a gift, as a love so complete it makes her tremble.
As red lips and flat tongue trail down your folds, every inch of your skin ignites with sensation, a heat that spreads like wildfire. The feeling is intimate, consuming, every touch of this mouth marking you as hers. It’s not just physical; it’s a slow unraveling, a delicate surrender to the pleasure that only Melissa knows how to give.
There’s a rawness in it, an intensity that draws every part of her attention to the present moment, to the way she moves with such purpose, with such reverence. Every breath you take is sharp, caught somewhere between longing and release, as her warmth spreads over your most sensitive and delicate parts.
Your body arches instinctively, seeking more, chasing the heady mixture of tenderness and heat. The contrast between the green eyed woman’s pure softness and the firm press of her tongue causes your mind to scatter, every thought becoming a blur, except for the overwhelming sensation of being loved in this way. It’s not just physical pleasure, but something deeper—a melding of their souls, a raw and beautiful intimacy that goes beyond skin. The rhythm of her mouth is rhythmic, almost hypnotic, drawing her deeper into the abyss of pleasure and trust.
Your hands clutch the sheets, the cool fabric grounding you as every nerve in your body sings with want. The feeling of Melissa’s pink tongue, so deliberate and skilled, makes you pulse with a kind of desperate need, one that only this moment, only this connection can fill. This is where you belong—here, in those strong arms, in the softness of her touch and the strength of her love. The world outside of this room, outside of this bond, no longer exists. There is only this, only the deep trust you feel in the way she takes her time, in the way she listens to your body and answers with devotion.
As Melissa continues, each movement, each kiss on your most sensitive parts, feels like a prayer, a reverent act of worship, and you can’t help but surrender completely, allowing yourself to be consumed, to be adored in this way. Your heart races in tandem with the rhythm of their intimacy, the pressure building inside, a delicious tension that tightens in your chest and lower belly. The pleasure swells inside you, and with every stroke, every subtle shift of her mouth, you are definitely overwhelmed with the sensation of being both cherished and owned. Good girl is still in your ears, and it hums within you like a constant echo, reminding you of the love that laces every action, every touch.
Her tongue finds its destination with deliberate precision, the warm, wet pressure against your harden clit drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. It’s not gentle, not tentative—Schemmenti knows exactly what she’s doing, and the confidence in her movements sends a jolt of electricity through your body. Your thighs tremble, but the redhead’s manicured hands are there, firm and steady, gripping your hips and thighs to hold you in place, as if grounding you to this moment. Her grip is possessive, her nails pressing just enough to leave a hint of sensation that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure.
A sweet sound of Melissa’s needy moan vibrates against your pussy, and the sensation sends your head spinning, back arching off the mattress as a raw curse spills from you. “Fuck, baby. That tounge feels so good.”
The words come out breathless, broken, and you can barely recognize your own voice. The heat pooling in your belly intensifies as your possible girlfriend’s tongue moves in perfect rhythm, flicking and circling your clit, each motion calculated to pull you closer and closer to the edge.
The older woman doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter. Instead, she hums softly, almost smugly, against you, the vibrations shooting sparks of pleasure up your damn spine. Moans mix with the wet, sinful sounds of her mouth working tirelessly, and the combination is enough to drive you wild. Your palms clutch at the sheets again, twisting them as your body writhes, caught between trying to pull away from the intensity and pressing closer to ride Melissa’s sinful mouth.
“Goddamn, Lis, please—” your voice is ragged, laced with desperation, the words slipping out between sharp breaths. Your figure is alight, every nerve ending focused on the way Melissa’s tongue lavishes attention on your clit, alternating between firm, slow strokes and quick, teasing flicks. Hands tighten on your shaky thighs, pulling them even wider apart as if she needs more of you, all of you. The possessiveness in her grip, the raw hunger in her moans, sends shivers down your soul spine, teetering on the brink.
Her relentless tongue doesn’t falter for a second, but soon, you feel the unmistakable press of her fingers, teasing at your dripping entrance. It’s slow at first, deliberate, as though Melissa is savoring every moment of your unraveling. The sensation of her sucking and circling your pebble paired with the gentle, probing touch of her digits pulls a broken moan from your throat, her body convulsing as you gasp for air.
Green eyes look at you while she takes her time, sliding one finger in, curling it perfectly to find that spot that makes more curses spill out uncontrollably. “Fuck, Melissa, oh my—” 
Your tone is trembling, desperate, every word dragged out by the pleasure coursing through you. She grunts against your tight cunt in response, the vibrations sparking another jolt of electricity through your core. The thing is she knows exactly what she’s doing, knows how to pull you apart with maddening precision.
“Such a good girl for me,” Melissa murmurs against you, her tone husky and dripping with affection, even as she adds a second finger, stretching just enough to make you whine sharply. Her praise, her touch—it’s too much and not enough all at once, and your hips buck against her, seeking more, chasing the fire that’s building higher and higher inside you.
The redhead’s grip on your thighs tightens, keeping you steady as her fingers pump in and out in perfect rhythm, her mouth leaving your clit to lick and plug your entrance. The combination is dizzying, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, every flick sending you spiraling further into bliss. She moans again, the sound satisfying and deep, vibrating through you in a way that makes your whole vision blur.
“Babe,” you grab her auburn curls as tightly as you can. “I need to cum, please.”
You pant and break, words dissolving into a sharp cry as fingers curl just right, hitting that spot with an intensity that leaves you shaking. It feels like everything it’s on fire, every nerve alight with sexual tension, your mind lost in the sensation of Melissa Ann Catarina Schemmenti consuming you completely. The pure wet, obscene sounds of fingers moving inside you combined with the strong scent of sex filling the bedroom, soft hum of her tongue on your pussy it’s overwhelming, intoxicating.
Melissa looks up briefly, her olive eyes blazing with hunger, the sight alone enough to make you tremble. “C’mon, pretty girl,” she commands. “Let me feel you. Cum for me.”
This is the final push, and with one last nurse of her tongue, one perfect thrust of her fingers, you fall apart completely, your figure shuddering violently as the climax of the orgasm rips through you. Curses melt into incoherent cries and screams, your hips trembling as the forty-five year old holds you through it, her mouth and fingers working her through every wave of pleasure until you’re left trembling and begging for rest.
Minutes pass and she pulls away just long enough to hover over you, her breath heavy and ragged as her hands grip your hips, positioning you just right. She spreads your legs wide, guiding you into position so that your bodies can press together, your clits brushing softly at first, then harder, the friction sending a rush of heat through both of you. It’s new, unfamiliar—raw and intimate—and every touch, every shift makes it feel like the world is unraveling around you and her.
