#happy birthday to me time to brainrot all day

[breadbrobin]

call it what you want

luke castellan x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of aphrodite reader]

summary: he fell first, you fell harder, and all at once.

warning: tooth-rotting fluff. literally i think that’s it it’s just sickeningly cute

word count: 2.1k

(the luke brainrot is so real i wrote this at like 4am last night plsss)

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luke castellan thought you could have hung the stars in the sky. he wouldn’t know any different, nor would he care to find out. in his mind, you were perfect. the most perfect, in fact.

there was one person that no one could hate at camp, and that was you. a friend to all who’d have you, a sister to those who needed you, and whatever you were to luke.

not even you understood the nature of your relationship with him.

years of friendship slowly became changed, twisted, slightly more than you’d bargained for. it was a happy change. realising you were in love with luke castellan was an ever-continuous process—a little one day, a little more another. but for luke… gods, realising he was in love with you came as easy as breathing. every smile on your lips, every laugh, every surreptitious look across rooms set his heart aflame. fluttering, dancing, swirling.

it wasn’t like you didn’t love him. you did. you surely did. but time hadn’t been kind to your heart and children of aphrodite have never been truly lucky in love. helping others achieve their loves was more common. more often than not, you and your siblings were happy with just that.

“anyone you got your eye on?” you asked one day as you sat with luke on the dock. your bare feet dangled into the water, toes just touching the cool surface.

“maybe. maybe not. when are you leaving?” he avoided the question, gazing out at the water and squinting in the glare of the sun.

“two weeks. i’m staying for my birthday this year.” you looked over at him. “you can tell me who it is, you know? i won’t laugh, i promise.”

he shot you an exasperated look. “what makes you think there is someone, princess?”

you lean over and nudge his arm teasingly, missing the blush on his face. “you’ve been distracted lately. quiet. you smile more though, and i’ve seen you blushing. who is it?”

“maybe i’m sick. what if i’m dying, y/n? then what? you’re assuming i’m in love when i’m actually dying?”

you raised your hands mockingly. “hey, you’re the one who mentioned love, pal. not me. ask yourself about that one.”

he rolled his eyes and elbowed you gently with a soft smile. his smiles were always soft, you realised. gentle and kind—two words you’d use to describe luke castellan any chance you got. you looked at him in the sunlight. and pretty, you thought. gentle, kind and pretty.

late nights were always for thinking.

you’d had trouble sleeping since you were a kid. not just the typical demigod issues with nightmares, but difficulty falling asleep in the first place. when those times struck, and the late hours before midnight slipped by, your thoughts wandered.

as always, your thoughts circled a few items; your family, your friends, then, always, luke.

he was separate to your friends, always had been. you didn’t really know why.

gentle, kind and pretty, you recalled. it had been a few days since the lake and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about who he was in love with. was there some person out there at camp who held his heart, truly and deeply? why did your chest ache? were you having a heart attack?

you pressed your fingers to your pulse point in concern, then pulled them away after a few seconds. you were fine. why did you feel like that?

no one ever said children of aphrodite weren’t oblivious to their own feelings.

time ticked by into the small hours of the morning, and still you couldn’t find sleep.

you rolled out of bed and stepped into your slippers, pulling a fluffy robe around your body and stepping out into the warm night. the air was still and calm, a juxtaposition to your whirling mind as you crossed the camp, stepping down paths and stepping over tree roots in a manner you’d memorised from countless treks on similar nights.

the hermes cabin was always warmer than your own, but tonight the heat was almost stifling. you could feel the heat heavy in the air as you breathed, and sweat beaded on your lip as you crossed the cabin silently to luke’s bed.

he was sleeping half sitting up, a colouring book and set of pencils splayed out on his lap. it was one you’d bought him for his birthday years ago. you had no idea he even used it.

quietly, you packed away the pencils and put them and the book on the side table. as you did, luke’s eyes cracked open. he frowned.

“y/n? are you okay?” he rubbed his eyes, sitting up straight and stretching his neck.

“can’t sleep,” you whispered.

he nodded and pushed his sheets off. he pulled a sweatshirt on and led you out of the cabin.

this was normal for you both. if one couldn’t sleep, you’d find the other and keep each other company until you felt you could rest. it was always nice knowing someone was there to talk to, or even just sit with. there was never resentment, never irritation from the other person. you would always come find each other. finding each other was like second nature to the two of you. you swore you could find luke in any situation, with your eyes closed, all your senses blotted out, by instinct and connection alone. you could find luke castellan without even a second thought.

you sat on the porch of the cabin with your legs hanging over the edge. luke’s legs were crossed.

“what are we doing for your birthday?” he asked finally.

you shrugged. “nothing, probably. maybe i’ll get some cake. i don’t know.”

“you didn’t do anything last year,” he protested. “you need to this year. it’s the big 18.”

“we didn’t do much for your eighteenth.”

he shrugged. “we did more than nothing, though, pretty girl. come on, we have to do something.”

you shook your head. “you wanna do something, you can plan it, pretty boy. i don’t mind.”

he sighed dramatically, leaning back and lying down on the rough wood. “fine. i will.”

you laughed quietly and lay back next to him, staring up at the wooden overhang above you.

you could feel his body heat against your arm as it lay between you. he was like a furnace, honestly, always radiating heat. it was nice in winter, but oftentimes stifling in summer. this was not one of those times. instead, you revelled in the closeness between you and almost—selfishly, confusingly—wished you were closer. maybe even close enough to touch.

your birthday was a quiet affair. your siblings wished you happy birthday and gave you a handful of small gifts, mostly beauty products and clothes that would fit you perfectly, even a cute bikini you put on under your clothes, and then you all went on with your day.

it was nice, honestly, getting well wishes but little attention. you needed no celebration or pizzazz, just friends, smiles and the occasional hug.

arms wrapped around your waist from behind. you yelped in shock and turned around, finding yourself face to face with luke. he had a bright smile on his face and a smudge of glitter on his cheek.

you reached up and ran your finger over it, trying gently to remove some to no avail. “you have glitter.”

“i have glitter everywhere. i guess that’s what you get for asking one of my siblings for wrapped paper.” he removed his arms from your waist to reveal a poorly wrapped gift in purple glittery paper.

you laughed, taking it. “i’m surprised you haven’t got more of it on you.”

“oh, believe me, princess, i do.” he cringed, stepping back slightly. “happy birthday.”

you smiled up at him and opened the present, ignoring the glitter sticking to your hands and the warmth in your chest and cheeks.

he thought you looked like the sun had come down to earth.

it was a colouring book and a set of pencils. you smiled widely and flipped through the pages, revealing beautiful art. “you remembered i wanted one?”

“yeah, mostly because you kept stealing mine to colour in,” he teased. “but of course i did.”

you reached out and hugged him. “thank you, luke!”

“come on,” he pulled back and took your hand. “present isn’t done yet.”

“what have you planned?” you groaned half-heartedly as he pulled you through camp, jogging slightly to keep up with his long strides.

“don’t sound so scared, princess, it’s a good thing. i promise.”

you just sighed with a smile and let him lead you to the dock.

there was a small basket at the end of it.

you gasped excitedly. “luke, you…”

“happy birthday, y/n.” he sat down and pulled you gently down to sit next to him. he opened the the picnic basket and handed you a sandwich and a mini juice box with a bashful grin. “i would’ve sprung for coke but mr d. has a monopoly on the stuff around here.”

you laughed slightly and began eating, sitting cross-legged and looking out at the lake. the sun beat down on your back and your entire body felt warm. you suddenly weren’t sure how much of that warmth was from the sun, and how much of it was from love.

love.

whoa.

you froze with your juice box halfway to your lips.

luke looked over at you. “you okay?”

you nodded slowly, eyes wide, and set down your juice and sandwich. “i wanna swim.”

he frowned. “okay? now?”

you nodded and stood up. you were wearing your new bikini anyway, so you just pulled your shirt over your head and dropped your shorts next to it. “you coming?”

his eyes were slightly wide, but he nodded and stood up, setting his food down too and removing his over clothes.

you sat down on the dock and slid into the water. it was cold, but more refreshing than shocking. you swam out a few paces as luke jumped in directly, the splash hitting you.

“luke!” you gasped as he surfaced.

he just laughed. “sorry, princess. you’re in the water anyway.”

you pouted at him, but couldn’t stay mad, instead, you watched him as he floated a few feet from you.

he looked confused. “are you okay? was it the sandwich?”

you shook your head. “the sandwich was fine. i’m just…” you pursed your lips and swam slightly closer. “was it me?”

he frowned even deeper. “was what you?”

“when i asked you the other day, you said you were in love with someone. was it me?”

you felt a little bad for putting him on the spot as he looked away, abashed, but when he looked back at you, eyes strong and jaw set, and said, “yes,” you didn’t regret a thing.

“why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“why not?” he shrugged. “why does the sun shine? why does the wind blow? just because that’s the way things are. and i guess… yeah, me being in love with you is the way it is.”

you were silent for a moment, a small smile on your face. “well, that’s good then. i’m not sure how long this has actually been a thing, luke castellan, but i guess that me being in love with you is also… just the way it is.”

he swam slightly closer, a smile breaking across his face. gentle, kind, pretty. “yeah?”

“yeah, pretty boy. now kiss me. it’s my birthday, after all.”

“yes ma’am,” he grinned. one of his hands slid around your waist, warm as ever in the cold water, and he pulled you closer to him. he savoured the moment for a beat, just studying your face, memorising the look in your eyes, the sun on your skin and the soft smile on your lips. then he pressed his lips to yours.

you finally understood what people meant when they said ‘fireworks’. they were right. kissing luke was like playing with fire or dancing in the rain, or watching christmas lights twinkle. it was exhilarating, sweet and safe all at the same time; pure and honest love. and he was one damn good kisser.

when he pulled away you were out of breath, treading water still. you swam backwards, pulling him with you by the hand on the back of his neck until you were in the cool shade of the dock, using it to keep you afloat. it was much colder under there, but at least now you had him to keep you warm.

[thoughts-of-bear]

The birthday gift

A Halsin x reader fanfiction | Explicit, 18+ | 7k words A/N: Okay since the Halsin brainrot has had its hold on me for ages, I started this fic on my birthday in december, not expecting to ever finish it because I have literally never finished anything I've started writing before- until now. I got inspired to write this by this post (for the birthday part, the smut part is my own horny imagination) and well, this is the final product. Since it's my first time publishing any of my writing and writing smut at all, please be kind with me XD Summary: Your companions prepare a surprise birthday party for you, Halsin sees you in your new dress, you two dancing leads to him confessing his feelings for you and a very happy ending... CW: halsin x f!reader, virgin reader, halsin eating pussy, fingering, p in v sex, breeding, rough sex i guess, halsin being the man he is, all that stuff idk what to write here really

I hope you enjoy it, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

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You and your companions had finally reached Baldur’s Gate. It’s still morning when you enter Rivington that day and the streets are busy with all kinds of people, many seemingly refugees from Elturel and farther away, here to find shelter in the city. As you continue down the road to the village in front of the city gates, you are stopped by a little red-headed girl.

“Erm. ‘Scuse me, I can’t find my mum.” She looks worn out and as if she has recently been crying.

“Where did you last see her?” you ask as you bend down to her, smiling to show you want to help.

“She went to go get some herbs - for her spots” she gestures towards her face. “She was sick. And she was supposed to come back the same day.” She pauses before adding, “That was last tenday though.”

“Let’s go find a guard. They’ll be able to help you”, you propose.

The girl shakes her head. “Guards blow like petards. They don’t help us.”

Your heart sinks at these words. It seems all these people were here because the city wouldn’t take them in. And the guards are no help either, apparently. You wonder what happened to your city, where once everyone was welcome.

Halsin sighs and shakes his head in disapproval. “This city is a poor place to be in need of help. Even the guards can’t be trusted to protect the most vulnerable.”

You silently agree and think of how you could help that girl. You decide to spare a few coins, so she can buy herself some food.

“I don’t know where your mum is, but here - take a few coins”, you offer her, not able to tell her that her mother is most likely dead. Halsin smiles at you warmly as you shoot him a quick glance, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh - erm. Thank you so much! I don’t have anything and you can’t do anything without any coin”, the little girl exclaims, bobbing on her toes and suddenly looking a little less tired. “I’ll pay you back. When I find my mum.” She turns around and bolts. “No need, it’s a gift!” you call after her but she has already vanished in the crowd.

You finally arrive at Wyrm’s Rock Crossing in the evening, after you had snuck past one of the new city guards - the so-called Steel Watch - and promised to investigate the murder of the local Ilmater priest. Another incident that seems to fuel the hate towards the refugees.

And that isn’t even all. The city is closed, even for you as a Baldurian, and to get in you’d need an Admission Pass - or wings. You sigh. You just want to get into the city, rent a room in the Elfsong and think about what to do next, now that the Absolute’s army must soon be upon the city.

It’s all too much and too little time. And you can’t just turn away from the people you met in Rivington either, they need help just as much as you need to find out how to beat the Absolute’s Chosen and get rid of the tadpoles.

When you make your way around camp that evening, checking up on your companions, Halsin notices your exhaustion, the way you slump your shoulders and how your usually impeccable stance falters. He wants to relieve you of at least a bit of the tension, so when you walk over to him, he offers you a massage. The things he wants to say to you can wait until tomorrow.

“Thank you, Halsin”, you accept, his hands turning you around and gently pushing you down to sit on your knees before him. You sigh as his broad hands knead the tension from your back and by the time he is finished, you feel like a sleepy, boneless lump of flesh, muscles completely relaxed. You thank Halsin again before you retire to your bedroll, the hopeful thought that the offer might’ve been more than Halsin’s usual kindness crossing your mind before you drift off to sleep.

The next evening, you were finally inside the city walls. You consider the new information of the day. How you got your hands on an invitation to the celebration at Wyrm’s rock fortress, your disbelief to see that it was Lord Gortash’s coronation as Arch Duke, how he made the tadpoled Duke Ravengard give up his power and how Bane’s Chosen then proposed an alliance against Orin, the shapeshifter that had already approached you in Rivington. You had agreed to kill her, but you definitely wouldn’t leave Gortash his Netherstone. But that is a problem for another day. You had managed to get a room in the Elfsong Tavern and as usual you make your way through it to hear what your companions think of all that had happened today. Most approve of your decision. Halsin is the last person you speak to and as always, he has just the right words to ease your worries. For now, at least.

“Wait-”, he grabs your arm before you can leave. “I didn’t thank you yet.” His large hand is warm and makes your skin tingle where it touches you.

“Thank me? For what?” He chuckles at your puzzled look. “For all that you did in Rivington yesterday. You have so many worries and yet you still go out of your way to help those in need. The way you made that little girl smile, or how you didn’t hesitate to investigate what happened to that Ilmater priest.” A blush creeps up your cheeks as he continues. “I’m afraid Nature’s balance can never be restored in a city like this, but seeing what you do every day without expecting anything in return gives me hope. And for that I thank you.” You smile up at him, lost for words with your heart beating fast.

“I appreciate you saying this. I wish I could to more, to help everyone, but if I can at least do a little good, it’s worth the exhaustion at the end of the day”, you eventually admit with a smile. Halsin grins. “You’re too modest. I wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are.” Your cheeks blush an even deeper red at those words and only when you retire to bed for the evening does your heart resume its normal pace again. But the warm feeling Halsin’s presence gave you remained for the night.

After you had the first proper breakfast since your crash with the Nautiloid, you feel ready to explore the city and find out how to best deal with all your problems. You hadn’t particularly missed the bustle and noise of your old home, but you can’t help feeling safer now that you were in familiar surroundings again.

Gale proposed to go to Sorcerous Sundries, both to find out more about the Elderbrain’s crown and to see what the wizard there wants with your companion Nightsong. Since you don’t have an idea where to find Orin yet, you figure that this is as good as any other thing you could be doing. 

The way from Elfsong to the magic shop isn’t far and you still have some time before it opens, so you decide to stop by the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette to update yourself on any news you had missed in your absence and struggle with the Absolute.

Scanning the title page, you notice the date in the corner and your brows shoot up in surprise. Noticing this, Gale asks if you found anything important in the newspaper.

“No, it’s just that I realised today is my birthday and I've completely forgotten about it. That means we have been on the road for more than two months already”, you wonder aloud before you add, “It doesn’t feel that long.”

“Well, then we have to celebrate of course!” Gale exclaims happily. You smile at his enthusiasm but shake your head. “We have bigger problems for now. Let’s see what this Lorroakan wants with Dame Aylin and then get on with our business. Besides,” you shrug, “we didn’t celebrate birthdays in my monastery anyways so I won’t miss anything.”

“If you say so,” Gale replies and you turn your attention back towards the page you were studying before.

You had already forgotten about the conversation as you come into your chamber in the Elfsong, grateful for the few minutes alone during the bath you had taken and the respite for your tired body.

But the moment you enter the room, Karlach and Shadowheart drag you to a set dinner table, laden with the most delicious food you could imagine. There aren’t your ordinary fish heads and the mouldy bread you usually have to call supper, instead delicious smelling pork roasts, pies, glazed carrots and potatoes, deep red apples and more pile atop the table, all lovingly placed around a huge flower bouquet in the middle of it.

You are so overwhelmed by the amount of work your friends must’ve put into this, that you can only stutter a ‘thank you’ before Karlach announces, “Happy birthday soldier! Halsin, Gale and Shadowheart here told us that today is your birthday and you never had a proper party before, so we decided to prepare you a little something!” With a grin she gestures from the table to one of the unoccupied beds, where a few packages are placed.

“You brought me presents too? You really didn’t have to!” you exclaim in surprise. You are so touched that your friends -among all the trouble- still found time to prepare the presents and this party for you that you feel tears well up in your eyes.

“Darling, no need to cry,” Astarion laughs as he pushes you onto your designated chair. “This is a party and not a funeral! Go ahead and enjoy yourself, it’s your special day after all!”

With a sniff and a small chuckle at Astarion’s words you sit down properly. He is right, of course, and you all clearly enjoy having a small break from the worries you faced at the moment.

Smiling hesitantly, you grab some meat and vegetables and start to eat - it really is delicious. You revel in the laughter and conversations with your friends, your weariness from todays fight forgotten for the moment.

When all of you can’t possibly eat any more, Karlach drags you over to the bed with the presents. You can tell she is excited to see if you like the few things your companions managed to get you in the time they had for preparing, so you start unpacking.

The first present contains a book on the monastery you were raised in, with a handwritten note from Gale:

“I’m sure you already know most information this book has to offer, but I thought it might still bring you comfort and remind you of home.” You thank him with a tight hug and carefully place the book into your bag.