Your heart stops at the first contact, the electric spark between you making your stomach tighten. Melissa moans loud, her eyes fluttering closed as the sensation builds, as your pussies slide against each other in a maddening rhythm. The sound is guttural, needy, like a prayer escaping her lips. Her hands grip your thighs, her fingers digging in as if she’s trying to hold on to this moment, but nothing feels like it’s enough. Nothing is slow enough, soft enough.
“God, fuck, you feel so good,” the older woman gasps, shaky and raw, her tone breathless and frantic as she rolls her hips against yours, feeling your buds rub together in an agonizingly slow, steady motion. Olive eyes flutter open, locking with yours, and she watches your face, her mouth parted with each breathless whimper that escapes.
“Melly,” you try to speak but she interrupts quickly.
“You like this? Yeah, I know you do. So fuckin’ perfect,” Melissa groans, her pupils blow with desire. “Jesus, you’re making me lose my mind.”
Your own breath is ragged, your nails scratching her curves as both bodies grind together. The friction is intense, and yet the two of you seem to hold back, not letting the release come too soon. You are caught in the building pressure, each movement pushing further toward the edge without quite letting you fall.
“Ohh shit, yes, yes, yes!” your body shudders as you try to hold on, but Melissa doesn’t let you escape. She keeps pushing, keeps rolling her hips harder against yours— almost bouncing—every moment an invitation to something more.
She breaks, her moan deep and drawn out, almost a growl. “Don’t you dare cum yet, baby,” she whispers desperately. “I need to give you permission first.”
The redheaded woman forces herself to slow down, to keep the pressure building, her green eyes rolling back in her head as she tries to hold onto the feeling without giving in. The heat builds and builds, your bodies slick with sweat, and each brush against each other sends both of you spiraling closer to the orgasm without releasing.
“Please...” you beg while trembling with need, hips rising to meet each press of hers, desperate for more. The tension is unbearable, both of you are teetering on the brink, lost in the feeling of each other’s bodies so close, so intertwined.
Melissa can hardly breathe, her movements becoming frantic as she chases the same release that you do, but neither gives in. “Holy fuck, honey, I can’t—” she gasps, her voice a broken plea, as her hips grind harder, faster, chasing the feeling, losing herself in your warmth. “You are so sweet, so warm. So delicious.”
The sexual tension is obvious, like a coil tightening, but then, a small shift in the way you move catches her off guard—your hand slides down, palm flat, and then wraps around the curve of her pale ass, squeezing it firmly. The sudden touch sends a jolt of heat through the sicilian, a wave of arousal that makes her entire body tighten with want.
She whimpers, louder now, her lashes fluttering as the sensation of your hand on her ass forces her to slow down just for a moment, savoring the feeling of being held, of being claimed in such an intimate way after a long time. The pressure of your palm is possessive, urgent, and it stirs something deep within Melissa. She can feel your fingertips digging into the flesh of her ass, the way it moves in a slow, teasing circle, feeling the curve and muscle beneath her skin. It’s like a spark, igniting the very core of her desire.
Your grip on her ass tightens, squeezing again, pulling her closer, and Melissa’s breath catches in her throat. The touch is everything—dominant, possessive, and incredibly tender all at once—and it sends shivers down her spine. It makes her feel raw, vulnerable, as if this connection is something far more than just sex. It’s an unspoken claim, a promise, a shared understanding.
“For fuck’s sake. Keep touching me like that," the redhead gasps, her breath hitching as she moves against you. ”I need you, amore. I need you... so bad.”
The connection deepens with every touch, every movement. It’s like you’re both desperately holding on to each other, not wanting to break the spell, not yet ready to give in completely. The heat between you grows unbearable, as the beautiful Melissa Schemmenti continues to feel the steady pressure of your hand, the way you hold her, owns her in this moment. Every stroke, every grind, pulls you both closer and closer to the release you can’t hold off much longer.
And just like that a single word escapes from your deep throat, breathy and trembling, a word that sends an electric shock through her entire body. “Mommy.”
The title hits Melissa like a punch to the gut, a shock of raw desire shooting through her veins. She freezes for a second. She stops. She swears she can feel her heart skip a beat, her mind barely able to process how right it sounds coming from your lips.
The way you say it, soft but desperate, the word laced with something possessive and needy, ignites something deep inside of her. A wave of heat floods her body, her core tightening with an almost primal lust. Mommy—green eyes flash with something else, something raw and untamed as the word reverberates in her head, making her head spin. She’s been called Mommy before by other women and men, but never like this—not with such unrestrained need, such will. It’s as if you poured your entire soul into that single word, and it wraps around Melissa like a vice, pulling her deeper into this moment. Her breathing fails, her manicured hands trembling slightly before they grip you tighter, her hips grinding down harder as the sensation threatens to undo her completely.
The green eyed woman groans, before she’s leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, her mouth hot and demanding. The kiss is intense, filled with heat and Melissa can’t stop herself from pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as her fingers dig into your flushed skin.
“Fuck, don’t say that,” she growls against your mouth. “You’re gonna make me insane.” The plea come out between hungry kisses, her lips hot against yours, as she starts to kiss you more fiercely, more urgently. Each time your lips meet, she can feel the tension rising, her body on the edge of giving in completely. She bites down on your lower lip, tugging it gently, as her hands slide to your hips, guiding her into a rhythm that makes both shudder.
“Mommy, please fuck me,” you whine, seeking for more.
“Mommy....goddamn,” Melissa curses, the satisfaction in her voice unmistakable. She can’t control the way her body reacts to the word, the way it pulls her deeper into the moment, closer to the madness of this connection. It feels like a dangerous secret, a boundary crossed, and she can’t help but kiss you harder, more desperately.
Bodies move against each other, the friction making the world blur around you, your kisses messy and frantic as the two of you chase that dizzying height. Your hand grips auburn curls, tugging her closer, urging her to continue, and with every touch, every kiss, the Schemmenti woman feels herself unraveling more, her control slipping.
“You like that, don’t you?” she prompts between kisses. “You like calling me Mommy.”
“I-I do,” you agree as the intensity of the moment overwhelms you. The way Melissa is kissing you, everything about this feels urgent, almost desperate. It’s as though you are both clinging to something, unwilling to let go, pushing forward without hesitation.
The redheaded woman sees the nod, the silent agreement, and her body takes over, moving faster, harder, the rhythm building into something electric. She lets out a breathy moan, feeling your body press into hers, the friction becoming a steady wave of pleasure that floods through her. Each thrust, each roll of her hips, makes feel like her control is slipping, losing its grip as she pushes harder, her figure desperate for cumming.
“Holy fuck, this is the best thing I ever felt in all my life,” Melissa grunts.
She moves faster, her movements becoming more frantic, more intense. She feels your hands clutching at her back, pulling her closer, encouraging her to go deeper, to give you more. The pace quickens, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the air as her sharp nails dig in, guiding your movements as you become almost frantic in their need for each other.
“Say it again,” the older woman breathes, her words a desperate plea, her mouth hovering just over your ear. “Call me mommy again, and I’ll make you feel so good.”
“Mommy,” you smile softly and the word along with the grin has the power to send Melissa into a frenzy.
“That’s it,” she mutters. “Fuck, you’re mine. All mine.”
The speed escalates as the pressure mounts, Melissa’s movements become more urgent. Her breath hitches, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she feels herself on the edge, just a moment away from falling into the intensity of your shared climax.
Her face twists, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usually composed exterior. It’s a moment of rawness, of surrender, and it’s impossible for her to hide it. The muscles in her jaw tighten as she moans softly, her lips parting as she gasps for air. Her olive eyes, usually so full of control, now glimmer with something desperate, something wild. Her brows furrow in pleasure, her mouth opening as she chokes out a low, broken curse.
“Fuck,” she gasps barely more than a breath. “I’m going to cum. Please babygirl, make Mommy come.” The look on her face, that unmistakable sign of the climax building inside her, makes her pant harder. She presses her forehead against yours, lips barely brushing as she moves faster, harder, chasing the moment she knows is about to explode.
You see it—see the raw expression on her symmetrical face, the way her muscles strain, the way she’s losing herself in the intensity of their connection. It’s a moment of pure vulnerability, one that strips away any walls, any barriers. And it only drives you to meet her with equal fervor, pushing both to the edge, to the precipice of everything you have been building.
Melissa’s grip tightens, her breathing becoming ragged as she lets out a strangled cry. It’s clear now—she’s right there, on the edge, and everything inside her is unraveling in waves of heat. Her glistening lips part, her green eyes half-closed, and for a moment, she’s lost to the intensity of it, no longer able to hold back, no longer caring if she shows how close she is.
In that moment, it’s impossible to ignore the raw, unfiltered truth in her expression. She’s coming undone, and it’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.
As you and her reach the edge, the tension in the air snaps, and everything comes crashing down in waves. Melissa’s curvy body tenses as her breath catches in her throat, the rush of pleasure flooding through her. She gasps, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips as she finally gives in, her body shuddering uncontrollably on top of you. Her grip loosens slightly, her hand falling to the bed as she breathes out a string of curses, the overwhelming sensation of release pulling her further into the moment.
You follow close behind, the feeling of your souls and bodies connecting, sending you spiraling into your own climax. It’s like an explosion, a wave of warmth and satisfaction that fills you completely.
When it’s over, when the tremors slowly fade, Melissa pulls away, her body slumping back onto the bed. She rolls onto her back, her arm coming over her eyes to shield herself from the harsh light. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as the aftermath of everything lingers in her body. She feels exhausted, her muscles sore, but it’s a good kind of ache.
“Jesus Mary and Joseph…” the redhead giggles on a hushed rasp. She doesn’t even move at first, letting herself bask in the quiet aftermath, feeling the soft sheets beneath her. The world feels like it’s slowed down, like time has stopped for just a moment, and she can finally catch her breath.
Her arm remains across her eyes, a shield from the vulnerability she feels in the aftermath. It’s not shame, not exactly—just the rawness of the moment, of everything she just shared. She’s always been one to keep her composure, to stay in control, but now, in this quiet afterglow, she lets herself be a little exposed.
“Fuck..” she says again, quieter this time, as she tries to steady her breathing, still feeling the thrum of their connection coursing through her. “That was...” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Words feel unnecessary now, and instead, she just exhales deeply, her arm slowly lowering as she lets herself relax into the bed, her chest rising and falling slowly with each breath.
Slowly, you reach out, her fingers gentle as you brush it against Melissa’s arm, sliding it away from her face.
The forty-five year old doesn’t resist. She lets you uncover her, her arm falling limply to the side, revealing flushed cheeks and strands of auburn hair sticking to her damp forehead. Her skin glistens with sweat, and her lips are parted slightly, still swollen from the kisses. Olive eyes flutter open, hazy and dazed, and for a moment, she just stares back at you, her breathing still uneven.
You cup her face delicately, thumbs brushing over the soft, warm skin of her cheeks. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, flushed, and utterly spent—sends a wave of affection through you. Melissa Schemmenti, who’s always so composed and in control, now looks completely undone, her green eyes soft and filled with something unspoken
“You’re so beautiful,” you sigh quitely.
Red lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile. “You're staring,” though there’s no real protest behind the words. If anything, there’s a softness there, a quiet vulnerability she rarely shows.
“I can’t help it. You’re... breathtaking like this.”
The woman chuckles weakly, the sound more like a breathless exhale. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Her hand comes up to rest over yours, holding it gently against her cheek. She leans into the touch, letting herself relax completely for the first time, her walls completely down.
Hours later, the night casted shadows that danced on the walls. Melissa and you lay tangled together in the aftermath of everything, your bodies entwined in a warm cocoon of sheets and limbs. She was resting her head on your chest, her body draped over yours, her soft breaths creating a gentle rhythm as she pressed her lips to your skin in the quiet moments between kisses.
“You're my beautiful girl,” your lover whispered, the praise full of meaning, more intimate than anything she had said before. She lifted her head just enough to look into your eyes, her expression tender, her auburn hair tousled from the night. Her fingers brushed against your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw as if memorizing the feel of you.
“Yeah?” you prompted nervously but still gently.
“Actually…my girlfriend,” the redheaded woman added, her voice a little more tentative, but no less genuine.
A soft giggle bubbled up from your chest as you shifted, bringing her closer as you rolled onto your side, your arms wrapped around her waist. You kissed her again, slow and sweet, not rushed but languid, the kind of kiss that carried everything you couldn’t quite put into words.
The weight of the moment was heavy in the best way possible, and you found yourself smiling as your fingers tangled in her hair. “I love you.”
For a split second, the world seemed to stop. Melissa gulped, her eyes widening, searching yours as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked lost in thought, her gaze flickering between your eyes, her hands trembling where they rested on your body.
Then, without warning, tears welled up in her olive eyes, the dam breaking as she blinked rapidly. “Oh my god,” she breathed. She buried her face against your chest, her sobs quiet but intense, as though she were overwhelmed by the weight of your confession.
You held her tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she shook with the force of her emotions. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soothing, comforting, as she clung to you, her breath hitching with each sob.
“I—” Melissa gasped, her words caught in her throat as she lifted her head to look at you again, her face streaked with tears but glowing with something else—something radiant. “I love you, too. I love you so much, my beautiful angel.”
You smiled, the weight of everything—of the love, the joy, the uncertainty that had once been there—feeling lighter than air now. With her in your arms, everything finally made sense.