The next package is a bottle of the finest liquor of the Elfsong Tavern, plus a sparkler for every one of your companions which Karlach sets of immediately.

Laughing at her shenanigans, you reach for the last and biggest present. It is wrapped in red paper and decorated with a little white bow. You wonder where your companions had managed to find all those things while you carefully pull the paper open. Soon a dress falls out of the packaging and you gaze at it in awe. Your fingers trace the deep forest green fabric, intricate silver and gold patterns weaved into it.

“This is beautiful, thank you, truly!” you say earnestly. You still can’t quite believe that all this should be for you. “I thought you would like it”, smiles Shadowheart. “And I’m certain it will suit you beautifully. Go now - try it on!” she urges you.

You walk to the bathroom which still smells of the quince-scented soap you had used for your bath a few hours before. While changing, you bask in that warm feeling in your chest these moments among your friends always grant you. Whatever problems you had encountered, in your opinion they have all been worth it just for the people you found and let into your heart along the way. As cheesy as that sounds.

You regard yourself in the mirror. The dress is cut low and close-fitting, capturing your cleavage in a very flattering way. Maybe too flattering, if you think about it too much. This isn’t something you’d usually wear, but you have to admit that you like the way the dress looks on you. A bit insecure you go back into your room, where you are greeted with approving cheers and whistles from your friends.

“You look absolutely stunning”, Shadowheart admires. “I knew it would look good on you! Turn around please”, she commands. You do what you are told, with red cheeks at the compliment.

When you face Shadowheart again, you notice Halsin gazing at you with pure admiration - and something else you can’t quite place. You think you notice a golden shimmer in his eyes, but that could be a trick of the light considering all the candles in the room.

“I must admit, your neck looks very tempting in that dress but I know someone who is a lot hungrier for you than me right now”, Astarion remarks with a wicked grin and a sideward glance. You frown at him, though you can’t help your heart skipping a beat at these words. Could he possibly mean Halsin?

“Now, what would a party be without some music and dance?” Wyll interrupts your thoughts and as if these words have summoned her, the bard the party had met in the druid grove appears in the doorway.

“Alfira!” you exclaim happily and immediately rush over to hug her. “I’m so glad you got to Baldur’s Gate alright!”

Alfira grins at you. “Yes, thanks to you and your friends here. When they reached out to me today and told me it was your birthday, I just had to come! Wyll organised everything.” You nod to him in thanks. “Now, I don’t have anything to give you but just tell me what you want to hear and I will play it for you!”

“Thanks, Alfira, that’s more than enough for me”, you beam and lead her into the room towards your group. “Wyll, now is your chance to show me your dancing!” You say as you take his hand and pull him into the middle of the room, then you grab Karlach and Gale and start to move to the tune Alfira started to play. Karlach swirls you around and Wyll shows you the dance moves from court, which -to be honest- remind you a bit of the mating dances you had seen with a few bird species.

Out of breath from all the dancing and laughing, you request a slower tune from the tiefling bard. You manage to persuade Shadowheart to put away her wine for a moment and start to waltz around the room with her. She is quite the good dancer and you wonder where she had learned it, with her being raised in a Sharran temple and everything.

At the next tune, you approach Halsin. With your head light from the wine, you have finally gathered the courage to ask him for what you have secretly thought about the whole time.

Still, you can feel your heart beating in your throat. “Erm…Halsin, w-would you honour me with a dance?” you eventually manage to mumble out shyly.

“Of course, little flower. Whatever your heart desires.” That particular heart skips a beat at his intimate tone. “Although you might wish you hadn’t asked me that once you’ve seen my dancing”, he adds with a chuckle as he takes your hand.

He leads you into the room and starts to swirl you around to the melody of Alfira’s lute. He definitely isn’t as graceful as Shadowheart but certainly not as bad as he has made it sound. But even if he’d had the dancing skills of a bugbear, you wouldn’t have noticed. His large and warm hand around your waist and the smile with which he regards you sends your pulse through the ceiling. His smell of pine and honey and fresh air intoxicates you and it is hard to keep your feet from getting tangled in your dress.

When he leans down to you, you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. “Before you go and mingle again, I still have a present for you. I wasn’t sure if you would even like it”, he admits, “but I have decided to give it to you anyways.” When the tune ends, he leads you to the space in your room where his bed stands and bends down to search his pack.

You think about how long it took you to realise how attracted you are to the druid as you admire his strong back before you. Of course, you have noticed his kindness and compassion and you have always marvelled at the way he drew strength from nature. But only since you had some kind of break these last days have you begun to understand the depth of your affection for the man before you. It runs deeper than mere friendship and the echo of his hands on your back have awoken a hunger inside you that only grows stronger the more you look at Halsin. How desperately you hope that he feels the same way about you…

When he stands up to turn around, you quickly brush away the thought that has sent the heat into your cheeks again.

“You’re the only one who knows of my secret passion”, he begins jokingly, “so I thought you might accept this as my present for your special day.” He hands you a small whittled duck he has apparently made in the hours you were away from camp. You can’t help but tear up at the thought of how much effort he has put into all the details he has carved. There are even small webbed feet on the underside of the little duck.

“Thank you Halsin, this is an amazing gift!” You smile down at the little duck. “You are amazing”, you add quietly.

“With all that you have done for me, I should be the one thanking you night and day.” As you look into his eyes again you see that his gaze is now very solemn. “There was another reason for wanting to speak to you privately. I have lived a very long time. I have taken many lovers. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does now.” Your heart flutters in recognition of his words, the confession sending sparks across your skin.

“I want more than to fight at your side, or to sit around the campfire with you. I want to lay with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine.” Halsin’s gaze on you is intense, filling your chest with a burning heat that slowly spreads lower into your belly, as if the wine you have been drinking suddenly caught on fire inside of you.

Halsin continues, “I think you feel the same way - but tell me I’m wrong and the matter can rest. I do not wish to sour our friendship, but I have to know if it can be something more.”

You stare at him for a moment before you realise that he waits for your answer.

“Y-you’re not wrong, far from it”, you whisper. “I would like that very much.” You smile up at him and he takes your hand in his.

“May I kiss you?” he breathes out, relieved. You nod and he bends down to gently press his lips on yours.

His hand slides up your arm and to your back while he places his other behind your head, gently pulling you closer and deepening the kiss.

You feel his tongue prodding at your lips, demanding entrance and you happily oblige. The feeling of his soft lips on yours sends you spiralling and you can’t stifle the small moan that escapes you. Halsin sends out a silent prayer to Silvanus - if that is all it takes to make you moan, what sounds do you make when he finally gets to taste you? Groaning, his hand on your back slowly wanders lower, a silent question of permission in his eyes. You press your body against his as an answer, feeling the heat radiating off his chest … and lower.

Halsins hand grips your ass firmly, making you gasp, the other joining in and hoisting you up on his hips, turning you both around and pressing your back to the wall. You cannot stop the surprised squeak that escapes your lips at the sudden movement and Halsin presses his mouth on yours to stifle it.

The feeling of the growing bulge in his pants between your legs and the low moan Halsin utters before kissing you even more vigorously sends a shiver down your spine, pressure starting to build between your thighs.

In a desperate attempt to pull him closer, your hands grip Halsin’s hair, arms, everything you can reach. But before you can lose yourself in him, Halsin releases your lips, panting, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I would very much like to continue”, he whispers, his breathing ragged and voice hoarse with desire, “but the others will expect us back and I think you would probably like a bit more privacy.” He sighs and softly kisses your hair. “I will come to your bed when the party has ended, little flower. But don’t expect much sleep”, he adds with a wicked grin. You can only nod as he gently props you back on your feet.

With your head spinning, you get back to the others, averting your eyes from the knowing smirks of Astarion and Shadowheart noticing your ruffled hair and flushed cheeks. You ignore them, trying to engage in some more conversation and one or two dances while the thought of what awaits you won’t leave your head.

When the last of the party finally bids you goodnight, you hurry to bed, awaiting Halsin. You can’t get away from the echoes of his hands on your body, heart already racing again and warmth blooming in your belly. Even if he hadn’t promised you he’d come tonight, you would’ve been unable to sleep.

A soft rustle next to your ear startles you from your thoughts and as you turn your head, you could make out Halsin’s large figure in the dark, crouching beside your bed.

He cuts you off from what you wanted to say by placing a finger on your mouth, his other hand sliding under your back and pulling you into an upright position. With your heart beating into your throat, you take the hand Halsin offers as he gently beckons you to follow him into the corridor outside of the room the party shares, then further into a small but cosy bedroom on the next floor.

The door closes with a click and before you can say anything, Halsin sweeps you up into his arms, pressing you flat against the door and capturing your lips in a kiss that feels like it burns you from the inside.

Halsin’s fresh, earthy scent floods your senses as your tongues intertwine and your hands find their way into his hair, tugging at his braids. You whine when Halsin lets go of your lips, only to gasp as he starts nibbling and placing searing kisses on your jaw while his hands squeeze your ass firmly, bringing your bodies as close together as possible.

You moan at the growing ache between your thighs but plant your small fists against his shoulders anyway, gently pushing him away a bit. Halsin’s eyes, pupils wide and dark with desire, find yours.

“What is it my heart?” he asks, voice hoarse. “Do you want me to stop?” You see no disappointment in his gaze, only worry and your heart swells at how selfless your lover is. You avert your eyes, suddenly embarrassed to tell what troubles you.

“I- I j-just wanted t-to say that … um … well, I- I have never been with someone before”, you mumble eventually, averting your gaze as you blush furiously.

“Silvanus, preserve me”, Halsin groans out before almost dropping you and stumbling backwards, trying to steady himself on the small desk opposite the bed. With wide eyes you regard what is happening before you. Halsin drops to his knees, a deep animalistic growl coming from his lips as his eyes fill with golden light and he transforms into his huge bear form.

You gasp and nearly trip over your feet in an attempt to make room for the bear before you, but the animal fills almost the entire chamber. After finally regaining his composure, Halsin manages to change back into his elf form, with a snarl and a ragged breath coming from his lips.

“Forgive me. I- lost the run of myself.” He shakes his head in disgust at his outbreak, terrified that he has ruined this precious moment with you before it could properly begin, and slowly gets back to his feet. “Sometimes, when blood runs hot enough, it’s difficult to tame the beast. And the thought of you trusting me enough to share your first time with me … well, you saw what happened”, he smiles tentatively, slowly approaching you again with hesitation in his eyes.

“Don’t apologise”, you assure him with a shy smile. “I like it.” If possible, you blush even harder now. “Maybe for another time…?” you add, fidgeting nervously with the front of your dress.

A relieved grin spreads over Halsin’s face. “You like it..?”, he chuckles. “You are full of surprises, little flower.” As he steps forward, he bends down to gently plant a kiss on your cheek, only to proceed to bite at your earlobe which elicits a delicious moan from you.

“I’m glad you think so, but now you’ve made it even harder for me not to outright devour you”, his low voice whispers in your ear. “Nevertheless, I will be gentle. Or at least I’ll try to be.” You swallow hard, arousal sending shivers down your spine.

Halsin’s arms wrap around your waist again as he kisses your jaw, your forehead and nose, until eventually his lips find yours again, his tongue ravaging you like a man starving. His hands, this time directly shoving under your dress, firmly grip your thighs. He ruts against you, growling, his now rock-hard cock pressing against the confinements of his clothing.

His fingers trail higher up, kneading your ass, then stroking the soft skin of your back before slowly wandering even higher. His touch sends jolts through your body and you can feel the heat between your legs, already nearly too much to bear.

His eyes hold an unspoken question and when you nod, Halsin lifts your dress off and brings his mouth down on one of your breasts, the hand that’s not on your back now gently kneading the other, massaging the hardened nipple between his fingers. You mewl at the sensation, impossibly more pressure building between your thighs. Halsin gently bites down at your breast, only to run his tongue over it afterwards to soothe the mark he made. You moan and arch your back, desperately trying to press closer against Halsin’s still overly clothed erection, wanting to feel everything of him.

He growls and his mouth begins to place kisses down your front, between your breasts, on the soft flesh of your belly until he is on his knees before you, his warm breath fanning over you and flooding you with heat.

“More?” he asks, his pupils blown wide with lust, as his thumbs brush the soft skin between your legs. “Please”, you whine, knees almost too weak to stand and your underwear already embarrassingly soaked.

Halsin wastes no time, pressing kisses on the insides of your thighs, his one hand holding you in place and his other slowly -too slowly- sliding your panties down your legs. The sight of you bare and dripping with need before him almost makes him lose control again, makes him want to take you, devour you, fuck you, mark you and then fill you to the brim with his cum but with a groan he wills himself to calm down and be gentle with you. He won’t hurt you. He won’t.

He exhales deeply, lifting one of your legs up and slowly swiping his tongue through your wet folds, which earns him a choked gasp. His nose nudges your clit as his tongue starts stroking, slowly at first, then faster and with more pressure. You can’t help the way each expert swipe of his tongue makes your hips buck into his mouth as countless moans and sighs fall out of your mouth. Halsin growls in response, the vibrations around your sensitive bud making your legs shake. You can barely keep up and the coil in your belly is tightening ever faster with Halsin’s mouth sucking your clit and his tongue inside you.

“You are sweeter than honey, my heart”, he groans as his tongue presses flat against you. “Let me taste you as you come undone on my tongue.” With your mind clouded with lust, all you can do is moan out Halsin’s name and press yourself further against your lover’s mouth.

He understands anyway, now slowly dragging a thick finger through your dripping folds until he stops, teasingly pressing against your entrance. You whine, begging him to fill you, to do anything to release the overwhelming pressure between your thighs. When he finally thrusts into you, you can’t stifle the cry of pleasure that escapes your mouth. With Halsin’s finger now working your cunt open, his mouth continues its ministrations, licking and sucking your clit, soaking your legs with your slick.

With a wicked grin, Halsin inserts a second finger into your quivering hole, pushing inside over and over again, holding you firmly in place as you try to writhe away from the intense pleasure. His fingers coil upwards in response, hitting a spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“Please Halsin…”, you beg, toes curling and legs shaking, “I’m close- I- Oh!“

Moaning into your cunt, Halsin picks up his pace, his fingers pumping in and out of you as his tongue swipes over your clit again and again, bringing you closer to your end.

One more thrust with his fingers and a soft nip of his teeth against the sensitive bud between your legs is all it needs to send you spiralling over the edge. “Ha- Halsin!” you cry out, hips jerking violently and fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm hits you with the force of a lightning bolt. He moans at the sensations of your walls contracting around his fingers, the urge to take you and feel you squeeze his cock with your needy cunt almost overwhelming him.

You whine when he pulls his fingers out and stands up, bringing you in for a passionate kiss as you still struggle to regain your breath. Tasting yourself on Halsin’s tongue pulls a small moan from you and an embarrassed heat creeps up your back at the thought of how aroused you already are again.

With a smile, Halsin pulls away. “You are amazing, little flower”, he whispers breathlessly as he picks you up and gently places you on the bed, admiring your flushed body.

If Halsin’s tongue hadn’t just turned your mind to goo, you might have been able to return that compliment, but alas-

“May I go further?” Halsin asks and when you nod he swiftly discards of his clothes, you licking your lips at the sight of the elf naked before you. Your eyes take in his form, from his muscled arms down to the soft curve of his belly and- oh gods. Your eyes widen. You didn’t think he would be that big and the thought of him filling you makes you gulp down a mixture of fear and arousal.

Attentive as always, Halsin notices your insecurity and bends down to press gentle kisses against your ear. “We don’t have to do this, my heart…”, he whispers while he rubs soothing circles into your hips. He looks at you, his expression earnest. You bite your lip, thinking for a moment before answering. “N-no, I want this”, you assure him, your voice still weak but pleading now. The way you look so sweet with your little fangs on your lips makes Halsin feral and he kisses you again, desperate and more passionate this time. He groans into the kiss as he gently spreads your legs for him, lining up his tip with your dripping slit and sliding through your soft folds before stopping just at your entrance. The sensation of his hard length so close to entering you is enough to make your head fall back, eyes squeezed shut. “If it’s getting too much, tell me and I will stop immediately”, he whispers soothingly. “Now relax for me, little flower.”

All thoughts leave your head as Halsin slides in, agonizingly slow. The stretch would be painful if your lover hadn’t prepared you so thoroughly beforehand, but now you only feel pure bliss. Raising your head, you can see that he isn’t even halfway in but gods, you feel so full already that you can’t stifle the choked gasp that escapes your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my heart. Just a little bit more- mngh-!“ Halsin’s growl sends jolts through your spine as he finally bottoms out. You can see just how much effort it takes him to hold back by the way his jaw tenses and his chest is heaving.

“By Silvanus, you’re so tight-!“ A shiver crawls down his back, carrying a wave of soft golden light with it, as Halsin’s eyes light up with his magic for a moment. The thought of how you are able to bring your lover to the precipice of losing control is extremely flattering and you feel yourself clenching around Halsin’s cock, making him grunt in response. Finally somewhat accustoming to his size, you arch your back into the mattress below you. The new angle makes you moan in pleasure as you grip the sheets for support.

“Are you still feeling good, little flower?”, Halsin asks as he slides a hand from your hip under your back to support you. You can only form one thought. “More- please Halsin!” you whine desperately. You don’t have to ask twice, with a low growl he slides out - just to knock the breath out of you with his first, hard thrust. He sets a steady pace, one that leaves you moaning and gasping out his name. Halsin takes your small hands into his, pressing them into the bed beside you to pin you down, pushing into you deep and slow while he places bites and kisses on your throat and chest that will surely leave marks come morning.

Gods, Halsin thought. The sight of your small body sprawled beneath him, split apart by his thick cock while he fucks into you relentlessly is driving him insane. He is growling with every thrust now and each one of them makes you cry out in pleasure. It doesn’t take long until he has you on the precipice of release again, your cunt fluttering around Halsin’s length.

“H- halsin- please! I’m so close!” you can only beg, not sure if you can take much more, your body feeling like it might explode. “Come for me, my heart”, Halsin demands in a gravelly voice before pressing a thumb to your clit, rubbing and massaging until his name leaves your lips in a hoarse cry as your orgasm hits you with full force. Your hips jerk upwards, walls clenching around Halsin as you notice the tears from the overwhelming pleasure streaming down your face. He continues to pound into you, prolonging your release and muttering praises for you under his breath.

Through the fog in your mind you wonder how Halsin still has the energy to keep going, his pace unwavering while you are completely spent, gladly accepting whatever your lover has to give you as long as you’re not required to move.

So, you do not see it coming when Halsin suddenly pulls out of you, the unexpected emptiness making you whine in displeasure, only for him to flip you over and press your chest into the soft bedding while he gently raises your hips.

“I know it’s a lot right now but I need you to cum for me one more time, my heart”, Halsin huffs with a strained voice, pushing inside you once more and grabbing a fistful of your hair to keep you in place. The new position lets him slide even deeper than before and you can’t help the strangled cry that leaves you when Halsin starts pounding into you again, hitting a spot that makes your eyes roll back with blinding pleasure.

“’s too much- please-!” you sob, your poor overstimulated clit still trying to recover from the last orgasm. But Halsin doesn’t relent and you can feel sharp pricks on your hips where his hand grips you, fingers partially wild-shaped into claws and his head thrown back in ecstasy. Seeing just how feral you drive him makes your hole clench around his shaft, the squeeze causing his hips to stutter as a grunt leaves his lips. “Silvanus preserve me”, Halsin pants as he fucks into you even faster, “if you keep squeezing me like that I will not be able to stop myself from claiming you completely, from making you mine and filling you up with my seed.”

You whimper at the image of Halsin pumping his cum into you, fucking it deep into your womb until he is sure that it has taken hold. You cannot pretend you haven’t thought about it before, the idea usually sending an embarrassed heat into your cheeks, but now - gods, now you needed it.

Completely breathless you moan, “Halsin I- ah-! please-! Fill me with your cubs!” These words were the last needed for Halsin to lose himself completely in you, driving himself into you with punishing strokes that cause you to arch yourself into him while moans and whispered curses fall from both your lips. The coil in your stomach is so tight again and when Halsin takes the hand from your hip to softly press on your lower belly you see stars. Your walls clench around Halsin’s cock and you feel him twitch inside you, a sign that he too is close to release. All it takes to send you over the edge is his finger pressed against your clit, your body shaking violently beneath him, toes curling, while waves of ecstasy course through you and you cry out his name.

With a last snap of his hips and a low moan, Halsin comes as well, twitching cock releasing hot spurts of cum inside your still fluttering walls. He continues to pump into you until the aftershocks of your shared orgasm have subsided, before he slowly pulls out. You collapse onto the mattress, exhaustion settling over your overstimulated body.

Halsin gets onto the bed with you, gently gathering you up in his arms and placing your head against his broad chest. “You’ve done so well for me, little flower”, he whispers into your ear, placing soft kisses on your face before he looks your body up and down. One of his hands comes up to stroke a strand of hair away from your damp forehead and to gently lift your chin in order to look you in the eyes. You note worry in his gaze, his brows furrowed in remorse when he plants a feather light kiss on your lips.

“I’ve hurt you”, he states. “I’m so sorry, my heart. I shouldn’t have lost control like that.”

You smile up at him and cuddle deeper into his arms before you shake your head. “Don’t apologise. I loved every second of it. There is no birthday present in this world that can ever match this”, you confess with a shy grin. “Although I have to admit I’m a little sore. You sure did your best to make sure I’m unable to walk tomorrow.”

Halsin chuckles. “I can help with that”, he answers with a sly smile, his free hand sliding down your body to stroke through your soft folds, muttering an incantation under his breath. As the familiar glow of the healing spell engulfs his fingers, you feel a rush of warmth where he touches you. A moan escapes your lips before you could stop it, eliciting a mischievous smirk from your lover as you hide your face against his chest in embarrassment.

“I’d be happy to go again, my love, but I think you need some rest first. Besides, we still have an Elderbrain to kill, so we’ll need our strength tomorrow.” You nod at that, the tiredness in your bones leaving you unable to object, even if you had wanted to. But you know he is right, so when Halsin wraps a blanket around you to carry you to the bathroom, you just relax into his chest, the sound of his steady breathing soothing you.

When the bathtub is filled with warm water, you are already half asleep, barely registering that Halsin is gently cleaning you up, rinsing the sweat from your hair and body and rubbing salve over the bite marks and the bruises on your hips once you are dry again.

You can hear the soft snores and deep breathing from your companions when Halsin brings you back into the room you share, all of them already fast asleep. Absentmindedly you wonder how long you and Halsin have been away, but the thought is gone as soon as Halsin places you on your bed.

“Goodnight, my little flower. Sleep well.” He gives you a kiss and turns to leave. You manage to grab his hand before he does, stopping him in his tracks.

“Stay with me tonight?” you mumble sleepily. Halsin smiles, warmth and adoration filling his chest as he carefully climbs next to you, the bedframe creaking slightly with his additional weight, and wraps his arms around your smaller figure. The thought of how your companions might react in the morning seeing you two in one bed briefly crosses your mind, but Halsin’s steady breathing and the soft pulse of his heart against your back soon drown out anything else as you drift to sleep in his warm embrace.

-------------------

Part 2 is here now!

[slmjaeyuns]

⋆｡ﾟ jake sim fics that feed my brainrot ﾟ｡⋆

my sweet, sweet love

warning: there are suggestive themes/smut that may be embedded throughout the fluff and angst fics as well)! please dni if that makes you uncomfortable!! minors dni, please‼️

part two jake fic rec list here!

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

all time favourites ♡

(fics contain a combination of genres including fluff, angst, suggestiveness, smut)

♡ unrequited love

♡ act now, think later!

♡ watermelon sugar

♡ pov

♡ your name

♡ jake sim: the first love trope

♡ kiss and make up

♡ skin on skin

skin on skin pt. 2

♡ behind closed doors

♡ brand new moves

♡ good boys go to heaven

♡ let you break my heart again

♡ ready? set…touchdown! tutor?

♡ i’ll save you (again)

♡ be my backyard boy

♡ scooby dooby doo, lookin’ for boo!

fluff ❀

❀ too close

❀ safety precautions

❀ attention, please! (rugby jake)

❀ three questions (he wished were never answered)

❀ the partner project

❀ you can find me in your arms

❀ somewhere in forever

❀ sick

❀ taste of your lips

❀ room for two

❀ 3:04 am

❀ einstein kisses

❀ kisses in the rain

another day(te) in the rain

❀ unnamed (drabble)

❀ i’ve never known someone like you

❀ fake

❀ t-shirt

❀ i love me better when i’m with you

❀ wrong order

❀ prince jake

❀ greeting

❀ jake as a boyfriend (headcannons)

angst ☽

☽ glimpse

☽ the sun

☽ worries

☽ if only i could have treated you the way you deserved

☽ sweetly

☽ skater boy

☽ please remember me when our youth is gone

☽ green with envy

suggestive/smut ☁︎

☁︎ s.o.s - skin on skin

☁︎ ping! we should fuck

☁︎ best mistake

☁︎ change up!

☁︎ air dropping love at 305

☁︎ under the influence

☁︎ simp

☁︎ nonsense

nonsense pt.2

☁︎ boyfriend

☁︎ bad boy gone good

☁︎ my neighbour’s son

my neighbour’s son pt.2

☁︎ silly mistake

☁︎ happy birthday mr. sim

my shy husband

☁︎ drunk texting

☁︎ shooting star

☁︎ best friends!

☁︎ polaroid lust

☁︎ (i just) died in your arms

☁︎ only kisses

☁︎ 12:30 am

☁︎ burn for you

☁︎ ride

☁︎ wish come true

☁︎ mischief

☁︎ what are we?

☁︎ after game

☁︎ loser no more

☁︎ attention, please!

☁︎ double lines

☁︎ love foolish

☁︎ forget me not

☁︎ sex express

[blkkizzat]

WFH!Nanami

Work From Home Nanami = best house husband

a/n: lol this is nanami brainrot while I wait for my Toji fic to get beta'd so I know how dog it is. ETA: FYI, this is a semi-repost of a self-ship collab with a now deactivated account. I repurposed my selfship part to reader and expanded to WFH. cw: smut (pussy pounding, gagging on CAWK) fluff, nanami being the perf husband and male specimen per usual wc: 1.6k

WFH!Nanami doesn’t have to worry about waking up early to go into the office but he still rises with the sun to get his day started and do his favorite thing, which is to spoil you. Waking you up with gentle kisses, placing a hot espresso by the bedside and being your personal snooze button when you tell him 5 more minutes (he is so punctual it will be 5 mins on the dot). 

You will still likely end up strolling into the office late regardless though because knowing you, you can’t start your day until you’re squirting all over daddy. But this is Nanami, he is nothing if not efficient so your early morning romp is definitely in the shower where he can clean you up after in order to get you out of the door sooner, your breakfast is already packed to-go. 

WFH!Nanami love language is acts of service. You never stress about what to do for lunch either because there’s always a Michelin star worthy bento waiting for you next to your keys before you leave for the day. 

In fact, what Nanami doesn’t know is that his bento is famous not only around your office, as your envious coworkers gather round to see what your perfect husband has prepared for you today, but also on TikTok. The ‘KentosBentos’ TikTok account you made has over 350K followers who not only watch for the mouth watering yet nutritious bentos but to also hear you gush over the cute little notes your hubby leaves for you. 

Your top video has over 2.5 million likes and thousands of swooning women in the comments when WFH!Nanami made you an extra special lobster bento for your birthday and left you the note: ‘In all the world there is no love for me if I don’t have yours. Happy Birthday to my lovely wife, whose smile shines bigger and all the more brighter than the sun, moon and stars.’ 

Continuing with acts of service WFH!Nanami always has an equally delicious dinner ready for you when you get home. On days you work overtime and arrive home late, there's always a warm bubble bath waiting for you first. You love to rest with your back laid against Nanami’s utterly ripped torso in the tub while his thick arms envelope you. Relaxing into the safety of WFH!Nanami’s hold, your doting hubby kisses your temple and gives your keyboard fatigued hands a delicate massage. Nanami is nothing but a patient yet active listener while you recount your stressful day at work.

On days when you both get the opportunity to work from home you email WFH!Nanami a meeting invite to block off his calendar for 30 min during lunch. The invite is always titled ‘Ken and Barbie’s Lunch Meeting’. The location? ‘Pound Town’ The time? Noon, sharp!

Of course WFH!Nanami never actually schedules it on his work calendar lest his boss sees the meeting. (Gojo would never let him hear the end of it). As a result, since he never actually has the time officially blocked off, on some rare occasions he does actually get booked for a real lunch meeting at Noon that he cannot reschedule. 

Meeting or no meeting though you are determined to keep your lunchtime dick appointment with WFH!Nanami. A noon dicking is a noon dicking and it’s a non-negotiable for you as you don’t often get to stay home from work! 

WFH!Nanami is focused and poised during his camera-on meetings with his team. Therefore he doesn’t hear you open his office door. Nor does he see you as you drop to the floor with feline grace, hips swaying seductively as you crawl right under his desk. In fact, Nanami does not notice you at all until your soft hands grip his thick powerful thighs and you’re sliding your body up between his legs. Never faltering on-camera, WFH!Nanami’s stiffened jaw and tensed shoulders are the only tell-signs of you palming his rapidly hardening cock under the desk.

WFH!Nanami who tests the absolute limits of the stress ball he keeps handy (usually for tough negotiations) when he feels you press your hot mouth on the fabric covering his dick. You know your stoic husband won't ever outwardly falter when on the clock but you know inside he is a mess. That much is clear to you by the girth bulge straining against his tan fitted slacks.  

WFH!Nanami who knows you are upset about him working through your ‘lunch meeting’, but wishes you wouldn’t torture him like this while he’s on the clock. He can tell you are enjoying yourself though as your sinful little tongue drags tiny kitten licks over the hard bulge in his pants. Soon though you are pawing at his zipper and pulling his girthy cock free through the hole, not even bothering to undo his belt. Taking him fully into your mouth, WFH!Nanami bites his inner cheek, when his boss Gojo makes a comment on how he looks more tense than usual when he should be thrilled after closing the biggest deal of the year. 

WFH!Nanami who takes a long moment to deeply clear his throat before he calmly relays to Gojo that he is very pleased with the win but already thinking of the next big acquisition for their company. Yet Nanami’s voice hitches ever so slightly when your pink stiletto nails dig into his muscular thighs. It fools the rest of the team but Gojo merely raises a brow before cheerily moving on to the next subject. 

WFH!Nanami spares a look downward at you once the work conversation has shifted to see you gazing up at his mouth full of his cock. You wear an angelic look as if he can’t tell the hand that left his thigh and is now slotted between your own isn’t furiously rubbing at your clit. He knows you are pleased at finally drawing a reaction, even a small one, from him while on the clock.

WFH!Nanami whose eyes twitch when he’s closing the call he sees his boss Gojo’s knowing smile and hears the start of the question, “So Nanamin… is Y/N, working from home to–”

WFH!Nanami doesn’t stay to hear the end of the question, quickly exiting the call and ignoring the message pings full of raunchy emojis he receives from Gojo. 

WFH!Nanamiwho is still seated grabs you by your hair and ruthlessly face fucks you as soon as his camera turns off. He forces you swallow all eight and a half inches of him as you gag and slobber around his girth. Your jaw begins to ache but your eyes still roll back into your head with pleasure and you go limp in his grasp. You are willingly allowing your loving husband to turn your throat into his personal cocksleeve as you rub your cunt up against his leg, so close to cumming from the chafing of his slacks against your cunt.

Frustrated and annoyed it isn’t long before WFH!Nanami cums himself. His leg you are riding jerks up into you giving you the extra push you need as you moan around his cock and cream on his leg leaving a wet spot. WFH!Nanami has you choking down his thick seed. His cum and your drool dribble down the sides of your face when he finally slides out of the warm cavern of your throat cunny, leaving you panting as you try to catch your breath.

WFH!Nanami wordlessly wipes your face with the tissues he keeps on his desk and promptly ushers you out of this office, locking the door behind you. You aren’t upset though as you know what's in store for you once his work day is over. The locked door is more to keep him IN, than keep you OUT. Nanami would have to take the rest of the day off if he were to properly discipline you now. You being forced to wait and wonder how long he would take to finish his work was part of the punishment anyway.

You know WFH!Nanami is ready to administer your punishment once he calls you out by your FULL government name “Y/N Nanami!” Tonight is different and there is no dinner nor warm bath for you. Just a tired Nanami, weary of his bosses teasing and ready to take out all his frustrations on his wife’s naughty little cunt. 

Your cunt in question nearly starts voguing in anticipation as heat pools between your legs once you are called into the bedroom. You already know what time it is once you see WFH!Nanami loosen his tie and take off his belt slowly while sternly saying your name once more.

The belt and tie? 

Oh, the belt is used to tie your arms behind you and the tie is now a gag, for having such a filthy cock-loving little mouth he will tell you. It’s not long after that until you are face down, ass up getting pounded into the mattress as WFH!Nanami nearly cracks the headboard with the force he is using to thrust into you. Your cries of “K-Kento!” are muffled into the makeshift gag when a firm slap causes your ass to ripple more aggressively against his pelvis. 

Nanami growls deeply into your ear.

“Welcome to Pound Town, Barbie.”

Any muffled cries for mercy fall on deaf ears as WFH!Nanami is too focused on his retribution for your earlier antics as he continues to wreck your pussy from behind. His heavy balls smack against your clit and your sloppy cunt echos vulgar squelches that bounce off your bedroom walls and erotically ring in your ears. The hand pressing your head further into the pillow beneath you is the same hand Nanami wears his wedding band on. It glimmers brightly even in the dimly lit room.

WFH!Nanami loves seeing his ring and remembering his vows in the moment. 💖

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or graphics, do not translate.

a/n: Nanami brainrot overload (i wfh! lord god when is it my turn, bring me a nanami i BEG) and day 18 without adhd meds lol, finally finished something though. Nerd!Geto and The Nursery ft. Toji is soon I promise!

reblog to get your on WFH!Nanami but comments and likes are always appreciated!

[marthawrites]

The Post-Flying Gift

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader

Can be read as a one shot but reads best to pt 3 to "Whore, Pet, Lover"

Word count: 2.2k+

About: A rare fully sunny day beckons Daemon and Rhaenyra to fly their dragons above Dragonstone for hours. You are more than happy to watch them in flight. When they return, their dragonblood runs hot.

Includes: Continued slice of life plot, canon incest (this is canon Daemon and Rhaenyra), f/f, pet play undertones, dumbification understones, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, Daemon is stealthy, m/f, implied dick sucking, implied facefucking, aftercare

Note: Hello lovely reader! Apparently it's been nearly a year since I wrote "the gift that keeps giving". WILD. I definitely wanted to revisit this little mini series because my Daemyra brainrot is always real. As always, reader is non-descript. Please, enjoy! ♥

-

A warm sun glinted off Caraxes’ crimson body as he flew above the ocean of Blackwater Bay with Daemon at his reins. So red, and so swift was he against the blue sky, that he appeared to rend the sky with each passing by. Chasing and playing with the Blood-Wyrm was Rhaenyra upon the yellow-scaled Syrax who shone like burnished gold in the sunshine. They’d been flying at least two hours now–perhaps longer.

You had a perfect view of the Black Queen and her Prince Consort from where you stood upon their private balcony overlooking all of Dragonmount. Castle Dragonstone was as much your home now as your previous home had been. You were a birthday gift for the Queen. Deemed “the prettiest whore in all of Westeros” by Daemon Targareyn. A whore you were, then, and now, their little pet. They’ve never treated you badly. You’d never given them a reason to. Oftentimes in the sweet afterglow of your shared pleasures you daresay you are their lover: more than a whore and more than a pet.

Turning inside, you tidied their martial chambers and made sure to have clothes laid out for them for when they return from dragon riding. They both had special garb to fly in. Dragon smell was a very distinct thing, and in your experience even the most skilled servants had a hard time fully ridding the stink. A platter of herb roasted fish, tart berries, and salted root vegetables also sat awaiting their return. 

With a goblet of wine in hand, you returned to the balcony to watch them in flight. Scanning all over where your eyes could see–and double checking–you didn’t see, or hear, them anywhere. They might finally be done, you thought, and a smile twinkled up to your eyes.

A windswept Rhaenyra was the first to return. Silver strands of hair fell from her once neat braid giving her a wonderfully disheveled appearance. “Your Grace!” You said excitedly.

Rhaenyra grinned, beginning to take her leather riding gloves off. Her eyes were bright and wild. “Hello sweet love.” Flight had a way of elating her like none else could. Her riding garb was a mixture of wool and leather, both ash in color, and embellished with black dragonscales. Silver accents paled only in comparison to red gems highlighting the whole set up: coat, tunic, gloves, pants, boots. Aside from her rich Targaryen gowns, this was her favorite attire. “Did you enjoy watching my husband and I fly together?”

“Always! I could watch you both all day from the balcony.”

Matching Rhaenyra’s eyes, a wild smile took over the rest of her features; something dark and mischievous alike. A challenge and a dare. Proud and amused. “Out of all the gifts my husband has ever gotten me… you are my favorite. By far. My darling little pet,” she cooed as she opened the front of her coat and began unbuckling her belt. She sat in a chair and bent to work the lacings of her boots loose. Kicking them off, she sighed contentedly. “Mayhaps one day I will take you asaddle with me on Syrax. Would you like that?”