After a long deserved rest, the morning light of dawn crept into the bedroom, painting it in muted shades of gold and pink and casting a glow over the rumpled sheets and tangled limbs on the bed. Melissa stirred first, letting out a groan as her body reminded her of the intensity of the night before. Every muscle seemed to ache in the most delicious way, and she stretched out slowly, wincing slightly. Her hair was a wild mess, a lion’s mane of auburn curls sticking out in every direction, and her eyes were barely open as she sat up, scratching the back of her head.
She looked over at you, still fast asleep, your face serene and buried in the pillows. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she took in the sight of you—her beautiful girl, her girlfriend. The title still felt new and thrilling in her mind, making her chest tighten with warmth.
The redheaded woman swung her legs over the side of the bed, groaning softly again as she stood up, wrapping her silk robe around her sore body. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, craving the comfort of a cigarette and something sweet. Spotting a bowl of fresh strawberries on the counter, she plucked a few, popping one into her mouth as she slid the glass door open and stepped onto the villa’s terrace.
The cool air hit her freckled skin, waking her up slightly as she lit her cigarette with practiced ease. The first drag calmed her, and she exhaled a long stream of smoke, leaning against the railing. The view of the lake below was breathtaking, but her thoughts were far from the scenery.
She reached for her phone on the patio table, scrolling through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for. With a quick tap, the call began ringing, and soon, the familiar, warm voice of Pearl came through the line.
“Missy? What’re you doin’ calling me this early? Did somethin’ happen?” The housekeeper’s voice carried its usual mix of care and mild irritation, like a mother fussing over a grown child.
“Well,” Melissa began, her voice still raspy from sleep, “you won’t believe what happened last night.” She sounded like a teenager sharing a secret, the awe and excitement in her tone undeniable.
“Oh, this I gotta hear. Lemme guess—your girl finally made you stop actin’ like a fool?”
The youngest laughed, taking another drag of her cigarette before blowing the smoke out slowly. “Yeah. She’s my girl now, officially. God, Pearl, she’s... she’s somethin’ else.” Her free hand gestured vaguely, as if trying to articulate something too big for words. “We stayed up talkin’, kissin’, touchin’—you know. And I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”
A low hum of approval camethrough the phone. “About time, Mel. You’ve been floatin’ around, scared of commitment, for too long. This one’s different, huh?”
Melissa nodded, even though Pearl couldn’t see her. “Yeah. She’s different. She makes me feel... alive. Like I’ve been waitin’ for her my whole damn life.” She paused, her voice growing softer. “She called me her angel. Can you believe that? Me? An angel.”
“Well, you better treat her right, then. No runnin’, no hidin’. Just love her, Melissa.”
“I will,” the green eyed woman promised, popping another strawberry into her mouth and savoring the sweetness. “I’m all in, P. No more games.”
They chatted a little longer before Melissa ended the call, feeling lighter and more certain than ever. She flicked her cigarette into the ashtray, wiped her hands on her robe, and padded back inside, her bare feet making soft sounds against the tiled floor.
When she entered the bedroom, the sight of you still curled up in bed made her heart skip a beat. She slipped off her robe, letting it pool on the floor, and quietly locked the door behind her. The breeze was warm against her naked self as she slid back under the covers, her body naturally gravitating toward yours.
You stirred slightly, your face instinctively nuzzling against her stomach, hiding there like it was the safest place in the world. Your girlfriend chuckled softly, running her fingers through your hair as she sighed, feeling a wave of tenderness wash over her.
“You’re so precious to me, you know that?” she pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed sleepily, your arms wrapping around her waist as you pulled her closer, and Melissa couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with a love that felt almost too big for her chest.
This was home. This was everything.
159 notes · View notes
bunnyreaper · 1 year ago
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john price is nothing without his girl.
(18+/mdni, f!reader, daddy kink (but no ageplay), dom/sub, legal age gap)
john never realised just what being a daddy could mean until he met you. he'd hesitated so much about starting a relationship with someone so much younger, but your sparkling doe eyes, darling personality, and schoolgirl-like crush on him were too much to resist.
you were mature beyond your years, having adapted to a world that wasn't so kind, and you could easily hold your own in any part of life--but you didn't really want to, and you were sick of pretending. john didn't want you to, john could provide the solace you needed--a space for both of you to be your true selves.
he's always been a caring, kind, and protective lover, but you send all his instincts into overdrive--especially since you never resist them. despite everything you are, you blush when he opens doors for you, carries something heavy for you, always says 'ladies first'. every time he treats you like you're something delicate, you let yourself be cradled in his safe hands, and that feeling of being responsible for you in every way is just so fucking addictive to him. once he's had a taste of being your guiding light, he just can't let it go.
he's your big, strong protector too, always there to watch over you--an ever present hand on the back of your neck as you walk around town, or his sudden appearance if someone is making you uncomfortable. god fucking forbid anyone tries to come to close to you.
he easily picks you up and cradles you whenever you crave his cuddles, or he's carrying you to the bedroom to have his way with you. you've never felt as safe as you do in his arms, and he encourages your addiction to his touch--whether it's just his soothing strokes through your hair or the feeling of his cock making its home inside you.
everything he does is in service of you, just as everything you do honours him. he treasures the gift of your submission, and knows the way he earns such a privilege is by fulfilling your every need, as you always do the same for him. you compliment each other so naturally, he leads, you follow. he commands and you obey, because you know in your soul he only ever has your best interests at heart.
but at his core, he would do anything for you. this man is not afraid to fall to his knees to help you put on your shoes, would shield you from the rain if it meant keeping you dry, get his knuckles bloody and bruised if it meant keeping yours so delicate and clean.
it's strange how he can feel such an affinity to a name that isn't really his, and yet when daddy leaves your lips, it calls out to him like anything else. when he calls you his, you've never felt more like you belong.
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circeyoru · 10 months ago
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Collection of Overlords _ Part 4 = Requested
[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]
The (somewhat) Request (it's more of an ask of when this is gonna be out)
Part 1 — Part 1.5 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 (here) — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9  — Part 10 — Part 11 — Part 12 — Part 13
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The reunion and meeting of the century, or perhaps even longer, was on the way. With you seated at the head and your hand-picked souls to the side of the table. To your left starting with the closest was Zestial and Carmilla, to your right should be Alastor but he remained standing by your side behind you so not counting his empty seat, you have Rosie then Zeezi
Now, opposite to you, on the other side of the table were the three Vees, with Vox at the center and the other two, Velvette and Valentino, on either sides
With a soft hum, you decided to change the setting a bit. You snapped your fingers and the long rectangular table changed to a circular one, everyone seated in more sophisticated armchairs catered to their unique forms. There were equal spacing between each of them as well, allowing you to see them individually. The room altered thanks for your spatial ability, making it bigger than what it was
You told Carmilla that she could keep your little table and the chairs once everything was over since you changed things without her knowledge. She was move than happy to accept your gift
Another snap of your fingers and everyone’s preferred drink appeared in front of them and some snacks were placed around the table. You welcomed them to drink and eat to their hearts’ content since it has been a while you had been with them all
“Before we begin… I hope it’s expected that you keep the knowledge I shared during this meeting to yourself, and not attempt to use it to your advantage for future purposes.” You warned with a heavily aura around you. 
All your Overlords bowed their heads deeply as a sign of submission to your command and warning. 
“Now, I’d like to start the meeting with the latest event I’m sure you all are aware of.” You announced, a hologram of the former Hazbin Hotel building appeared at the center of the table, “There wasn’t any request or orders from me, so I believe some rewards are in order.”
While your Overlords nodded in agreement to your plans, you placed your elbows over the surface of the table, plopping your chin on top of your intertwined fingers. You gave them a moment to recall their actions before you revealed your awardees.
“Carmilla Carmine.” You named your first. 
“Yes!” Carmilla strengthened up even more as she put down her cup, folding her hands over her lap while her body was turned in your direction. “My Liege.”
“For your assistance in providing angelic weapons to the soldiers who bravely brought for the Princess’ cause without asking for compensation,” The hologram of the hotel shifted to the side to a territorial map of the Pride Ring, a particular land beside Carmilla’s current domain blinked, “You will be rewarded with an additional land. What do you want it to be for? Name it.”
Carmilla bowed her head as she requested, “If you’ll allow it…” At your silence and smile, she continued, “If I can have a research lab with a testing ground, and another storage unit.”
Your smile widened as your head tilted to the side, “Consider it done.”
Your knuckles knocked on the table. The hologram of that particular domain enlarged and two buildings formed on that land with streets and roads to connect it with Carmilla’s owning domains. Not even a second later, the building shook like an earthquake. Though on the outside, it was merely shaping into what the hologram projected
Things like these were not hard to do, at least, if they were you. You do things like these to reshape Hell into what the human population done in their advancement, that’s how the Pride Ring has been since human souls that are marked to go to Hell was the only Ring they are stay or go to. You do what you could to make the Ring more fitting for them
However, as none realized it was your doing, most would believe Hell’s landscape changes as natural as breathing. Something similar to the ‘mother nature’ concept. It’s enough to give you a good laugh, so you leave it be
Your souls were quick to realize the power they were dealing with. A being capable of shaping Hell without effort and mere thought, it was terrifying yet applaudable. Who would think they have such power? Not even Lucifer can do something of this level 
Just think. What if you were to fight for real with your powers? Right now, you have been behind the scenes lurking. You have your Overlords to reign over certain domains and groups of demons. But what if you were to go to war?
Those under you were aware that you were powerful, yet they can’t measure how much so. They aim to please you not merely for the possibility of being rewarded, but to maintain what freedom you’ve given them and your favour
While they don’t outspokenly discuss it, they are aware of their standing within your Elites
“Next, Rosie.” You turned to the other side.
“Yes, Darling Liege?” Rosie smiled back with a wave, enjoying her cup.
“You’re very brave and noble to allow your Cannibals to go to war against the angels without worrying over the lack of training, you’re not even aware that there’d be angelic weapons provided for them to fight with.” You retold to everyone else of Rosie’s feat, “Very commendable.”
Rosie chuckled, covering her mouth with a shy schoolgirl with their crush, “Aww, you’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t even join the battle!”
You nodded in understanding, “Yes, I’m aware, so in addition to your town expansion, I’ll be paying a visit to Cannibal Town in the near future.” Your smile widened as you spoke, “I’ll provide your people a feast, you can bring everyone around.”
Rosie gasped with joy, unable to hold it up, she got up and came over to hug you tight. “Oh! My Liege! That’s wonderful!” She let you go while ranting on and holding onto you, “Everyone will be so excited to see you again!”
You’ve been wanting to deal with your screaming, pleading, and whining insects for some time. You only require the insects’ soul, their bodies worth nothing to you. Yet the large variety would make for a good feast for the Cannibals that oh so loved to devour the flesh of the demons like a pack of wolves
Your knuckles once again knocked on the surface of the table, Rosie’s town expanded and new buildings were built in an instant, mirroring the hologram on the table. A wave of weaker shakes came to them, though it was because Rosie’s place was farther away
Like your relationship with Carmilla’s daughters, you formed special bonds with the citizens of Cannibal Town. Though you had a good laugh when you realized they first tried to eat you out of fear from your mere unannounced presence. They were immediately immobilized and nearly wiped off the map if not for Rosie’s quick interference
It was understandable for you, since at the time, they barely had enough land to live in and it wasn’t like they were particularly strong demons. Think of a colony of ants, they were only the workers and there were no other demons apart from Rosie that they rely on for their continued survival in Hell
So when you came along with that dangerous aura around you, they had to act. Even if they die trying, at least Rosie could lead the other cannibals away. They were such interesting demons that you came back to greet them again
The quickest way to a cannibal’s heart was food and you had more than enough. Adding to the fact that you gave them homes to live in and a town as their own territory, you were more than reverended by Rosie’s people
“Last.” Your head turned over to Alastor, everyone looked over in suit. “Alastor, My Bloody Doe.”
“My Liege.” Alastor stepped forward and kneeled down to your side, staying below your eye level so you weren’t looking up at him. “And Saviour.”
“Not only have you been helping the Princess with her passion project, but you also battled against Adam, the first man and the extermination’s leader, bravely. For that, let’s fix something precious of yours.” You opened your hand for him to place his broken microphone crane in. 
Alastor presented the two pieces to you and you took it near where it was cut in half. You pushed them together and sparks flew, in a blink of an eye, the crane was as good as new. The eye in the microphone opened and looked around. “Finally! I’m back!”
“Fixed and I added a bit of life to it.” You passed Alastor his reward, “You’ll find that it’ll be near impossible to break it now. Even if it’s broken, it will amend itself to be even stronger.”
Alastor bowed, his head even lower than before, “I’m undeserving of such a gift.”
“Yes, now sit down in your seat, would you?”