If watching your Queen begin to undress didn’t get your blood pumping, then her suggestion of flight surely did. “You mean it?” You asked, half dumbfounded by her proposal. “I would love nothing more!”

Her legs were bare, now, and she tossed her coat over to a nearby chair. The only thing she wore was her linen undershirt and smallclothes. She leaned back comfortably against the chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, and  she beckoned you over with one hand. “Come,” she said with a tilt of her head.

The sly little smirk upon her mouth had your belly doing flips as you walked to her. She was so lovely, and radiant, and tension sparked in the air between you two as you stepped between her legs. “Shall I redo your braid?” You asked softly, doing your best to keep your eagerness at a reasonable level. You really didn’t want to seem completely pathetic. Though, Rhaenerya knew how pathetic you could get for both her and Daemon; the glint of her expression told you she noted your anxious yearning.

Leaning up and forward, she gently cupped your face between her warm palms. With fluttering lids she pressed her lips to yours. Soft. Devious. “Not yet,” she whispered between sensuous kisses. “I don’t think that’s what you’re really interested in right now, is it?” 

Between Rhaenyra and Daemon, you didn’t know which one enjoyed making you blush more. She could see right through you. And, assumedly due to the thrill of flying, she wasn’t shy of putting you right on the spot. You shook your head and sighed blissfully against all of her kisses. You could kiss her until your lips were chapped and still kiss her more. “Not really…”

Her laugh was warm honey dripping down your spine. “I didn’t think so. Good girl for being honest about it.” Once again she leaned back against the chair as she looked at you with pride. But, the darkness of lust shadowed her features. “Flying is truly magnificent. It makes me feel… powerful. Invincible. And free.” As she spoke, one hand curled into your hair and began to gently urge you down. “It makes me feel good,” she added, raspy. “Be my good pet and keep making me feel good.”

Any thoughts you might have had going on in your brain were quickly shut down upon Rhaenyra’s request. You kept your eyes on her and shuddered with delight. You followed her downward push until you happily knelt right there in front of her–right between her parted legs. You pressed both hands up her thighs while planting kisses all along the smooth insides. “I love making you feel good,” you said to her, and she answered with a curl of her fingers inside your hair. You smiled; thoughts already dissipating from your brain.

“Such a pretty, sweet thing looking up at me like that,” Rhaenyra cooed approvingly. She shifted her hips slightly, just enough to make your ministrations easier.

The Black Queen smelled like a dragon. On anyone else you’d hate the sharpness of it. The stink. But on her? Somehow, it was perfect. Between the salty sea air on her skin, unclouded sun rays in her hair, and saddle leather where you knelt, she was the Dragon Queen. Tension rolled through your body until it left the buzz of excitement behind in each place it lingered. You were humming from the inside out. Purring. Rhaenyra’s pretty pet. Leaning down, you sat on all fours in front of her, now. You kissed her covered cunt where you knew her clit was.

The softest of a sigh left Rhaenyra’s mouth. “Tease me any longer and I’ll forbid you from watching us for the next fortnight,” she threatened.

“Yes, your Grace,” you simpered. Curling your fingers beneath the waist of her smallclothes, you pulled them fully down and off. Now there was nothing stopping you from what you both wanted. You repeated those same kisses over her pearl; each longer, softer, your lips parting more and more with each until you tasted her on your tongue. 

“There you are,” she rasped. Looking down at you she smirked triumphantly. She ran her fingers through your hair and said, “keep going. Keep making me feel good.” 

A whine broke from you and your tongue slid up through the fullness of Rhaenyra’s slit. When you saw how her head tipped back in bliss, your own head went brainless–focused now only on her pleasure. You lapped, and circled, and gently sucked, over and over again, your whole attention solely on her and her pleasure. Each of her whines, moans, and inhales of breath sent goosebumps pebbling atop your skin.

Make her feel good. Make her feel good. Make her feel good.

You loved the way she tasted. You loved the way she reacted to you. You loved the way she idly stroked through your hair, or pulled it, or held onto your ears. She was never shy in her passions, and neither were you. 

You lavished her clit until your jaw ached, but you never let it stop you. Rhaenyra’s sounds of pleasure were coming quicker now, sharper, and you knew she was getting close. It was then you delicately slipped a finger into her and began to work her from the inside, too.

“More,” she half stammered.

You added a second and moaned against her. It was only then that you realized how wet you were. How utterly soaked and needy your own cunt was. It clenched around nothing, your bud practically throbbing, your thighs pressing together to give you some minor relief from the pent up tension knotting in your belly. Yet never once did your own hand wander to that incredibly yearning space between your thighs. Your eyes were rolled closed. Only Rhaenyra’s building climax mattered. 

More. More. More.

She shuddered when she came undone around your fingers and upon your mouth. Her orgasm was sweet against your tongue; you dripped with self-satisfaction. It continued to roll through her in waves until the aftershocks had her panting softly. But, even still, you gently licked over all of her. Not enough to overstimulate her, but enough to keep her peak going as long as it could. You moaned softly all throughout; purring.

So lost in bliss, and so focused on your Queen, you hadn’t noticed anything else. You didn’t hear the door open or close. Never did you hear the soft scruff of leather on stone. Nor did you take note of a presence behind you. It was only when you felt fingers pressing into you that you paused to think. Those weren’t your fingers. No. They were too big and felt entirely different than your own. You gasped; desperate. Looking over your shoulder you nearly crumbled.

“Valzȳrys” husband, Rhaenyra whispered with half-lidded eyes.

“Ābrazȳrys” wife, he answered. “You two are having all the fun. Have you any idea how fucking wet your little pet is right now?” As if to make a point, Daemon worked his fingers just right to make you squelch. It was borderline obscene.

Your face was hot and for a moment you thought you’d come right then and there. Your spine dipped lower, presenting yourself to him as he knelt behind you.

“Oh… and how pretty she moans.” Daemon crooned, easily sliding two fingers in and out of you at the most devastatingly wonderful pace. “Did she make you feel good?” He asked Rhaenyra, continuing to finger fuck you from behind.

Rhaenyra grinned wide and smiled breathlessly. “Very.”

“That's our girl.”

You shamelessly pushed back against his hand. You were so slick he could have easily slipped a third in. Despite how well you did, however, you didn’t want to seem greedy, and so you took all that you could from those two fingers. 

“Shall I let her come, or do you wish to see her tears first, my Queen?” 

Dread dropped in your stomach because you knew exactly what he meant by that. Rhaenyra fucking loved to watch Daemon edge you until you were crying and begging for release. It was one of the darker games they liked to play with you. If at any time you wanted the game to stop–everyone knew–all you had to do was ask. Yet, never once had you brought the edging to an early end. As much as you hated it, you also fucking loved it. And so did Daemon. 

Rhaenyra shook her head, still basking in the afterglow of climax. “She did extremely well today. Let her come as she pleases.”

That’s all Daemon needed to hear. He indeed pressed a third into you and gave you exactly what he knew you liked. The tension in your belly sunk deeper, and wound tighter, and had you blabbering near gibberish until it snapped. Liquid warmth filled all of your limbs. Storm static clung to each of your nerves. Your pulse pounded in your fingertips. The force of your peak had you collapse forward until your cheek lay flat on the rug-covered stone floor. You panted, dizzy. 

Daemon gave your backside an approving smack. “A very good girl.”

You smiled softly at both of them relishing in the adoration they had for you, and you had for them. Leaning back up, you gently laid in Rhaenyra’s lap and allowed your eyes to close for a few moments. It wasn’t until Daemon called you that you woke. How long had you dozed off?

“Hm?” You asked.

“Crawl to me,” he said from where he sat in a chair, nude from the waist down with his doublet open. He was already hard.

You didn’t have to be asked twice.

You crawled to him and knelt between his thighs, looking up at him sweetly, obediently.

“Now it’s your Queen’s turn to watch. You know how much she likes watching. I don’t have to edge you to make tears fall from those pretty lashes, hm?”

Shaking your head with a tiny smirk, you knew exactly what he meant. With the sweetness of Rhaenyra’s climax still on your tongue, you took the Rogue Prince deep into your throat. You let him fuck your mouth how he wanted to until tears and saliva smeared your face, and and his seed overwhelmed the taste of your Queen.

It was in the sweet afterglow of these pleasures, where you all laughed, drank wine, and shared meals, that you truly felt like their lover.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

I am redoing my taglist! If you wish to be tagged in any of the fics I write and share (main, aemond, daemon, rhaenyra, harwin, daemyra) PLEASE let me know! Thank you! ♥

Masterlist

[gamergirl-niffler]

A Bitter-sweet Birthday || Kyojuro x reader

Happy Birthday to my one and only Flame Hashira - Kyojuro! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

I miss the series, but mostly I miss him. Since it's his birthday, I decided to write something short.

Tags: @doumadono @shonen-brainrot @arthurbristow

ENJOY:

The day was sunny and calm with no clouds in the beautiful blue sky.

You woke up early and immediately started to get ready in the quiet privacy of your own room. The day was very important since it was your beloved's birthday today, and you were beaming with excitement and happiness.

The kimono you decided to wear was simple yet pretty. It was plain white fabric with a fiery pattern at the edges, and with fitting red obi and golden obijime. You looked like the real Rengoku, just without flame-like hair.

You were working on pinning your hair up when your door slid open. 

Senjuro looked inside and smiled, seeing you in front of the little vanity table. "You are up early. I should have expected that you would be excited to celebrate. Do you need help?" He asked with his soft voice.

You nodded your head. "Yes, please. You are much better at this."

Boy laughed and soon joined you, easily pining your hair up in a simple hairstyle that suited the occasion.

"Oh! Can you put it in?” You asked, handing him a gold hairpin.

Senjuro nodded and fulfilled your request. "My brother did his best picking this for you."

"Yes, I know. Best gift ever," you chuckled and looked into the mirror, admiring Senjuro's work. "Thank you so much."

"No problem. Will you help me a little too? I need some help with cooking,” he asked, and you of course nodded before getting up and following him to the kitchen.

There, you pulled your sleeves up and helped him with preparing miso soup with sweet potatoes and some simple sweets. After all it was a day to celebrate, and what celebration would it be without real sweets!

"You think we have everything?” you asked.

Senjuro shook his head. "I couldn't buy the last thing from our list," he said, looking down.

You just gave him a small smile and ruffled his hair. "No need to worry, we can buy it on our way to him.”

"There will be no need for that. Here.” It was no one else but Shinjuro. 

At first his sudden, loud voice made you stiff, but then you realized he was handing you a box with the last thing from the list. Blinking, you looked up at him, not hiding your confusion.

"Just take those to him. I bought them this morning after seeing them on Senjuro's list. I figured out you will need these," man explained.

You smiled widely and bowed. "Thank you so much, Shinjuro-san. We indeed needed those."

"Thank you, father, he will be happy to receive these," Senjuro added with a kind smile.

Shinjuro looked at both of you as if he wanted to add something, but he decided to stay quiet instead. He just turned away and left.

The two of you returned to cooking and chatting, sharing some giggles while doing so.

------------------------------------------

When the food was ready, Senjuro packed it up, you collected other stuff you planned to take, and you both set off on the road.

It wasn't a long trip but going with a friend was an amazing feeling. 

The closer you got, the more excited you became. You couldn't wait to celebrate Kyojuro's birthday.

The burial ground seemed quiet and calm, as if it was frozen in time together with everyone else, buried deep in its grounds. 

All you could hear were birds singing softly, their songs carried by a quiet whisper of the wind that sneaked around the crowns of trees and soft splash of a river nearby. The sun's gentle warmth enveloped the serene atmosphere, casting a comforting glow on the world.

"Aniki," Senjuro said happily and ran up to one of the graves, setting everything down next to it. 

You quickly followed him and smiled looking at the grave. "Good to see you again, love."

After the quick greeting, you and Senjuro got to work, cleaning the grave. You made sure to visit Kyojuro regularly so there was a small amount of cleaning needed.

In the end, you pulled out the box that Shinjuro gave you and pulled out incense sticks. You lit them up and placed them on the grave.

You and Senjuro clasped your hands together, preparing for the prayer ahead with a sense of unity and reverence.

Senjuro finished first, and started putting down a little blanket. You joined him shortly after, and helped him with setting everything up.

"Aniki. Everything's good at home, father has stopped drinking, and things are much calmer there now. He even accepted Y/N around," Senjuro said, even if his words were greeted by nothing but silence. 

"That's true, but I still try to do my best to stay out of his way. Today he bought us incense sticks for you, love," you smiled softly.

Senjuro nodded and picked up his little bowl of soup. "Happy birthday, aniki. I wish you were still here. I miss having you around.”

You smiled sadly, doing the same as he did. "Happy birthday, my love. I miss you dearly." 

The rest of the celebration went calmly. 

You talked and joked with Kyojuro, telling him everything that happened since the last visit.

If you only knew he was there indeed, sitting next to his own grave, listening to both of you and feeling happy, hoping the warm sun rays would convey how glad he was to celebrate his birthday with his little brother and the love of his life.

[ikigaisvt]

sleepy

in which your boyfriend comforts you after a restless night.

pairing: joshua x gn!reader words count: 1.6k content: comfort, fluff warnings: talk of insomnia, eating, talk of drinking, petnames (for reader: babe, baby, sweeheart / for joshua: josh, love), skinship (cuddles, kisses) note: hi!! the joshua brainrot has been hitting hard lately; im kinda in love,, thank you so much @goblinvern for proof reading this for me 🫶 you're the absolute best! minors are allowed to interact with this post but please don't follow or i'll hard block you. enjoy and don't forget to leave a like/comment/reblog! note 2.0: i wasn't planning on posting this fic before the new year, but since i had it sitting in the drafts and it's joshua's day, i thought it'd be a good timing to post it now~ i hope everyone will have a good 2024 and happy birthday to shua!! 🫶

You were pretty sure if people would have to describe you, they’d use that word: admirative. You were one to always be left in awe at people’s talents, whether it be singing, drawing, dancing or truly anything else. Even though you were creative yourself, you’d always be admirative of what people could create out of their minds only. But if you had to say the one skill that would leave you speechless, as it is not one you possess, it’s being able to function with little to no sleep.

Okay, let’s redo this. If you’re being truthful, people would more likely describe you as sleepy. You were someone who always loved sleeping; however, sleep did not like you. You were never like one of those people who could sleep anywhere and through anything, you were rather on the more sensitive side when it came to sleeping. Over the years, you had put together a very strict routine you had to follow every night to ensure a restful sleep. But oh, if you had the bad idea or the bad luck to skip or miss a step? You’d end up falling asleep at 1 am and waking up at 5 am. And that’s exactly what happened yesterday night. Now, you’re used to this so surely you would know how to handle your own state and have the most productive day despite your tiredness. However, because the world never gives enough hardships to one, you were sometimes faced with a special kind of tiredness. A tiredness that would make you stick to anyone’s side. A tiredness that would make you hug a person and never let go. And when that happened, well, no amount of self-knowledge could make you change for the day. But maybe you have something to thank the world for: it gave the loveliest and gentlest boyfriend ever. And he loves cuddles.

10 am – 5 hours since I’ve been awake. He should be awake pretty soon; you think to yourself. Here you were, perched on the kitchen stool, an empty bowl of cereal in front of you, waiting for your boyfriend to wake up so you could cuddle. When you first woke up, you had hoped you would fall back asleep immediately, even though that rarely happened for you, so you didn’t even think of cuddling. But when you realized you would not fall asleep, you decide to get up and go about your day, already looking forward to your afternoon’s nap. All you did was settle down on your couch and put on your favorite show – The Vampire Diaries and around 9am, when hungriness settled down in the pit of your stomach, you got up and made yourself a bowl of cereal. You don’t know what triggered your need to hug your boyfriend – maybe the chill air that settled in your apartment as winter is coming closer or maybe the fact that you haven’t seen him a lot lately, but all you have been thinking about since then was him. Him and his arms enveloping you. Him and his scent making your head spin. Him and his fingers playing with your hair. Him, him, him. Now, you could have woken him up but knowing he came back home around 2 am – as he was out drinking with Jeonghan – you didn’t find it in you to ruin his sleep.

“10:30 am – he really should be awake by now,” you say out loud before you hear the water running in your bathroom. You slowly lean and peek at your hallway only to see Joshua walk down towards you – more like, towards the kitchen, his hair sticking out in weird angles while he rubs the sleep away from his eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out to you once he gets closer, “Since when have you been awake?” he asks, worries written all over his face. He knows how much you struggle with sleeping.

“I woke up around 5,” you mumble as he starts making himself a cup of coffee. At your words he turns around to look at you, gives up on his coffee and comes around the kitchen bar.

“Oh babe,” he says, his hands reaching for your face, cupping your cheeks gently, “Is it because of me? Did I wake you up?” he questions, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

“No, you’re fine. You know how it gets for me sometimes,” you reassure him, your hands holding on his wrists.

“Okay, okay,” he says, “What can I do? Do you want to stay in bed while I clean around? Today is cleaning day, right?” he asks, trying to come up with a way to make today easier for you.

“Well, cleaning day is reported to tomorrow,” you chuckle, lighting up the situation, “but there’s something I’d really like,” you mumble, trying to work up the courage to ask him for cuddles.

“Yes, tell me. Anything for you,” he nods, his hands now resting on your neck, his fingers playing with the little hair at the back of your head.

“You promise you won’t make fun of me?” you ask him, holding out your hand in a pinky promise.

“Of course. I promise I won’t make fun of you,” he states, as he meets your hand in the same promise, a glint of mischievousness appearing in his eyes, “You want cuddles, don’t you?” he asks in a smile.

“How did you know?” you gasp, not knowing what could have given you up. But truly, Joshua knew as soon as he looked at you. He couldn’t pin point what gave you away either but he’s sure it’s there somewhere, in your shiny eyes, in your slight pout or maybe it’s the way your body is leaning into his, faster, closer, than usual.

“You always ask me to not make fun of you before asking for cuddles,” he chuckles, trying to come up with an answer without giving away how much he loves you, “and I always tell you I will not. Never.” He says, planting a kiss on your forehead, “Especially not when you’re being so open with what you need. You know I’ll always try to provide whatever you need for you.” Okay, he thinks to himself, maybe I did give myself away with that one.

“Thank you, Josh,” you murmur, your hands finding his shirt, as you pull him towards you so he can stand between your legs, “Just like this. For a few seconds.” You tell him, your voice even quieter as you bury yourself in his chest. You feel his arms reach behind you, rubbing your head and your back in slow motion, bringing you the comfort you were wishing for. Your body slowly relaxes, your hands untighten against his shirt and your breath becomes slower, little sighs leaving you as you realize that this is feeling rested. This is what love feels like. This is what home feels like.