Everyone else watched in envy. It was no secret that Alastor was your favourite. They could tell by the title you allow him to address you by and the little nickname you have for him. They also understand why too
Alastor unknowingly cleared a number of weaker Overlords that refused to submit to you, not only removing them from your domain, but he also shared your interest in torturing those souls. Trapping them in his everlasting broadcast. He was the only one who kept the title the sinners gave him; The Radio Demon
While he didn’t start off with complete obedience and submission, his dedication and loyalty to you proved his worth later on. While others waited for your order in fear of appearing arrogant, he seized the opportunity to impress. It was after Alastor’s actions did the others became more active
Without a doubt, Alastor was the quickest you took a liking to. The quickest to gain an interest in and the quickest to raise up your favourability chart
When he disappeared for that long, as did your presence, the other Overlords wondered if there was something amiss. So they silently waited for Alastor to return to get in touch with you once more. As they waited, they got sloppy
A loud slam on the table made everyone turn their heads to the source. Vox, with a shaking fist, was standing up with a scowl on his screen, “Oh for f**k’s sake! He didn’t even win! He lost and retreated! He was a complete showoff and ignorant of his powers! He doesn’t deserve the Master’s praise and reward!”
Zeezi scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, “Like you’ve done f**k!”
Vox growled, turning to the giant Overlord, “You’re in the same boat!”
Zeezi smirked back, “Yeah, but unlike you f**k**, I’m fine with My Sovereign’s decision.” She gasped sarcastically, “Wait! You interrupted!”
“T wouldst doth thee both valorous if ‘t be true thee quiet down. (It would do you both good if you quiet down.)” Zestial warned the two before Vox could continue to embarrass himself.
Velvette got up as well, “You know when to talk when it suits you, don’t you, fossil?!”
Carmilla glared, “It was a word of advice!”
“Please! Like you’re any better.” Valentino taunted back with a grin, “You’re nothing without your little weapons.”
Rosie chuckled condescendingly, “Oh, dear, you’re one to talk. You can’t do much!”
Electricity sparked, Vox’s eye twitched, “You all shut the f**k up! You’re all ganging up on us just because you got numbers now!”
Velvette laughed along, “I bet you’re all a bunch of pussy cats! Can’t fight without guaranteed success.”
Valentino added, “I bet my soul I can take you all on and knock you down a few pegs.”
Crack!
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Note: And that's when Velvette knew... she [redacted] Hahahhahaha! This meeting is getting way too long I feel. But it's gonna end somewhere in the next part. Lucifer's gonna appear~ Any theories? Before that, how you think of this part???
Circe Y.
My Works: MASTERLIST
Taglist:
@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203 @hikari-michiko @colecreo @myromanempiree @xsamkuro @yourdoorisunlocked @clavelina @jono723 @cursedcattalastor @an-idyllic-novelist
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samodivaa · 10 months ago
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Winter Soldier x Nurse!Reader —Regular sex health checks are important Warnings - smut, dacryphilia, choking, breeding, precum play
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The cold stethoscope against his chest and you being so gentle. He is now possessed by a vast irrationality. You are so near that he feels his breathing change, but his training comes in a trite remark. “Any problems?” he whispers, unmoving from his seated position on the hospital bed. Soldat knows he would not enter further into your life, but that adds to rather than diminished his passion for you—this makes it difficult for him to distinguish between his programmed detachment and the new coldness in his soul. He is serving Hydra against his will with negations and emotional neglect—but with you, he wants to stand still forever in your office. All he knows is pain. All he feels is desperation—but getting hurt on missions means having to come here. “No, but your heart beats faster, because of the serum and that is so fascina-”
You ramble on, but then you lift your eyes, searching for his. You catch something facetious in them and you silence yourself. It is a dangerous need—he is careful, to the point of self-consciousness, waiting for you to make the first move. Your gaze makes his trousers bulge, pushing up his heart into his throat—you kiss him and he pulls you against him. Your breathing is eager and exciting—lips are faintly chapple, but soft in the corners. You love him. But he doesn't know how to love. All he gives is temporary bliss. It has never occurred to you that this desire is not love, it’s ownership, it’s your flesh. “Полегче” you say innocently. (take it easy) You look for love hiding in his eyes and you find nothing but coldness and darkness.
“К сожалению, не могу” he urges excitedly. (unfortunately, I can’t) Domination. Control. His need is so immense that you become surrounded by it—his metal hand grips perfectly around your throat as if it’s made for that, while receiving the gift of your full submission. He places precise pressure, as air flow slowly dissipates in the depths of your body. These are such sacred moments, the strength in his hand is accompanied by verbal orders to submit fully to both his will and needs. His hand becomes God in that moment, he can take life or grant mercy, he chooses to offer pleasure in exchange for control. “Hе двигайся” he warns with a scornful smile. (don’t move) You look at him speechless. The startling, incredibly supercilious tone of Soldat who needs to be the one submitting to you, is extraordinary in itself—it turns you on every time. Fate has played a cruel trick and turned you both into nothingness, but he is masterful at twisting the situation and working the rules to get what he wants from you. You are not in control of your own lives, someone else is pulling the strings—but he does the same to you. An electric thrill races through you, your lungs shuddering in your chest, you are trapped and want him to silence the warmth pooling between your legs. “I can kill you” he mumbles and grips your throat tighter, depriving you of any oxygen. “But I won’t” 
His flesh hand moving at the waist of his pants, pulling out his erect cock. Your feminine hands move to grab the choking hand as you start to lose your vision, silently warning him and Soldat loosens his grip—you take three deep breaths and he chokes you once again, mouth agape, but your airway is blocked, restricting any flow to the lungs. You are glowing right in front of him, so near—longing is calling, making it harder for him to control himself any longer. Sensuality begins here with short glances at your body and ends with the hunger for touch, hunger for total control over your body. “Poor little snegurochka” he says while the other hand strokes his cock, wetting it with his pre-cum. Your inability to breathe makes him vehemently intoxicated for more. He needs to test your limits. The smile on his face, the perfect teeth, contrasting with the damp hair and unshaven face increases your sense of panic as your vision is clouding once more. Tears in your eyes form without any change in your facial expression. It’s pure pleasure, pure pain and pure surrender to the moment. “Fuck” he says, barely audible as he drags his fingers across his tip, gathering more pre-cum before moving his fingers close to your face “Open your eyes” Your lashes flutter softly, to not squirm away from his touch, it always drives you crazy, and he knows it. Your chest is heaving—you have almost forgotten what breathing feels like when he loosens his grip around your throat. He gently rubs your lower lip, a sticky finger working its way inside of your mouth, pressing on your tongue, eliciting a gag before removing it completely. Holding you in place, he lowers his face to yours, smirking  “I love it when you cry”  he says before running the tip of his tongue along your face, tasting your tear that has just fallen  “It makes my dick hard” . He tilts his head back and lowers his lips to yours and they get bitten to the point of bleeding. Winter feels a metallic taste on his tongue as he pulls back to admire his work, licking his lips, smiling disgustingly. The sharp taste of blood only whetting his appetite.