“Feels good?” he whispers, his hand now drawing circles on your back, your response coming in the form of a nod, “You want to move to the couch?” he asks as you mumble yes against his shirt, slowly leaving his embrace. You look up at him, your eyes meeting as he reaches for your face, slowly coming closer to your lips. Just as you close your eyes and your lips are about to meet, he whispers something about the couch and suddenly you’re hoisted up in the air, his arms around you.

“There we go, baby,” he says as he kisses your forehead, blush creeping on your cheeks at how much he’s covering you with love, “Hold on tight,” he whispers, your arms finding rest on his shoulders as he holds you closer to his chest.

He slowly makes his way to the couch, the slight movement of his steps almost lulling you to sleep, to that state you always struggle to find on your own. And yet with him, it’s so easy. So easy you find yourself sleepier than before, as Joshua sets you down on the couch, his arms open to allow you the rest you deeply deserve. Your cheek is pressed against his chest, his heart like a lullaby to you while he strokes your hair out of your face.

“You’re good now?” he whispers as he plants another kiss on your head.

“Hm, yeah. Thank you, love,” you whisper, already feeling sleepier than a few minutes ago as he strokes your back.

“Please, don’t thank me,” he starts, “always come find me when you can’t sleep, okay? Call me and I’ll come running. Tell me and I’ll drop everything. Wake me up whenever and I will give every ounce of sleep to you.” he says, your eyes looking up at him, “You need to promise me, okay?” he asks, his hand already out in a pinky promise.

“I swear,” you answer, your hand locking his into a promise. You take a hold of his hand quick enough, playing with his fingers before you start leaving kisses on his open palm, his knuckles, the tip of his fingers, “I love you.” you whisper as you let his hand down, your fingers still intertwined.

“I know,” he says quietly, his eyes filled with something you can’t describe. Perhaps it is love. “I love you too. So much.” He tells you, sealing his love with a kiss on your hand as your eyes feel heavier than before, sleep and warmth slowly invading your body.

It’s when you feel your body getting heavier, Joshua’s heart beats fading in the background as his hand never stop rubbing your back that you realize you should have added cuddles with Joshua as a crucial part of your night routine. No matter how many tips you will try to sleep better – earplugs, sleeping masks, white noise music, nothing will ever compare to Joshua and the comfort, rest and love he brings you. And maybe after a few years, you’ll be able to only have one step in your night routine.

thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it 🫶

[magneticecstasy]

clandestine ✤ joel miller part i — new horizons

series masterlist & foreword | ao3

moodboard is not an illustration of how reader should look, just for the ~vibes~

fic summary: it’s september 2016, you're in your final year of sixth form college and joel miller joins the teaching staff as your new history teacher. over the course of the academic year, boundaries are blurred, crossed and ruined when joel begins to reciprocate your insatiable crush on him; what should be so wrong just feels so right.

rating: E | pairing/AU: teacher!joel x student!fem!reader

chapter warnings/tags: (6.5k) this is an 18+ fic so mdni! dubcon (due to student/teacher relationship, both parties are consenting otherwise), age gap (reader is 18, Joel is in his early 30s), power imbalance, inappropriate relationships (teacher!Joel is not a good teacher), fetishization of new-adulthood (if you squint), some pervy!Joel, inexperienced!fem!reader is hornee™, pet names (Joel calls reader darlin’, sweetheart etc.), minimal description of fem!reader where possible, reader has hair and is generally able-bodied, otherwise undescribed where possible.

a/n: ahhhh the first chapter of my first fic finally out!! i won't lie i am so nervous to post this but reading other lovely fics from the pedro pascal cinematic universe™ written by some amazing people has inspired me to write and post my own. any feedback is greatly appreciated, especially as a new writer. i hope you all enjoy the teacher!joel brainrot as much as i do.💞

account tags (let me know if you'd like to be added): @sugadolly can't wait for you to read this! hope you enjoy!💓

Tuesday 4th September

8:44am

The calm corridor echoes with the sound of your shoes hitting the ground hard as you run to your registration period before halting suddenly.

“I’m here, Mrs Marvelley,” you holler at your form tutor as you tumble into her classroom in a rush and fluster. “I’m here before quarter to,” you pant, heavy rucksack in tow, having just bolted up two flights. You arrive just as she calls your name on the attendance register, narrowly avoiding a late mark that you were keen to avoid on your last first day of school.

She rolls her eyes, and mumbles something along the lines of “You’re lucky.”  

Usually punctual to form registration and lessons, you were delayed countless times this morning by classmates wishing you a belated ‘happy birthday’ for last Sunday, your 18th. Born at the start of September, you're among the oldest in your year, one of the first in your cohort to reach adulthood. Many of these conversations with friends animatedly recapped the events of your party the previous Saturday. The gathering was a typical teenage house party: no parental supervision, loud music, junk food, with a few bottles of booze and packs of cigarettes acquired on the sly through nefarious means, with way more people that you’d initially invited. Luckily, your close friends helped with the cleanup operation the next day, and your parents' trust in you remained intact and you stayed in their good books for the time being.

Realising the time, you part ways with your friends, each heading to your respective form classes, a wave of contentment washing over you. Unfortunately, someone had to go and ruin it.

Taunts of ‘look at her, MILF in the making’ , and ‘best time to start an OnlyFans is now, babe’ from a crew of boys you’ve never liked echo down the corridor. Their cruel laughter at their own remarks colour your anger a violent crimson. 

“Oh, get fucked ,” you seethe through clenched teeth, flipping a middle finger in their direction, all the while praying you won’t get caught for the foul language. Turning on your heel you swiftly retreat, eager to escape the confrontation.

A few metres down the corridor, you overhear the boys’ guffaws being cut off by a chastation from a voice that’s foreign to you. Rounding the corridors’ corner, you decide to hang about and eavesdrop on the hecklers’ punishment.

“Now boys, I know y’all don’t know me yet but I don’t think this is a great introduction for my first day here.” The voice is deep, gravelly, laced with an American accent that you guess as Southern—maybe Texan if you had to be precise. Must be someone new, maybe a teacher? A member of Senior Leadership? You’re sure you’ll find out during registration if you were to ask around.

“I-I-It was only a joke, sir,” one of the crew pleaded to him. Not so big and bad now, eh?

“Oh sure , sure.” The voice drawls, laced in sarcasm. “Funny ‘cause it was lookin’ like you were botherin’ a young lady.”

“Oh sir, don’t be like that, it was just banter,” another boy pipes up.

The unknown voice lets out a deep huff. “Do you need your heads checked? Y’all were spoutin’ some real sexist things, and that ain’t a joke, boys — it’s not ‘banter’ ,” the gruff voice now raised, seething. “Seein’ as your ‘jokes’ have now landed yourselves in after school detention tonight, I think ya’ll need to come with me to get your detention slips signed.”

The group of boys groan in unison and you hear one swear under their breath. Oh shit, they’re in for it, now.

“Hey!” The pitch of his speech deepens, harsh and guttural, a threatening aura now looming in the air. “Let’s not make it two after school detentions in a row for insubordination.” The boys are now deathly silent. “I recommend y’all shut your traps and follow me. I’ll email your tutors and let them know why you’ll be late for registration. What a disappointin’ start to the year, boys…” The husky voice trails in the opposite direction, still berating and scolding the group.

You’re itching to text your friends about the clash that just went down, but just as you’re about to hit send, the bell rings for morning registration. Shit. You tuck your phone away and hustle towards your form classroom, hoping to avoid a late mark.

9:03am

Your form group was small, fewer than 15. A few of them were familiar faces from your early years in primary school, while most were friends you had made during your time at the local high school. There were also a few new acquaintances from other schools in the area, including Chelsea, notably absent from your registration period this morning.

Despite only meeting her last year when you joined the college, she’d quickly become one of your closest friends. She was in your History and English Lit/Lang classes so you often spent time together, as well as studying and revising at each others’ houses, and over time your friendship blossomed. The first year of your A-Level courses were a journey for you both: you laughed together, cried together, comforted each other through the meltdowns triggered by the towering workload and disheartening feedback on essays you’d slaved over.

This morning’s registration period is extended by 20 minutes, seeing as it’s the first day back and there’s a lot to catch up on; new schedules to coordinate and potentially revise in the case of any timetable clashes. This was to be followed by a ‘Welcome Back’ assembly held in the main hall of the sixth form college, that you don’t doubt will be boring as hell.

Your head is buried in your new school planner, setting it up for the upcoming year, when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you are greeted by the beaming face of Chelsea.

“Chelsea! Hey!” you say, surprised but happy to see her. “Dude, you are so late.” You stand to pull her into a tight squeeze of a hug.

“Babe, I know —my car was being a bitch this morning, took forever to start,” she exhales, exasperated. She breaks the embrace, drops her backpack on the floor and sits at the desk next to you.

“Shows you for driving an absolute shitbox,” you tease, attempting to lean back into the rigid plastic seat.

“Hey, don’t talk about Gizmo like that, it’ll hurt his feelings.” Chelsea throws a mock frown at you. “Not like your hunk o’ junk is much better.”

“Guilty as charged,” you banter, arms up in mock surrender.

“ Anyway …Happy belated birthday!” she exclaims, pulling out a small, colourful badge from her bag. “I know I couldn't make it on Saturday, so I wanted to give you this now. You gotta wear it all day.”

You look at the badge; it is vibrant and cheerful decorated with hearts and stars, with a playful ‘Birthday Girl!’ written in glittery bubble letters. A mix of emotions washes over you. You are so pleased by the thoughtfulness of her gesture—Chelsea was always a giver—but a little embarrassed by the idea of wearing a badge in front of everyone on the first day back.

“Awh, Chelsea, you didn't have to…” you start, but she cuts you off.

“I know, I know, but I wanted to. You deserve a little extra celebration!” she grins, pinning the badge to your blazer proudly.

You feel a warmth spread through you. It is touching to know she had thought of you and made the effort despite missing the actual day. You glance around, noticing a few curious glances from your classmates. Embarrassment mingles with gratitude, and you smile at her warmly.

“Thanks, Chels," you say sincerely. “This means a lot.”

Chelsea flashes a wink. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

With that, you begin recalling the details of the altercation you overheard between the boys and the new staff member. You provide a concise rundown, explaining how the boys suddenly started harassing you, describing how this new, mysterious person defended you after you had presumably left. Chelsea is as astonished as you are to hear the entire story.

“Wait, you have no idea who it was? And he was American ?” Chelsea raises an eyebrow, then narrows her eyes, probing you further for details.

“Southern? I dunno. And, nope, sorry, no idea, hon,” you shrug, “I didn’t think to get a look at him. Didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping, y’know.”

Chelsea ponders, drawing out her words. “Hmm, interesting...”

“Do you know of any new teachers taking over this year?”

“Not a Scooby-Doo clue, mate,” her shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. She pauses a moment, lightly tapping the desk with her fingertips and pursing her lips. “ So … Did he sound hot?”

“Chels! You can’t say that!” You gasp, shocked at her question, hitting her arm playfully.

“Oh come on, I just wanna know the deets!”, she defends whilst punching you back in jest. “Did he sound old, young—you gotta give me something to work with?!”

“I dunno how to describe it, umm… he was…” you trail off, replaying the snippets of what you overheard like a movie. 

The voice was a rich, gravelly drawl that sent shivers down your spine. His tone had a weathered maturity, a deep, husky resonance that carried the weight of experience. There was a touch of warmth, even when he was angry, like a low rumble of thunder on a hot summer night, both comforting and electrifying. It was the kind of voice that could soothe a troubled mind or set hearts racing with a whisper. The kind of voice that you were desperate to hear again, that sparked your curiosity.

“It was, like, deeper, husky— I don’t fucking know , Chels!”, you attempt to surmise before breaking out into a giggle and your cheeks warming into a blush.

“A-ha! So, he was hot! You jammy bitch.”

“We don’t even know what he looks like, so we can’t say for definite if he is or isn’t hot yet.”

“Well if he sounds fit, he probably will be.” There’s a proverb in there, somewhere, if you look hard enough.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”, you jest. Chelsea laughs and it’s infectious, both of you giggling at your wild hypotheses.

Your conversation is cut short when Mrs Marvelley calls for the class’ attention. She begins handing out your new timetables for the year, and you grab yours from her eagerly, hoping that it’s not terrible.

“These are your timetables for this year. I’ll give you a few minutes to check them over. If there’s no issues, head up to the main hall for assembly. If there are issues, you need to go down to the admin office and speak to Mr Jones. I repeat, you need to see Mr Jones.” She spots a hand raised amongst the group. “And, no , Dan, he won’t change it so you get Fridays off, no matter how much you beg and bribe him.” A few quiet snickers ripple across the class.

Looking at the timetable, your eyes are drawn to a different set of initials where you expect to find AW, for Mr Walker, one of your lecturers who seemed as ancient as history itself.

HIST/A2

JM

Rm. 93

A few of your other peers also spot the change too and break out into a slew of overlapping speculative discussions.

Is he dead? Wouldn’t surprise me—My sister heard he had to get a hip replacement, second one musta gave out finally—I guess Mr Walker ain’t walking anymore, hahaha, what? C’mon, it’s just a joke, Miss, be chill—Who’s JM? You reckon it’s a guy or a girl? I hope they’re nice, not like Mr Hall. He’s a dick—Can’t believe they haven’t sacked him yet. 

“You good? Everything okay?” Chelsea asks, standing to collect her belongings.

“Yeah, no issues here.” You follow suit, packing your bag to leave. “‘Cept Mr Hall is still teaching History.” 

“ Ugh , tell me about it. Let’s hope this fresh meat isn’t as much of a twat as he is.”

“That’s wishful thinking, Chels, but I got my fingers crossed. Anyway, time for us to be bored out of our minds for an hour. Let’s go.”

10:28am

As you’d predicted, the Welcome Back assembly dragged on for what seemed like millennia. You’d been sitting there that long that your ass had gone numb. Led by the assistant headteacher Mr Faulkner, it was the usual presentation, welcoming everyone back after the summer, a few announcement of extra-curricular activities commencing this week, with some interesting musical performances from the Music students and a refresh of the colleges’ rules, expectations and consequences: 

Try your best.

You are a representative of the College, in and out. Conduct yourselves in a manner that does not put the institution into disrepute.

You are in your last year now, make it count.

Surely, this all could have been in an email . It was basically the same trifle they spouted last year. 

Before you feel yourself fall asleep out of boredom, the last announcement catches your attention, and urges you and Chelsea to sit up in your seats.

“Before we end our assembly today and let you go to break, I have one last announcement—an introduction, actually,” Mr Faulkner announces, wrinkled hands clasped tightly together. Microphone feedback echoes awkwardly through the speakers. 

Shallow murmurs ripple across the hall. In sync, you and Chelsea flash each other a knowing look. This could be the end to the mystery that plagued you both all morning.

“As you may be aware, we had to bid farewell to our longest serving member of teaching staff, Mr Walker. Over summer, he underwent some surgery and he felt that it was in his best interest to retire after an illustrious 45 year career in teaching. He sends his best wishes for your year ahead and apologises for not being able to do so in person. We thank him for his many years at this College and wish him a speedy recovery.”

Chelsea leans to you. “ Jesus Christ, he doesn’t half go on, does he? Just get to the fucking point, man, ” she whispers before Mrs Marvelley quietly shushes her and raises a hand in a silent apology. You chuckle under your breath, silently agreeing with your friend. A shiver of excitement races down your spine, making your fingers tingle, a slow and steady anticipation building within you.

“I’d like to formally introduce you all to our newest member of staff to join our College. He is a former lecturer from across the pond and we are so grateful to have him join our department of Humanities and Social Studies. So please give a warm welcome to the stage, Mr Joel Miller.” A lulled applause breaks out across the hall. Mr Faulkner takes a step back from the mic and your eyes scan towards the front, looking for this ambiguous Mr Miller to join the stage.

And that’s when you spot him. Probably one of the most attractive people you’ve ever laid eyes on. The kind of person that makes your breath hitch, cheeks hot and heart skip a beat. You’re silently praying to a higher power he has an American accent as he climbs the few steps up to the stage.

Time feels like molasses as your eyes drink him in. His hair is a rich brown and pairs deliciously with his eyes, falling across his head in tousled waves. The boyish curls, a little dishevelled, frame his face perfectly and suggest a softness that beckons you to touch them. Though sparse in places along his strong jawline, the uneven growth of his facial hair adds an irresistibly raw, untamed allure, hinting at a blend of tenderness and roughness that you find insatiable. A textured beige blazer drapes over his broad shoulders, accentuating and hugging his physique with each movement. Underneath, you could see a burnt orange button-up shirt, which complements the warmth of his skin. An undone top button reveals a slight glimpse of his chest, firing your desire to see more .

Lost in him, your mind wanders as you envisage how his salt-and-pepper scruff would feel against the soft skin of your cheeks, peppering wet, sweet kisses trailing down your neck and body, and before arriving at the delicate creases of your thighs. Sweat drips down your back as your tummy flutters and tightens, and you cross your legs to seek any sort of purchase to relieve the building pressure in your core, a wetness beginning to pool in your underwear, cheeks blushing at the sight of him. Almost immediately you decide that you want him to absolutely ruin you.

A familiar voice drawls across the hall’s speakers, snapping you back to reality. You glance around to see if anyone noticed your reaction. Thankfully everyone is facing the front, focusing on the assembly.

“Uh, hi folks, thanks for having me,” Mr Miller utters into the microphone, a soft nervous smile blooming across his face. Bingo. Mystery solved at last.

You whack Chelsea in the side in an effort to get her attention and she whips her head round. It's him, you mouth silently, that’s the guy.

“No, shit. I told you he was gonna be fit.”

Saying he was fit felt like an understatement. He was immaculate, a commanding masculine energy radiating from him. To you, he's a masterpiece that's rough around the edges, sultry perfection with a touch of brooding reality.

“I ain’t one for public speaking so I appreciate y’all being so kind in welcoming me here today. And thank you to Mr Faulkner for that, uh, introduction,” he says, a soft chortle escaping his mouth. “I’m honoured to be joining such a prestigious department and hopefully live up to Mr Walker’s legacy. No pressure, amirite?”

He chuckles again, joined by a comforting wave of murmured chuckles from students around you. You’re transfixed, hanging onto every word he says.

“In all seriousness, ‘m looking forward to settling in, getting to teach history, doing what I love — thank you,” he finishes, punctuating the sentence with a slight nod. Taking a step back from the mic to allow Mr Faulkner to finally wrap up the assembly, you choose to ignore the assistant head and pour your focus entirely into Mr Miller.