“You want more, don’t you?” he mutters, his own voice cracking. And then, his hot mouth is breathing into your ear, his hand still holding your neck as his lips ghost over your earlobe, then the metal hand dips from your neck to your breast. “I want you on the bed, Doctor” A note of feeling and tenderness suddenly comes into his voice “I want you” he adds ironically in conclusion. A shiver shakes you when he gets up, you go backwards two steps before his fingers find their way on both sides of your hips, drawing soft circles as they travel up towards your waist. In a split second, he puts you on the bed as if you weigh nothing, his thumbs dig into your skin, and he peels your legs apart, inserting himself between them. He can't suppress the desire to intertwine his metal fingers through your hair, tugging your head back and kissing you, the light pain forces your mouth open and uses that to savor it with his tongue. His need for air finally rips his tongue out from yours, sticky strands of spit spilling between your mouths as you share collective gasps of breath.
Your eyes speak, while the tongue is mute, your chin is quivering and your eyes are still moist—love and lust tangle in a harsh and uninviting setting. No conceivable prospects. No happiness. But at this moment, it is just you and your Asset. Without realizing what you are doing and more on an impulse than anything else, you lean forward and kiss him. It is a simple, yet firm kiss and you pull back after only a moment. You expect Soldat to lean down for another. He doesn’t. His chuckle strokes your nerves in all the wrong ways. Your jaw snaps shut so tightly, that you are surprised you don’t crack a molar.
“So fucking needy” His voice sounds flat as if someone has struck a false note on the piano—his mind consists of black and white keys—and you have pressed the wrong one "I only intend to fuck” A gasp leaves your lips as he rips your uniform, which sets all the muscles of your face quivering—you can't force romance, you realize. It's there or it isn't. He hooks one leg around his hip while the other is pressed against your chest, bending over his left shoulder. His tip against your entrance, teasingly rubbing against you before he shoves his cock inside your cunt with a swift thrust, stretching you out so nicely, but it hurts—as his tip hits your cervix and makes you want to scream. You are a maelstrom of emotions. All you want to do is scream. But you can’t. You manage a high-pitched groan. He is a mess, your lips part as your eyes widen at the sounds he makes—Soldat is panting, labored breaths on your neck, his breath hitting you as he bites on your skin, teeth dragging against your neck, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. Something strange starts to rage inside him, hearing you inhale sharply as he continues to lick and bite your neck, leaving bruises deliberately and as he fucks you deeper, wanting to mark you in an entirely different way—he wants to breed you, his cock twitches inside you as he thinks about it. His eyes are deep, shaded with possessiveness. The most interesting and curious part is he rarely speaks with eyes, but he knows how much you love to be watched—his unblinking gaze has you hooked, your whole body tenses abruptly when he lifts his face from your neck, you moan, feeling the orgasm approaching. You can't take it anymore. It is too much, too fast, and the way he is looking down at you is just cruel. With a pathetic whimper you come all over his length, not for once breaking eye contact—it is addicting to know that he is watching you fall apart. This is bliss. His eyes always bring you over the edge at the right moment, leaving an imprint on your heart. 
Soldat is not going to last much longer, something about your eyes—about you being the one watching him now, his body lurches forward, his movements stagger, growing erratic and with a low groan—he pushes himself flush with a sense of finality, coming deep inside you with a residual rock of his hips, multiple pints of hot slimy cum shoot inside your body, riding out your over-stimulated hole with a full body shudder.
Almost painfully he takes his eyes from you. Nothing in this world is more difficult than the reality.
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plaguedwithlove · 4 months ago
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What Lies In The Water
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Yandere! Water deity x fem!reader
Warnings: third person point of view, self-sacrifice, non-con, willing reader(but not really), doing it on land
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The girl sheds herself of her garbs, the wind sends her slight chills down her spine yet she dips her foot in the water soon as she is bare, for the deity that curses these waters has no patience
Looking behind her one last time at her village, she lets out a small goodbye and walks slowly into the jaws of the angered spirit, an act of self sacrifice
Going deeper into the pond, her (h/c) hair flowing behind her like a veil, awaiting her fate
Then she feels it, the water current surrounds her like greedy hands, the currents course around her breasts, her thighs, areas that were most sensitive to the touch
The water slowly forms into hands, large and rough. Touching her as if examining her, sensual yet possessive. Her breath hitches when she feels what was akin to lips trail up from her back to her neck
"Mmm, what a fine compromise here, I am pleased with this gift from your people."
The girl keeps her head low, not bearing to look at the eyes she will see for the rest of her life, to the being that now possessed her body and her soul
"Let me look at you, sweeting." He whispers in her whisper as she gently grabs her chin to look at him
The gloomy grey eyes was the first thing she saw, she gasps and becomes overwhelmed at how beautiful he was
Such long platinum blonde wavy hair he had, and a regal nose to emphasize how elegant his face was. A gentle face for a cruel soul
"By the heavens above, such a pretty little thing you are. I am surprised your village let such a beautiful flower get plucked." The way his hands explore the girl's body was in contrast to how he looked at her, almost like a lover would
He did love her though
Love her like a nobleman loves his most prized possessions
Love her like a princess loves her jewelry
Love her like a King loves his power
"Tell me your name, o beloved."
She had willingly gave away her body to this deity, she was hesitant to give away her final keeping, her name. What more could he take from her before she is left with nothing? She'd rather him to call her a nickname for the rest of time if it meant he'll never know her true name
"Come now, we have all night but I truly wish do not desire to prolong our process of union."
Despite, how vague he was, she completely understood what would happen tonight, he was a man still after all. He would take her purity and ravish her until she is no more
Her name escapes her lips with a slight choke, she had nothing to lose anymore
The deity smiles fondly, content with her submission
"(Name), consort to Glyndwr for all of eternity."
Then, he leads her near the shore to her surprise, she had expected him to sink her down in the deep with him
Once reaching where the water meets the dry land, Glyndwr gently pushes her on the ground
"Relish in our consummation as this will be the last time you will ever be on land, my water lily."
Her eyes widen in horror and dread, though she still lies down, completely at the mercy of her now husband, the hellstorm of emotions happening inside her in stark difference to her compliance
She remains down where the water still touches her, yet not enough to where she would be engulfed
Glyndwr's body was in full view, pale and large. Not much muscles, yet a strong physique, he gets on his knees wrapping her legs around his waist, his cock ready to penetrate her. He caresses her thighs before reaching her plump ass. Squeezing gently at the cheek
"May the skies witness the ceremony of our love."
His hips lean back before slowly pushing forward inside her, he sighs in pleasure, she cries in pain
Once fully inside her, he lets out a groan biting at his bottom lips to prevent himself from screaming from the overblowing ecstasy
His bride beneath him shakes in discomfort, eyes becoming shiny from the tears
'It will all become bliss in no time, patience."