Head tilting like a curious puppy, you pay close attention as he slides his glasses up his aquiline nose with his middle finger and runs his large hand through his hair, touseling his curls. You begin to fiddle with your delicate chain necklace, fingertips barely grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as a warm giddiness prevails over you causing your cheeks to burn harder. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s perfect.

“What? ” Chelsea whispers, poking her finger into your side. “ What did you say? ”

“Huh?” you murmur. Confused at first before awareness sets in, your eyes widen like a deer in headlights, realising what you’d whispered aloud. You’re about to respond and promise to tell her at break, when Mrs Marvelley's sharp whisper cuts through the air, causing you and Chelsea to freeze in your seats like statues.

“Girls ! That’s enough.” Arms crossed tightly across her body, she leans in to avoid drawing attention to herself as she delivers a quiet but harsh scolding. “Stay here at the end of assembly. You have detention for constant whispering. Now, be quiet . So incredibly rude,” she hisses. 

Avoiding Mrs Marvelley’s scathing eye contact, both you and Chelsea offer mumbled apologies, a mix of sorry Miss and won’t do it again . For fuck’s sake. Detention was the last thing you needed on your first day back.You’re kicking yourself for sitting at the end of the row instead of the middle, where you would have quietly gossiped without getting caught usually.  At least it was only technically 50% your fault with Chelsea involved, when you thought about it. You pray she didn’t overhear you gushing over the new teacher—the thought itself makes you feel nauseous.

The assembly rolls to a close at long last, and students and staff begin to file out of the main hall. In the hustle and bustle, you lose sight of Mr Miller and a feeling of longing waves over you as if you miss him already like a pathetic puppy. Meanwhile, you and Chelsea remain seated, bracing yourselves a stern lecture from your form tutor. You exchange glances every now and again, struggling to stifle your laughter despite your present situation. It’s always funny how being forbidden to speak makes everything seem so much more amusing.

11:07am

Mrs Marvelley escorts you back to her classroom at breaktime and delivers a scorned lecture as she logs the detention on her prehistoric computer, almost punching the keys of the keyboard. The computer was probably as old as you, if not older.

“Girls, I cannot believe that you were being so rude, whispering constantly like that. Every single time I looked over, you were just talking . You’re meant to be the good girls in my form class — really let me down today. Imagine what impression that makes on Mr Faulkner or even Mr Miller who’s new to this college, the pair of you gossiping like that.”

Neither you or Chelsea interrupt her, knowing better to just accept the scolding than to argue back. Admittedly, she’s laying it on a bit thick, it wasn’t like you’d committed any serious infractions or catcalled and harrassed another pupil like some people you know. It was just gossiping. All the same, you feel a pang of embarrassment in the pit of your stomach.

Mrs Marvelley twists her thin wrist to check the time on her watch.

“Alright ladies, you’ve got 10 minutes left of your detention but I need to pop out to speak to someone next door. It'll be a few minutes. Can I trust you both to stay here until I get back?”

You and Chelsea nod without saying anything. Mrs Marvelley leaves without a word and you’re both left to your own devices.

You fidget with a loose piece of thread on the hem of your skirt, running it through and round your fingers before pulling at it to snap it off. Readjusting in your seat, you let out a lengthy sigh. The previous arousal in your underwear feels a little uncomfortable now, both literally and figuratively. It’s not even lesson 3 yet and it’s been a helluva day , you muse.

“Mr Miller got you all worked up, eh?” Chelsea teases, nudging her leg into yours. It was like she read you like an open book.

“Don’t you start,” you warn, rolling your eyes, your slight irritation palpable in the sideways look. But she was right. You’d barely laid eyes on him all of 5 minutes and he was already driving you crazy. “Was it obvious?”, you ask quietly, bracing yourself for the worst possible answer that your new crush on Mr Miller was clear as day.

Chelsea’s familiar hearty laugh echoes through the room. “Only because I know you so well by now. Oh, and the fact you admitted that he was, what was it? ‘So fucking perfect’ ?” She teases, her fingers waggle in the air, forming imaginary quotation marks as she quotes you.

You groan with embarrassment. “I can’t believe I said that, I’m such a dick .” You groan again, louder this time, flopping into a pathetic lump on the desk, head buried into your arms. If the ground beneath you could split open and swallow you whole, you’d welcome it with open arms. You would prefer it actually than being stuck in college for the rest of the day.

Chelsea rubs your back, her hands radiating a warm heat as she circles your upper back, maintaining a consistent pressure. Usually when she rubs your back like this, you’re throwing up into a toilet the morning after a heavy night of binge drinking in a random field somewhere—the session hidden from your parents obviously—but it’s still comforting all the same.

“You’re alright, mate, honestly.” She insists, hands moving down to give attention to your lower back. “Nobody heard ‘cept for me. Hell, I barely heard you, but I got the message.” 

Peeking out of the lump, revealing your flushed face, your eyes meet Chelsea’s. You pout at your pitiful demeanour. 

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

There is one last thing you need to do to feel fully assured of yourself. You offer Chelsea your little finger. “Pinky swear?”

She locks her petite finger with yours and offers a tender smile, gently nodding. “Pinky swear.”

2:04pm

The rest of the day passed without any further mishaps. You had double Spanish followed by independent study and lunch before your last period - History with the enigmatic Mr Miller. Lining up in the corridor, it feels stuffy even when you remove your thick blazer and loosen your tie. The rhythmic tapping of your fingers against your thigh does little to settle the butterflies in your tummy. You’d made a tactical judgement by standing towards the end of the line; you were waiting for Chelsea and you didn’t want to seem too keen. The shrill ring of the bell pierced through the rustle and bustle of the corridor, both clouding your mind so much you barely take notice when the rest of the line heads into the class. Mr Miller is standing at the door welcoming your class in.

His eyes lock with yours and your heart does a flip. As you make your way into class his lips curve into a soft smile, inviting and warm, and you feel like the air’s been punched out of your gut. Shit. You return with a weak smile and enter the room before you pass out.

Usually decorated with replicas of historical artefacts, boxes of old dusty textbooks and old wall displays of work from students who’d long left the college, the classroom was bare, empty like a blank canvas. The desks had been rearranged from rows of tables into groups, allowing for four people to sit. You decide to take a seat towards the front, near to where you sat last year with Chelsea. She trails in not long after you and smiles with a ‘hiya’ under her breath.

“Well, this is different.” She says scanning the classroom, unpacking her bag before sitting in the seat adjacent to you. “Least it’s not as dusty with Walker’s junk everywhere.”

“His stuff wasn’t that bad. It was just too much of it.” You follow Chelsea’s lead and get your equipment out for the lesson. As you’re getting your notebook out, your elbow nudges your pencil case and its contents spill on the floor. 

“Fuck’s sake ,” you whisper under breath. Flustered, you’re about to get out of your chair when you feel a shadow over you.

“S’alright, I got it.”

Mr Miller looms over you before getting down to grab the contents of your pencil case from the floor in one swift motion. Since this morning he’s removed his blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The sight of his forearms, tanned, strong and just so masculine , makes your heart flutter, a quiet thrill running through you at the thought of those arms wrapped around you, entangled together.

“There you go, darlin’.” He says, holding them out to you, a soft laugh reveals his smile lines. “Saved you gettin’ up.” Taking the handful of pens out of his hand, you swear you feel electricity in the split second his hand gazes against yours.

“Thanks, sir,” you manage to say without squeaking too much.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” His velvety words dance across his tongue and you almost want to believe that he’s being this hot on purpose to torture you personally. 

Returning to his teacher desk he settles in the leather office chair and begins logging in and setting up his teaching resources. He completes the attendance register with no hitches; apart from the way he says your name has your head spinning. Satisfied that he can start the lesson, he rises from the table and stands near the board, ready to present, clicker in hand. 

“Alrigh’ folks, welcome to final year History, you’ve made it this far.” He leans casually against the wall in the space between his desk and the board before continuing.

“I’ll be level with you. It's period five on your first day back. It’s my first day. Your lil’ brains are probably information overloaded right now bouncing ‘round your heads.” He pauses and run his hand through his curly hair which is a lot more dishevelled compared to this morning. “I’ve had to meet almost too many people to meet within a day.”

He sounds gruff, like he’s worn his voice out from lecturing all day.

“Bet some of y’all are wondering how you’re still upright after the day you’ve had. Hell, I'm wondering how I’m still standing.” He chuckles, a rich, deep sound that seems to vibrate through you. A few from your class join in with a soft laugh. His irreverent humour puts your mind at ease and you appreciate his honesty.

“‘Won’t overload you with too many of the scary details of what’s going to happen this year but we’ll do an overview. That sounds good to y’all?” The class and you let out a mumble of agreement. “Let’s jump in then; this is your intro’ to The American Dream: reality and illusion, from 1945 to 2003.”

For the next half an hour, he shares an outline of what this year’s course will entail in terms of assessment: formative essays every few weeks to check your progress with course content, a historical enquiry assignment due in April, followed by your final exams in June. He goes on to describe some of the key events you'll study this year with confidence: the Cold War, the Civil Rights movement, the rise of popular culture and media, Watergate, the war on drugs, 9/11, and the U.S. invasion of Iraq. It’s quietly ironic that the college has asked him to teach on this module, and you wonder what Mr Miller’s perspective could offer when teaching some of the topics that he’s probably lived through himself.

The broad scope of subjects felt overwhelming looking at them in one go, yet it was the challenge you craved. History as a subject was one of your passions, even when it pushed your limits. A poor grade on a painstakingly crafted essay would upset you, but it didn't dissuade you either; it ignited a fierce resolve to prove yourself. Your old teacher Mr Walker was always so supportive of your interest in his subject, keen to hear your opinions and debate with you. His feedback on your essays was always fair, highlighting both the strengths and drawbacks in your analyses and opinions:

I like the way you’ve considered this, it enriches your main, overall argument. However, in paragraph 7, it feels a little weak and undersupported. Next time, you should consider looking at these sources I’ve suggested and how they may alter your argument. Good work on the whole — Grade: 20/25.

It was a shame that your work wasn’t appreciated by your other History teacher. Mr Hall's biassed grading, favouring certain students with A’s while giving you C’s and D’s, felt unjust. And it wasn’t because you thought your work was better; you’d heard through the grapevine that this particular group would pay seedy websites to produce their essays in all their subjects, slap their own names on the work and submit them. Others complained to Mr Walker about it but it fell on deaf ears, and lacked concrete evidence to prove the plagiarism so the issue never went further, despite it appearing to be an open secret. However on results day, your quiet determination paid off. You revelled in the sweet victory of an A, while the boys, once so favoured, faced the sting of D’s, E’s and U’s. You wondered if you’d be believed now if you brought the issue up again.

Throughout the lesson you earnestly take notes whilst you listen to his lecture, to jot down the important information and to show him that you’re listening intently, aching for a crumb of approval from the new teacher. The way he speaks commands the room, drawing the attention of the whole class, oozing a confidence that only comes with experience. Each word rolled out with a noticeable Texan accent, dripping with a natural, unforced charm. 

The introductory lecture draws to a close, to your disappointment. You could listen to him talk for hours.

“I hope I ain’t completely frazzled your heads, anyone got any questions?” Mr Miller offers a slight smile as he scans the room, his brown eyes meeting yours. For a second you feel his gaze on you, praying he doesn’t see your cheeks starting to warm for what feels like the hundredth time, your uniform feeling unbearable against your skin. As luck would have it, the bell rings, saving you and the class begins to pack up their belongings.

“Oh—before you go, I have this handout you need.” He turns to collect the stack of papers from his desk. In the meanwhile, you put your blazer on and start to clear away your things at an unhurried pace, waiting for everyone else to clear the room before you ask Mr Miller about what happened this morning with the boys. Chelsea’s ready to go, looking at you expectantly.

“Chels, I’ll meet you outside. I wanna ask him something.” She nods in understanding and offers a knowing wink as she leaves. 

The almost vacant classroom suddenly feels stuffy as if it will swallow you whole. Mr Miller has his back to you, shuffling and organising his already messy desk as you approach him.

“Umm, hi, Mr Miller…” you start, nibbling on your lip so hard you almost draw blood. You hear your blood pumping in your ears, heart pounding like a relentless drum.

“Oh, sorry darlin’ I didn’t realise you had a question,” he turns and sits, leaning back in his office chair, relaxed. “How can I help?” A dangerous question for your little wound up mind. I don’t know, maybe bend me over on that desk right there and fuck me so hard I forget my name?

“Uh, no, actually. It’s about something that happened this morning.” You say instead, taking a seat on the edge of the desk closest to his. Mr Miller’s expression changes, a mixture of concern and confusion, unsure of what you’re referring to. Thumbing the sleeve of your blazer, you begin to explain. “I think it was you I overheard dealing with a group of lads being a bit gross this morning…” you trail awkwardly, dropping his eye contact, hoping he catches on.

“Oh yeah, I remember now. What about it?”

“I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me, I—err—appreciate it.” 

“ Oh… ” Realisation washes over him and he sits up in his chair. “Those boys were bothering you , huh? I’m sorry they were being like that. Ain’t right to talk to a lady like that,” he murmurs, his finger grazing against his bottom lip. The way he says it, dripping with charm, makes your heart swoon.

“You don’t need to apologise for them, they’re dickheads, anyway.” You offer a soft chuckle, feeling a little awkward about the situation.

“Dickheads they might be darlin’, but they needed to learn a lesson on how t’be respectful. Guess they don’t teach that over here.” He shrugs nonchalantly and a slim smile appears briefly on his lips.

Leaning forward in his chair he perches elbows on his knees, his large hands interlaced, he catches your eye and looks at you intently. “They bother you again, you tell me, alrigh’? I will deal with them.” He murmurs, voice deepening, eye contact unwavering. “I’m serious. Any word or comment, you come to me .” 

Shit. I’ll come for you if you want. You swallow hard and you feel slick arousal begin to dampen your underwear again in response to his command. 

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll let you know,” you try your best to sound unaffected by his commanding allure.

“Not a problem, darlin’. Now, get outta here and enjoy the rest of the day.” His smile is like a gentle caress, as warm as his gaze. He rises from his chair to see you out. You hop off the desk, bag slung over your shoulder and walk over to the door.

“One last thing,” he stops just short of the door, his tall frame towering over you. You look up to him; you guess he’s shy of 6 foot. He holds the pink, sparkly ‘Birthday Girl’ badge from Chelsea, still attached to your blazer, like he was inspecting it. 

Your mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape in realisation and you sigh softly, attempting to hide your embarrassed face before meeting his gaze. “It was my 18th on Sunday and my friend got me this because she missed it, and made me wear it all-day.” You let out a nervous laugh, realising how silly the situation was to explain aloud to your teacher.

A lingering smile tugs at his lips, his eyes flitting down and up your body. “Well,” he pauses, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his thumb brushing against the colourful badge before his hand grazes down your arm, sending a jolt through your body. “Happy birthday for Sunday, darlin’, I hope you got everything you wanted,” he coos.

You have to swallow hard to stop yourself from letting out a whimper in response, aching for him to touch elsewhere instead.

Your thoughts are spinning like a record of the things you can’t say right now; I want you for my birthday, that would be the best present. I want you to touch me, suck my tits, fuck me, make me cum before you ruin me. Make me feel like no one else has. I wanna make you feel so good, I wanna be good for you. I’ll be so good, I promise. 

“T-Thanks,” you stutter, breath hitching. You excuse yourself before you let illicit thoughts pour out of you and make your way to the car park to meet Chelsea. Your head is spinning, replaying the interaction over and over; the sound of his gruff voice, the way he looked at you, his light touch over your blazer, the way he had you like putty in his hands. It drowns yet excites you, teetering on edge between being turned on and utterly overwhelmed, the cruel truth dawning on you.

You have a crush on your teacher and you’re probably—definitely—absolutely fucked.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, I love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!💞

[sweet-evie]

Baby Megumi & Best Sister Tsumiki Headcanons feat. Teen Dad!Gojo because I love this family unit, and my JJK brainrot is worsening the closer we get to 6th of July. 🫠

These are probably done before, but idgaf because we're about to see baby Megumi and high school Gojo again~ 🥹 Also, I'd rather do these instead of write fics because my Death Note X Code Geass crossover still needs my attention.

Megumi has a stuffed animal collection. 🐺 It started with one stuffed wolf that Satoru got him for his 1st birthday with Gojo, and Megumi pretended he didn't like them, but ummm... 8 years later, Megumi has 75 animal plushies. I like to think they're all small and cute.

If Shibuya and the other BS didn't happen, Megumi would have received another stuffed animal or two for his 16th birthday. Because tradition. 🥹

Just like Megumi has a collection of stuffed animals, Tsumiki has a collection of dolls. *cough cough* Barbies... It started with Licca-chan and eventually Satoru caught her eyeing Barbies in toy stores, so he bought her one. And then two. And then whole sets for Christmas or her birthday or whenever she showed Gojo her report card.

In addition to dolls, Tsumiki definitely had one of those big Barbie houses when she was 8.

Tsumiki ropes Megumi into playing dolls with her. He does it to make his sister happy. And they always include Megumi's stuffed animals.

Tsumiki had Barbie Posh Pets. (Totally not projecting... Maybe I am). I had those as a kid and the set includes a pregnant mama cat + 3 kittens. You can open the mama cat's tummy and take out a pink kitten. (That's kind of fucked up when I think about it now 🤦‍♀️). I imagine it's that sort of nightmare-inducing shit that Satoru notices and gets because he thinks it's funny. 🙃

The Barbie Posh Pet in question that Tsumiki definitely owns:

Anyway... Speaking of Barbie... Tsumiki saw her first Barbie movie because Satoru brought home a Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper DVD on one of their movie nights. He was just assuming she would like it...

She liked it, and they always had Barbie movies in the movie night roster ever since. Tsumiki loves them. Megumi thinks they're whatever but is amused, because Barbie movies have talking animals, and Satoru just loves to poke fun at the plot.

Megumi watches wildlife documentaries for fun. He's a National Geographic and Discovery Channel kid. He has a DVD collection that came with the encyclopedia set Satoru bought.

Megumi liked movies with animals. Are we surprised? He's seen all of the Dr. Dolittle movies.

Tsumiki cried watching Bambi. 🦌 Someone else definitely got teary-eyed while watching Bambi too. That 'someone' will also never admit it, even if Satoru totally caught that particular someone rubbing his eyes with his small fists during that scene.

Speaking of getting teary-eyed at watching cartoons. Satoru's damn lucky he can hide behind his blackout sunglasses, because he was totally sad and emotional when they finished watching The Fox and the Hound. 🦊🐶 You look at that Tod and Cooper friendship and tell me it doesn't remind you of SatoSugu a little bit.

The refrigerator in Megumi and Tsumiki's apartment is stocked with 80% sweets. It's Satoru's fault.

Satoru attends Megumi's and Tsumiki's parent-teacher meetings in elementary school, and he's popular with the PTA parents (especially the moms). Megumi hates it, Gojo revels in the attention. Some teachers invited him to be in the PTA, but ultimately, this special-grade sorcerer always has to decline. He's way too busy.

Elementary career days = Satoru telling the kids that he's a very powerful magician. 🎩🪄🐇 The kids believe him and the adults think he's joking. Well technically, he isn't.

Satoru is prone to bribing child tantrums with McDonalds. It doesn't always work.

Satoru, Megumi, and Tsumiki definitely went camping a couple of times. Sometimes Shoko tags along, but she never stays overnight.

Satoru lost Megumi at the mall. Tsumiki always found her little brother. He's honestly not that hard to find. He's either in a bookstore or a pet shop or a toy store that sells things Megumi likes.

Tsumiki is very forgiving of Satoru's tendency to lose Megumi in the mall.

Ice cream or parfaits for dinner are normal when you're living with Gojo. 🍨🍦

They've been to Disneyland. 🏰

Megumi likes zoos and aquariums.

Tsumiki is fond of handcrafting appreciation gifts for Satoru. 🎁Friendship bracelets, knitted socks and mittens she made in homeroom once that are way too small for him, multi-colored dreamcatchers (she made one for Megumi too of course), birdseed ornaments, lots of origami, very small bead bowls, flowers made of cupcake liners, etc.

Satoru has all of Tsumiki's DIY handicrafts tucked away in an Air Jordan shoebox. He also has a jar full of origami paper cranes that Tsumiki made when she was in her origami phase.

Satoru always took the kids to fun festivals whenever he could.

Satoru gave Megumi and Tsumiki the childhood they deserved -- gave them the childhood they were almost robbed of when Toji and Tsumiki's mom abandoned them, gave them the childhood Gojo never got to have.

All of that before Megumi lost Tsumiki and his life started spiraling for the worst. 😭

#Save&FreeMegumiPLEASE!

[youling-the-ghost]

sfth incorrect quotes pt.9 because the brainrot is getting to me

Luke: Thanks for not telling Tom what happened. AJ, dumbfounded: I wouldn’t even know where to begin trying to explain this. Tom: Anyone down to take couples counseling and see at what point the therapist realizes we barely know each other? Luke: Idiots to lovers, 20k words, angst with a happy ending. AJ: I know what a prism is! It's where you put bad people. (I just realised that I already had this quote in a past post)

AJ: Okay, what does A stand for? Luke: Arson. AJ: Aw, you're so good. Okay! B! What does B stand for? Luke: Barson. Sam: *laughter* AJ: What stands for C? Luke: Commit arson. Sam: Oooo. AJ: D! Luke: Don't come near me, I'm going to commit arson. Sam: *more laughter, slightly more evil this time* Tom: Hey, check out my Spongebob umbrella! *Tom opens his umbrella while indoors* Sam: Tom, that’s bad luck… Tom: Chill out, Sam! Luke, kicking down the door: WHO SUMMONED ME?!?! Tom and Sam: *screams* (Senor Pork-core) Tom: Hey, are you free? Sam: No, I’m expensive. Store Worker: Would a “Tom” please come to the front desk? Tom, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem? Store Worker, pointing to AJ, Sam, and Luke: I believe they belong to you? AJ, Sam, and Luke, simultaneously: We got lost. Tom: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me- Luke: Tom, when’s your birthday? Tom: Why? So you can look up my natal chart? So you can figure out my weaknesses? So you can destroy me? Luke: ...So I know when to wish you a happy birthday. Luke: But also so I can plan your downfall. AJ: So, what is Luke to you? Sam: The reason I wake up every morning. AJ: ...That’s adorable. Luke earlier that morning, barging into Sam′s room, smacking pans together: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP!!! AJ: *stands in trash can* Sam: AJ, not again! You're not trash, you're at least recycling! (I like to think that AJ just wanted to stand in the trash can) Sam: Big day today, Tom. *holds up two identical flannels* Mustard stain or ketchup stain? Tom: Mustard, looks less like blood. Tom: Yeah, I find it quite emotional. In like a cool way. Sam: Did you just say it makes you cry in a cool way? Luke: *writing a letter* Luke: Dear Santa, I'm writing to let you know I've been naughty...and it was worth it you fat, judgemental bastard. Tom: Damn, the power went out. AJ: Don’t worry, I got this. AJ: *stomps foot* Tom: What-? AJ: *Sketchers light up* Sam: You can’t have a gun on stage! Luke: WRONG! I can have a gun, and I must have a gun, that’s the rule of Chekhov’s Gun: have a gun. And now that it’s been seen, I will have to shoot someone before the end of the play. (Sam's just jealous that he doesn't have a gun) Tom: Oh no! I’m doomed! Sam: Seriously? All you have to do is not insult Luke at his own memorial service. Tom: Exactly! It’s impossible! AJ: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, that’s fucked up. Like c'mon, you know I’m dumb as hell! Luke: Shouldn't get stressed out, it's not good for the baby. Tom: What baby? Luke, crying a bit: Me. Tom: That's not funny. Luke: I thought it was funny. Tom: You don't count. You started laughing in the middle of a funeral because you started thinking of a meme you saw on Facebook.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Healing Hands // Nikolai Lantsov

Request: Hi Millie! S&B s2 left me with severe Nikolai brainrot 🫠 I love my pirate prince so, if it's okay, I'd love to request a Nikolai x healer!reader 💙 I am a sucker for the patching up trope so that would be amazing. Thanks in advance! ☺️ And happy belated birthday! 🎉

A/N: First time writing for Nikolai so pls be gentle! I’m still getting to grips with his character and I haven’t read King of Scars yet so I only know of the show Nikolai and the trilogy Nikolai. Anyway! Thank you so much for your request, I hope you like, lovely!

Warnings: injuries, mentions of blood, nausea, dizziness. Pining, mutual pining. Mentions of a duel, stabbing. Pain. This is fluff, I promise.

Word Count: 1.4k

Were the grounds to the palace truly that uneven, or was he losing more blood than he initially realised?

Nikolai pondered this as he took a steadying breath against the wave of nausea that washed over him when he placed his left foot on the step first rather than using his right foot to power through. A silly mistake, the prince thinks, but a mistake nonetheless when black spots dance across his vision.

He slumps against a marble column, resting his forehead against its coolness. He could tolerate pain, could stand the sight of blood and deal with the accompanying adrenaline. What Nikolai found hard to cope with, was that he let his elder brother get the best of him.

It was this thought that spurred him on. The anger at being bested by Vasilly that kept him putting one foot in front of the other even though his left leg protested with every single step.

——————

The Healing Room was rather basic in its layout. A row of six beds placed against the back wall; each bed positioned under a window for air ventilation. Across to the furthest side of the room, shackled to the wall, was an apothecary cabinet filled to the brim with plants and herbs that could aid in healing. Most Grisha didn’t have much use for traditional medicine, but the palace hired its fair share of non-grisha too.

To the left of the room, there sat a desk. It wasn’t overly large; big enough for two just about. It was at this desk that he finds you; your face buried in a book, a streaming drink to your side and a pile of unfinished paperwork sprawled across the rest of the desk. If it wasn’t for the blood dripping onto the floor, making him dizzier, Nikolai could stand there and watch you all day.

Nikolai slumps into the door; the dark wood banging against the sage green walls, alerting you to his presence.

“Your Majesty!” You gasp, rushing to your feet, knocking into your desk and spilling ink over the pages of your new book. You barely give it more than a second thought; hurrying to Nikolai’s side. “What happened?”

Nikolai remains silent as you aid him across the small room to the uncomfortable bench where you healed the more dramatic of injuries. Nikolai tries his best not to wince as he settles down onto the hard wood, feeling every bump and scratch laid into the wood. The ceiling lights only further his nausea so he focuses his gaze on you. His eyes follow your every move; bustling from draw to cupboard, pulling out anything you could need before healing his wound with your powers.

A small, pained smile adorns his lips as you draw your stool next to him. Instinctively, you brush his hair back from his forehead. Nikolai leans into your touch; relishing in your gentleness, wishing it could be the first he felt when he came to consciousness in the morning.

“What happened, Nikolai?” You question, turning your focus to the tear in his trousers. A two inch gash stretches across the front of his left thigh; blood runs freely down his leg. The flow seems to have slowed some, but he’d already lost too much for your liking.

Nikolai lazily waves a hand in the air, putting on airs and graces. “It’s nothing. A simple scratch that needs treating.”

You shoot the prince an unimpressed look. “When you want to tell me the truth, Niko, I’m ready and waiting.”

Nikolai groaned, hating the use of your childhood nickname for him. You so rarely used it now; the nickname, like his childhood, a bittersweet memory. “You’re not playing fair,” He complains, throwing an arm across his face.

You snort, shaking your head fondly at the prince. “I never claimed to play fair. I have to know what happened in case I need to treat an infection before closing the wound.”

Nikolai sighs, knowing he had been bested for a second time that day. “Vasilly…” Nikolai begins, quashing the sudden rise of anger as he thinks back to the events of barely an hour ago.

“What did your brother do?”

“It wasn’t what he did. Am I upset he stabbed me? Yes, but I let myself get distracted and lose the upper hand.”

“How?”

“He said something he knew would get a rise out of me and I took the bait.”

“You know better than that,” You chasten, running your hands through his hair again.

He sighs. “I know but I can’t change what’s happened.” Nikolai feels his anger surge once more, “He was spouting nonsense about Grisha and their talents, stating what he would do when he was king. He made a nasty comment about you, and that’s when I lost my temper.”

“I can fight my own battles, Nikolai.”

Nikolai grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You weren’t there to fight this battle. Vasilly knew what he was doing, and I knew too.”

“Then why did you respond?”

“I always will when it comes to you. I won’t stand for anyone badmouthing you even if they are their heir to the kingdom.”

You pull away from his grasp. Shaking your head, ridding yourself of the thoughts rushing through them, you bring your hands up to the all too familiar position.

“Ready?”

The prince grins. “Ready.”

Your hands move in their familiar patterns; the movements so second nature to you that you do not give it a second thought as you watch the gash on Nikolai’s thigh close, leaving nothing behind but a faint, light pink scar. You fix the prince with a stern stare, “I may have healed you but I need you to take it easy for the rest of the day. No duelling your brother, no swords, no guns. Do you understand?”

Nikolai pulls himself up, swinging his legs off the bench as he salutes you with a cheerful grin on his face. The colour has returned to his cheeks and the usual mischievous gleam has returned to his eyes.

Your feel your heart begin to race at the sight, knowing that any Heartrender in a sixty mile radius could most likely hear it’s pounding. “You scared me out of my wits, Niko,” You confess, taking a seat on the wooden bench next to the prince, resting your head on his shoulder.

Nikolai rests his head on yours; taking your hand in his. “I’m sorry,” He murmurs, meaning it.

“It seems I’m always patching you up when you’re here,” You admonish before your tone turns softer. “Or when you return from your travels, you seem to have new scars.”

“My healers aren’t as adept as you, darling,” Nikolai compliments; his tone flirtatious as he brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a quick and gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

You hide your face in his shoulder, hoping he doesn’t feel the heat from the flush of your skin. “Don’t tell me that or I’ll be stowing away on your ship next time.”

Nikolai stiffens as the idea comes to him. “That’s perfect!” He exclaims, jumping off the bench, dropping your hand in favour of cradling your face with both of his.

“What do you mean?” You wonder, confused to his reaction but not wanting him to move a single inch. His hands on your face feels like the closest you could get to knowing what the touch of a saint is.

Nikolai keeps your gaze steady. “Come away with me,” He all but begs. “I leave soon and I don’t know when I’ll be back again. Come away with me.”

Your hands cover his. Nikolai’s thumb brush your cheekbones; his eyes shine with sheer happiness as his mind races with thought after thought of what it would be like to have you on his ship, to have you so close.

“I need you to promise me something if I’m to do this,” You warn, arching an eyebrow at the blonde.

“Anything,” He responds immediately, desperately wanting you to say yes to leaving with him, to say yes to a future with him.

“You have to promise to only let me heal you,” You state, dropping a hand in favour for poking him in the ribs. “And only me.”

Nikolai laughs; the sound ringing loud and true through the healing room. As he draws you in for an embrace, he knows that that would be a promise he could certainly keep.

[daisynik7]

Dirty Thirty

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, spit play, vaginal sex (doggy, cowgirl), cockwarming, use of pet names (princess and Master)

Word Count: ~5.6k

Summary: An alluring stranger gives you a special treat on the night of your 30th birthday. 

Notes: Kishibe is in his mid 40s. Also, apparently he is 6’4”, so reader is shorter, below 6’. This is very self-indulgent considering my own 30th is in a few days (shout out to all my fellow Pisces babes)! Also, I started this after finishing Chainsaw Man a few weeks ago, so this is a result of heavy Kishibe brainrot.

Additional Note: Check out Part 2 here: After Last Night! Reblogs, likes, and/or comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!

--------------------

The bass of EDM music reverberates through the speakers at the DJ’s booth. This particular bar you frequent turns into a club at 11 PM. College kids from the university down the street congregate in this establishment on the weekends, like today. You and your friends have been here since an hour ago, drinking and chatting in a booth hidden away to the side of the dancefloor. After dinner, you stopped by for a quick drink. With the booze and vibes just right, you ended up staying. 

Tonight, you celebrate your birthday. It’s the end of an era, really. You’re officially thirty. You’ve been dreading this day for the past few months, sad to bid farewell to your twenties, which wasn’t all that anyways. The number of times your friends reassure you that your thirties are the new twenties only brings you mild comfort. Glancing at the crowd tearing up the dancefloor, you can’t help being envious of their youth. 

Maybe it’s your buzz talking. You’re not one to feel sorry for yourself, especially about something as inevitable as aging. Thirty is young. Who cares if you’re the only one in your inner circle who’s single, unmarried, or childless? There’s no shame in it. You’re sick of women being scrutinized each year they get older for not doing what society tells them they should do. Who the fuck cares if you don’t have a ring on your finger or haven’t popped a baby out your vagina yet? It isn’t on your radar, and that’s perfectly fine. Men don’t get this much shit for remaining bachelors well into their forties or fifties, why should you?

You fidget with the glittery Dirty 30! sash you wear over your little black dress. A shimmering tiara sparkles on top of your head to complete your ensemble. Your friend’s voice in your ear snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hey birthday girl, how’s it going?”

Smiling, you hold your half empty glass up towards the middle. “Good. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate tonight!” You’re ready to chug the rest of your liquor so you can head to the dancefloor. The other three women in your group cheers, clinking their drinks with yours. 

You’re about to suggest dancing when your friend says, “Shall we call it a night?”

It catches you off guard. The music just started and it’s not even midnight yet. You’re not ready to go back to the real world; it’s your special day until you fall asleep, which you don’t plan to do for a few more hours. You’re silent though, listening as the other girls repeat a similar sentiment. 

“My husband is waiting for me at home, so yes.”

“And my babies have an early morning play date tomorrow!”

Your friend beside you turns to you and asks, “Ready to go?”

Contemplating for a moment, you respond, “I think I might stay, actually. Have another drink or two.”

They stare at you bewildered, surprised you want to be here alone, which is unusual for you. “Are you sure?” they clarify.

“Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll be fine! I’m a big girl now,” you joke, standing up to hug them. They kiss you on the cheek, greeting you one last happy birthday before leaving together to go home to their husbands and children. 

Craving another drink, you abandon your booth to approach the bar. You order your favorite: a vodka cranberry, your comfort cocktail throughout your 20s. A reminder that you’re still the same you despite moving up a decade. 

You close your tab, promising yourself this is your last, and go back to your table. It’s now occupied by an older man in a black coat, sipping on amber liquor. Annoyed, and slightly intrigued, you sit opposite of him in the same booth. He lifts his head up slowly, noticing you. 

“Hi there,” you greet him. Even in the dim light, the stitched scar on his left cheek stands out. The metal piercings on his ears glisten, the strobe lights reflecting off them from the dancefloor. 

“Can I help you?” His voice is low and raspy, either naturally or from the alcohol. 

“I was sitting here earlier. The other tables are all occupied, and I really don’t want to stand around on the dancefloor by myself. Can I sit here until I finish my drink? There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You put on your most charming smile.

“Where are your friends? I’m sure you’d rather sit with them instead of with an old man like me.”

“They ditched me to go home. Besides, it looks like you could use the company.” You tip your cocktail into your mouth, keeping your gaze on him. 

He watches you, skeptical. “How old are you?”

You glance down at your sash, which is now twisted so that the answer to his question is on your back where he can’t see. You grin at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

He hums, unamused. “I’m not keen on hanging out with girls in their 20s. Not really my style. Not tonight, anyways.”

“How old do you think I am?” 

Narrowing his eyes at your tiara, he responds, “You’re wearing a crown, drinking a cranberry vodka at a bar that plays this shit music. I’d say you’re 23.”

This amuses you, like getting asked for your ID does, which is becoming rarer nowadays. It’s flattering.

“Hey, you’re here too. The only difference is that you’re drinking a whiskey,” you tease him, pointing at his glass. 

“In my defense, I finished work nearby and this shitty cesspool was the closest bar I could find.” He takes a swig of his alcohol. “So, am I right?”

Sliding the sash to face him, you answer, “Nope. You’re wrong. Lucky for you, today is my birthday. And I just turned thirty.” 

He cracks a smile at this, giving you a flutter below your belly. You’re not typically into older men; however, this guy has piqued your interest. There’s something about him that is alluring. Exciting. 

“Happy birthday,” he says, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Get anything good?” 

“No. But the night’s not over yet.” You’re full-on flirting now, not at all ashamed of how brazen you’re acting. Fuck it. You only turn thirty once, right?