His hips move back and forth in a steady pace, the rhythm of his body causes the water around them to splash and ripple disorderly
If the sound of their skin crashing wasn't enough proof to her ears of forced sex, then the pain in her abdomen would be
Promised pleasure never came, only anguish and silent moans of hurting
What only came was the seed of Glyndwr coursing inside her body
"That should take, but it doesn't matter if it does not now, for we shall continue this in the depths of our home."
Picking up his motionless bride, Glyndwr sets her in his arms, slowly walking into the abyss, never again would she see the sun shine
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sashi-ya · 27 days ago
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𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ٠࣪⭑ kuchiki byakuya x mistress! reader - nsfw scenario
🍒 tw: mdni - nsfw content. oral . submission. vag. cheating. unprotected. 🍒 a/n: this is a little nsfw scenario based on a bigger, multichap fic that's coming very very soon. Reader is the Kuchiki family nanny, if you haven't read the manga you won't understand who Ichika is, but reader is that little girl's nanny. This story takes place after TYBW, so, Byakuya is not cheating on Hisana... but, who is cheating on then? well, you might want to read the coming fic to know! 🍒 a/n 2: this is a very self indulgent scenario, just to rest my brain from all the chaos now that I have graduated. please enjoy!
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Mature, he has become more mature. You can tell; everybody can tell as well.  Heart as important as mind, tears have been shed, smiles that appear more often… Kuchiki Taichou has become a true man. 
However, this man is not only your boss, he is your lover… and you, darling, are this man’s mistress. 
And this man, whose hand guides you to stand up from the chair and kneel in front of him, is about to let you know how good maturing can feel… 
“Kneel down” he commands, with the soft motion of his arm, in the same delicate way he conducts Senbonzakura against the enemy.
You obey, the cold floor beneath your knees becomes irrelevant as a heat grows from your core and filters through every tissue of your body. 
His index runs from your top lip to your bottom, pressing ever so slightly to separate them. The tip of your tongue tastes the tip of his finger, the more it slides inside your mouth. Slowly, pushing in, while the rest of his hands grips your mandible. 
Eyes fixed on his majestic image, absolutely spellbound, body completely given to him… soul gifted, granted. You want to taste him; you want to get drunk with the honeys of his sex. 
“It’s been a long day, I’m tired…” he whispers, in the most serious way possible. His free hand caresses your head, brushing your hair back with loving soft touch. 
You shiver; the simple touch of this man can cause this in you. 
With no words to be said, as his finger slides even deeper inside your mouth, pushing down your  tongue, perhaps even making some room for yours to receive his sex inside, your eyes shine as you wait for his clothes to finally slide down and off his body. 
Ah, the pale skin you adore; the V shaped abs, pointing down his sin, the protruding hip bones… impossible for you to stop yourself, your hands reaching his warm flesh. One palm on the hip, the other going up his belly. 
“Have you been waiting for me, (Name)? I am just only able to free myself for now” he asks, sticking his index off your mouth. You suck it as he does, covering it all in your wet saliva. 
You nod; puppy eyes looking up, pupils showing desperate desire. 
“I want to please you, Kuchiki-sama” you purr, pressing your cheek on his thigh. “Please, allow me to please you… then, you can go back” 
Byakuya scoffs with sweet intent, you are such a soft creature made of pure adoration… how lucky he feels to have you, even though he shouldn't even touch you...  
“There is no need for me to allow it, go ahead sweet one” he whispers, running his long fingers through your hair, pulling you towards him, letting your hands slide the hakama off to discover his sex. 
Unpolluted, hard, perfect… erection waiting to be devoured, touched, pleased. 
Byakuya lets you do, with your hand delicately surrounding his shaft and your lips kissing the wet tip. A few pecks, and some licking, making it yours like a sweet lolly. 
The Shinigami takes a deep breath, throwing his head back. The sharpness of his mandible, the tensing muscles on his neck and the sweet silent whimpering makes you go a little harder; engulfing the whole length, making the tip hit the back of your throat. 
Byakuya’s abs tense and spasm, and in reaction for such pleasure he pushes your head against himself. It makes you gag a little, a sensation over his sex that fans the flames of perversion even higher. 
You bob your head, sucking faster; delicacy has been left aside for some time. Byakuya needs more, and you are happy to give it all for him. 
Now the sounds coming from his mouth are audible, loud. Panting added, falling into the trap of concupiscence and depravity. You are running out of air, you can’t reach for it, your mouth is too occupied surrounding his dick to grasp for a little oxygen. 
You can feel it on your tongue, on your cheeks, the way his length throbs and turns more and more swollen. Its warmth increases, climax is closer.
“Stick your tongue out” he commands, getting his sex out of your mouth. 
You nod, panting. Eyes, a little watery because of the gagging, fix on his night sky ones. You obey, your tongue rests on your lower lip, waiting for his seed, eagerly. 
He takes a few pumps to his sex but stops. His hand grazes your cheek, sweetly, lovingly. 
“You know what? I think your face is way too precious to ruin it with such low act… please, standup” he whispers, grabbing your hand to help you lift from the ground. 
You gasp; Byakuya has definitely become a gentleman… 
He walks backwards, pulling you from your hand towards him. Flopping on the chair behind him, you are dragged to sit on him. 
Your legs hang from the sides, as you face him. Your hips straddled on his lap, his sex impaling your entrance with the same mercy he holds against enemies… none. 
Arms surrounding your waist, hands pushing the small of your back against himself, your lips crashing against his… oh, the intimacy, the need, the desire. 
Your hips move back and forth; his hands help you bounce. 
Byakuya closes his eyes, shutting them with strength, as he focuses on keep going. There is only much he can do to last longer, as climax was around the corner. You didn’t mind, though. You were happy receiving his seed in your mouth, and now, you are happier to do it inside…
He grabs your wrists, making your arms be thrown back over your head. The captain pins them against the in between of your shoulder blades, making your chest pop, with breasts bouncing closer to his face. After all, Byakuya is just a man, he simply loves to watch that hypnotic carom of your pair. 
“You are clenching to me, are you coming?” he asks, almost in pain, trying to wait for your orgasm to arrive. 
“Y-yes, Kuchiki-sama… ngh ~” you whine, humping faster, clenching harder. Your walls can’t stop spasming, can’t stop milking the man underneath you. 
Byakuya lets your arms go, just for you to let them fall on his shoulder. Your nails carve into his flesh, for once it’s ok to leave marks on his back. 
Skin to skin, belly against belly, shivering, trembling. Teeth hitting against the other’s with sloppy kisses and erratic tongues. Eyes closed, only feeling, only listening… 
“Come for me…” “Fill me up, Kuchiki-sama… i'm here to please you, here to love you~” 
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