There’s distance between you, but the tension is so thick, you could smell the bold scent of liquor coating his lips. He leans closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you something good.”

~~~

Minutes later, you’re in the back of the cab, riding towards an address he mutters to the driver. He holds you, interlocking his fingers with yours, peering out his window in silence. You focus on your entwined hands resting on the middle seat, the intimacy of it all distracting you from the fact that you’re about to hook up with this attractive stranger. 

The driver arrives to a swanky apartment complex. Once inside, Kishibe doesn’t give you enough time to marvel at the beautiful interior of the room. In an instant, his lips are on yours, both palms cupping your cheeks assertively. Breath hot and chalky from the mint you saw him savor earlier in the car. It barely masks the lingering taste of that cigarette you witnessed him drag waiting for your ride. He didn’t have the same type of smoker’s breath that you’re sick of from your coworkers. With him, you don’t mind it at all. 

His hand trails down your neck, thumb carefully brushing over a pulse point right below your chin. His skin is rough and calloused compared to yours. The scraggly facial hair scattered along his jaw is scratchy on your cheeks. 

He breaks the kiss, gazing at you while he removes his overcoat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, kicking his shoes off in the process. There’s a small bar cart in the kitchen, where he pours himself a whiskey. At the freezer, he reaches for the ice, dropping three cubes into the dark liquor with a plop. You stand still, observing him, nervous and thrilled about what this mysterious man will do to you tonight.

At the couch, he takes a seat, thighs spread wide, his wrist hanging low between them, gripping the top of the glass with his fingertips. “Come here,” he beckons. 

Removing your heels quickly and abandoning your purse, you step towards him, ready to sit beside him until he demands, “No. Not there.” He pats his thigh with his free hand. “Here.”

Your body trembles with lust as you straddle him, pussy pulsing against his muscular thigh. He studies you, from your hazy stare down to him between your legs, savoring his cold liquor all the while. You gulp loudly, obediently waiting for his next command. 

Gently removing the crown atop your head and tossing it aside, he asks, “What do you want from me, princess? It’s your birthday after all.” Hearing him call you princess gives you a rush you can no longer contain. You start moving on his thigh, riding it to feel the glorious sensations on your clit.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as you grasp at his collar to hold you steady. “This is what you want? Okay. Take what you need. Come on my thigh. I’ll watch.” His gravelly voice in your ear makes you ride him harder, grinding against him until your creamy mess is soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. You clench his tie, loosening it around his neck. He continues to watch you, sipping on his booze, enjoying his own private show.

Once the glass is empty except for the melting ice, he sets it down on the coffee table, pulling you in closer, his hand behind your neck. Lightly blowing cool, whiskey breath along your lips. You lean forward to kiss him, his tongue slipping past to explore your needy mouth. The longing for his touch on every inch of your body grows stronger by the second as you moan into the kiss, bouncing on his leg. 

“Can you come by yourself? Or do you need my tongue on it? I can lick it up real good if you’ll let me.” His obscene suggestion surprises you, as if you weren’t already performing lewd acts on his lap. You tug at his tie to pull him into another fierce kiss before sitting next to him on the couch, lifting the hem of your dress up to reveal your wet undergarments. 

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. But I’m not calling you Daddy,” you tease, spreading wide for him. 

His voice is low in his throat, kneeling on the carpet, face positioned between your thighs. “Good, because I prefer to be called Master.”

You roll your eyes at him, to which he responds, “What? You don’t like that? I bet I’ll have you screaming it all night long.”

This has you speechless as he drifts towards you, staring at the wet spot soaking through your lingerie. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He hooks his fingers around the fabric, stretching it to the side to expose your sopping cunt. Leaning in closer, he flicks his tongue gently onto your clit, causing you to squirm above him. 

He’s testing the waters, starting slow to gauge your limit. It’s gentle at first, toying with your bud until it’s plump and sensitive. Until your wanton moans are bouncing off the walls of his big, fancy apartment. There’s no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s obvious this man has years of experience beyond you. Having this stranger swirl his tongue on the most intimate parts of your body makes you weak in the knees. This is the first time all night that you’re thankful to be turning thirty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this apartment, getting wrecked and torn apart by him.

“I’ve always wanted a plaything I can ruin,” he breathes out, finally wrapping his lips around you. “Will you be my pretty plaything tonight?” He surrounds your clit, drawing an erotic whimper from your mouth. 

“Fuck, Kishibe. Yes. Use me as your plaything, fuck.”

He eats you out noisily, emphasizing every wet sound his mouth makes on your swollen bud. Several times, he spits on it, spreading his saliva up and down your pussy, plunging his tongue into your entrance to get it lubricated with his own drool.  

“You’re fucking drenched down here. When’s the last time you let a grown man eat you out like this? I bet you’ve never been with someone like me, huh?”

You shake your head, swiping through his hair, spreading yourself wider for him. “Never.”

“I can tell,” he says, slipping his middle and ring finger into your entrance. “So fucking wet for me. I love it.” He pumps into you, curling his digits just right, resonating all the way down to your toes. His lips latch onto your clit, drinking you up to quench his insatiable thirst. 

“Hold these for me,” he says, guiding your fingers to your panties. “Want to stroke my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy out.” You hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of him shoving his fist into his slacks to jerk off. The vibrations from his moans tickle your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper into your arousal, practically drowning in it, flattening his tongue to smear his warm saliva all over. You whine in ecstasy, heedless of attracting any neighboring attention to your explicit blubbering. 

“Come on my face,” he muffles, too busy lapping up your clit to pull away, fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny and sleek with your slick.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your orgasm, pleasure jolting through your body while he works you until you’re overstimulated, twitching from the euphoria. He laughs softly, face glistening with your essence, taking a seat beside you. You watch him in a daze as he sticks his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You want a taste, too?”

You nod, disoriented from your intense climax. He drags your bottom lip down using the pad of his thumb, mumbling, “Open.”

Obediently, you stick your tongue out for him, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. Your pussy throbs again, ready to be fucked for real by this provocative stranger you were so fortunate to meet tonight. 

He grazes your open tongue, then spits in your mouth. “Swallow,” he demands, voice husky with desire. You do, making sure to gulp loudly, incredibly aroused and needy for his cock. 

“Show me,” he whispers, opening his own mouth to mimic you. “Ah.”

You show him your tongue again, a dumb expression on your face while he inspects. Satisfied, he grunts, “Fuck, you’re bad. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” He reaches down to your soaked panties clinging to you. “Take these off.”

He slides out of his trousers, revealing briefs that barely conceal his obvious bulge. As you slip out of your underwear, he removes his, displaying his impressive cock. “You going to ride this cock now?”

Without a word, you nod. You’re already anticipating how fucking amazing he’s going to feel inside you. Your brain is jumbled with naughty thoughts of him taking you in all positions in every room of his apartment. 

There’s a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watches you mount him. You hoist your dress up, stripping it from your body. He unclasps your bra, baring your breasts to him while he still wears his dress shirt and tie. For some reason, you want him to keep it on. Get it nice and dirty with slick and sweat.

You reach behind you to position him at your entrance. Once aligned, you slowly sink onto his cock, allowing yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size. Given his stature, it’s not surprising how big he is, both in length and girth. When you bottom out, he lets out a raspy fuck, holding your ass to squeeze your plush cheeks. “I’m ready whenever you are, princess. Like I said, take what you need from me. Milk me dry. I know you want to.”

Spurred by his provocative encouragement, you ride him, rocking your hips back and forth onto his lap, gripping his cock tight with your wet cunt. Forehead pressed to his, lids closed, jaw hanging open, experiencing the best fuck of your life. With a brief glance, you catch him watching you, a similar dazed expression on his face. You bounce on him faster, his dick pounding into you over and over again, determined to feel every inch you possibly can. 

“Fuck, Kishibe, feels so fucking good,” you moan, directing his fingers down to your clit. “I want to come all over this cock. Make me come, Master.”

Bingo. His eyes widen as soon as it slips from your mouth. It’s the magic word. The trigger. 

Without hesitation, he brushes his thumb ruthlessly onto your swollen bud. “Say it again,” he demands, pressing it hard as he massages it, eyes wild with lust.

“Fuck, make me come, Master. Make me come.” You’re riding him so fucking good, couch creaking, clutching his shoulders tight, his carnal stare locked on your every movement. 

“Tell me when you’re close,” he growls.

“I’m close, I’m close!”

Suddenly, he pulls out, cock covered in your arousal, wet and stiff against his abdomen. Strings of slick cling to the hem of his dress shirt. You’re about ready to yell at him for teasing you. Before you can, he stands up, grabbing your wrist to lead you into the bedroom. His breathing is heavy as he points to the bed, hastily removing his clothes. “On your knees, ass up. I’m going to fuck you so good. Make you squirt all over my fucking sheets.”

The anger immediately subsides and you’re back to being eager again, knowing damn well that he means every fucking word he says. You do as he commands, wiggling your ass to entice him. He chuckles behind you. “I’m sorry for denying you earlier. I just really want to see this ass bounce on my cock like this.” He teases you with his tip, tapping your clit, sliding it along your pussy lips. 

“You’re not forgiven,” you pout, growing impatient. 

Placing a soft kiss on your lower back, he laughs again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about this stranger you met mere hours ago, it’s that he is a man of his word. 

He guides his cock into you slowly, stretching you little by little until you’re squeezing him, his entire length inside you. “Look at you, sucking me in again like you were made for me.” He starts thrusting, holding you steady to penetrate you deeper. 

“So fucking good!” you cry out, fists bunched on his silky sheets, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. 

“I know, princess. It’s amazing for me too.” His heavy balls slap your damp skin with every brutal thrust of his hips, fucking you hard, dipping into your sweet spot until you’re woozy with pleasure. “You take it so good. So fucking sexy.” He tightens his grip on you, increasing his pace. “So fucking beautiful.”

You throw your ass back, arching your spine to get the perfect angle. With your cheeks bouncing obscenely against his thighs, you beg, “Spank me, Master. Spank me like a bad girl.”

Not wasting a second, his rough palm connects with your ass, the loud smack ringing in your ears. He spanks you again and again, your pussy clenching him tighter while you continue to thrust back onto his cock. You’re about ready to burst, desperate to reach your second orgasm after being denied earlier. You play with your puffy clit, electricity rippling through your body upon contact. Whimpering, you rub your bud faster as he pounds into you, cursing under his breath. 

“Fuck,” he moans, staring at your ass jiggle after each fresh slap he delivers. “Come on my cock, princess. That’s it. Get it creamy. Just like that, fuck.”

Waves of pleasure sweep over you, the intensity of it causing you to tremble before him. In the midst of your climax, you plead for him to finish inside you, greedy for his cum. It doesn’t take long for him to fill you up, staying nestled deep in you as he releases his warm load, letting out a husky fuck.

He pulls out, his warm release leaking from your pussy, dripping onto his sheets. He ogles at the pornographic sight in front of him, pleased with himself.

“Like what you see?” you tease, lowering your torso and relaxing on the bed.

“You are a naughty, naughty girl,” he says, collapsing beside you. “Can’t believe I let you seduce me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You were the one who offered to give me something good for my birthday.” 

He raises a brow at you. “Did I succeed?”

You gaze at him, properly examining his appearance. Scruffy facial hair, eyes that are perpetually tired, the striking scar aligned with his frown. You find yourself wondering what his story is; someone this fetching must have a story.  

“Considering the mess we made, I would say you exceeded my expectations.” You lay your palm on his firm chest, his now steady heartbeat lightly thumping against your fingertips.

“I’m glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment.” He doesn’t take his gaze off you. Normally, you’d be intimidated by such intense eye contact. With him, it’s different. You feel safe. He places his hand on top of yours, rugged thumb gently caressing the skin of your knuckles. The two of you stay like this, enjoying each other’s presence in an easy silence. 

“We can’t do this again,” he mutters, finally looking away from you. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, your hand still snug under his.

“Why not?” The shift in energy surprises you. This is not the typical pillow talk you’re accustomed too. 

“I’ll keep wanting to see you if we keep this up,” he admits. Although it’s a sweet sentiment, he’s deciding to end it here and now, not even waiting until the morning like in a typical one-night-stand.

Matching his candid demeanor, you ask, “What’s wrong with wanting to see me again?” A strange feeling of unease swells in your chest, anxious for whatever truth he’s about to reveal. 

He takes a breath before explaining, “I’m a Devil Hunter. The best in the world. My job is very dangerous. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.” He avoids you while he speaks, eyes laser focused on the ceiling, barely blinking. It’s as if he doesn’t want to say it; rather, it’s part of a script, forced to recite the lines like it’s standard procedure. How often has he had to deliver this sober spiel to his ex-lovers? You start to pity him, speculating how detached he must remain to the outside world strictly because of his risky profession. 

You continue to stare at him, letting the information sink it. The air is thick with a serious tension. It’s a sudden switch from the wild romp you just experienced. Choosing not to pester him further, you decide to lighten the mood. You scoot towards him, mouth skimming his ear, muttering, “Well, l didn’t really like you anyways.” The cold metal of his piercings contrast the soft warmth of your lips.

He turns to you again, the tension in his brows easing slowly as he gives you a small smirk. “Oh yeah?”

You nuzzle your nose against his. “Yeah.”

“Good. It’s better this way,” he says, planting a kiss on the forehead. 

Sighing, you ask, “Can I at least spend the night?” 

“Of course. I’ll even cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey and a couple cigarettes,” you joke. 

He chuckles. “I’ll throw in some eggs for protein, does that work?”

“Sure. I’ll take whatever I can get, since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.” 

There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes at you. A minute passes and he reaches for you, grazing your cheek delicately. You feel comfortable in bed with him. Protected. You snuggle into his chest, his arms wrapping you into a bear hug. Cozy in his embrace, you listen to his rhythmic breathing, lulling you to sleep.

~~~

In the morning, you wake up alone, tucked under the covers, clothed only in a dress shirt, barely buttoned. The bedroom door is wide open, the sound of a pan scraping on iron ringing in your ears and the inviting smell of food cooking wafting from the kitchen. 

You spot a pack of baby wipes on the drawer next to you, noticing that your body is fresh and clean, opposite the sticky mess you fell asleep to. Next to it is a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste. With these items in hand, you tip-toe into the bathroom, appreciating his thoughtfulness.  

When you’re done, you study his bedroom for the first time, and probably last. There are no pictures hung anywhere, no personal touch to anything. Only small traces of a man whose entire existence is his job. Several ties scattered on his dresser next to a metal flask. A mini calendar on his nightstand with random scribblings of future work commitments. Hamper in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with white dress shirts, black slacks, and a couple of mismatched argyle socks. You’re slightly tempted to investigate some drawers to see the type of weapons a Devil Hunter of his caliber carries, but you don’t.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him in the kitchen. He’s in a plain white t-shirt with navy-blue pajama pants. As promised, he is cooking a batch of scrambled eggs over the stove, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, spatula in the other. Looking domestic and sexy as hell. His words replay in your mind. You shouldn’t get attached to someone like me. You almost regret sleeping with him, knowing you’ll miss him after you leave. 

Quietly, you stroll towards him until he notices you. When he does, he takes a sip of coffee and mutters, “Morning, princess.” 

Positioned behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist, raising your heels to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. It’s only now that you realize how much taller he is than you. “Good morning, handsome. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I told you I’d cook you breakfast, didn’t I?” He cranes his neck to face you, smirking. 

“You did. I’m pleased to see you keep your promise,” you tell him, resting your cheek on his back. “You’re truly a man of your word. I think that deserves a reward.” You slide your thumbs under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, teasing him. 

“If you tempt me, you won’t be able to taste this delicious meal I prepared for you,” he comments, setting his coffee mug down the counter and turning off the burner. His hand covers yours, maneuvering it over the growing bulge in his pants. 

“Maybe I’m craving something else for breakfast.” You start palming his erection, suddenly hungry for him rather than the food. 

He turns to face you, looking at you up and down in his dress shirt, your legs clenched together to hide your arousal. Still smirking, he says, “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.” He slowly pushes you against the counter, running his fingers up your inner thigh, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt. 

You moan, anticipating another round of intense fucking, this time in his kitchen. It makes you want to christen every part of his apartment. 

“How are you this fucking wet for me already?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb on your throbbing clit. “You’re so sexy, it’s driving me insane.”

“Kishibe,” you breath out, struggling to steady yourself. “Fuck.”

“I got you. Get on the counter for me, princess. Spread those legs so I can lick that pussy clean.” 

With his hands on your waist guiding you, you hop up, opening wide for him. Knees bent and body folded forward, he starts licking your clit, palming his erection through his pants. You come within minutes, gushing over his tongue as it glides along your slit, nose digging firmly onto your swollen bud. 

“Fuck me, Kishibe. Want that big cock inside me. Want you to fill me up again with your cum.” You hop back down, turning around and lifting the hem of the dress shirt past your ass, ready to get railed right there on the countertop.

“Not like this,” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “Wait for me in my room. We’re going to have breakfast in bed together.”

Minutes later, a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon set on top is temporarily forgotten as the two of you fuck on the other side of the bed. Him sitting up, back pressed to the headboard, you riding him until he spills inside you, causing you to orgasm again all over him. 

You slump forward, resting your head on his shoulder, tired and satiated from another amazing fuck. Attempting to slide off him, he kisses you on the lips, his grip firm on your waist, unyielding. “Keep my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?” 

In your blissful state, all you can do is nod, getting comfortable on his lap. He reaches for a slice of bacon on the tray, letting you take the first bites before he finishes it, doing the same for a piece of buttered toast. He feeds you forkfuls of scrambled eggs, using the same utensil for himself. It’s pleasantly intimate for two people who just met. Playing the role of a long-term couple, indulging in simple delights together, like breakfast in bed.

Plate cleared, both your bellies full of nourishment, you stay in this position, kissing each other leisurely, no rush to separate. He whispers your name, fondling your breasts through the fabric of his dress shirt that you’ve made yours. He repeats it a few more times, relishing how it feels on his lips before he never has to utter it again. 

It’s bittersweet, knowing it’s ending as soon as it begun. You have no reason to be so smitten with him. You’re two people who hardly know each other. Still, you find yourself not wanting to say goodbye yet. Something’s there. A tiny spark flickering in the distance. Maybe you’re one of many women he’s done this with before. Maybe you’re nothing special. But in this fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it’s real.

The two of you reluctantly part after an especially long, passionate kiss. You dismount him, grabbing the wipes to clean up the mess that was made earlier. He gives you a smooch on the forehead before getting out of bed to exit the room, returning in less than a minute to hand you your outfit from last night. You briefly recall carelessly discarding it all over his living room floor right before you pounced on him. Is it too soon to consider that a fond memory? It hasn’t even been 24 hours and you’re reminiscing about him already. 

He leaves you alone in the bedroom to change. Before you undress, you bring the sleeves of the shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, memorizing his scent. You almost want to keep this shirt as proof that this happened. That Kishibe is real.

Back in your black dress, you sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his return. When he walks in, he points at the sash and tiara next to you on the bed. “You’re not going to wear that?”

Shrugging, you respond, “It’s no longer my birthday, so it feels silly wearing it. Just toss it.”

You check your phone, estimating the time of arrival for the ride you requested. Any minute now, they’ll be here, ending your short-lived tryst. He offers to drop you off, but you refuse, not bothering to explain that doing that will result in you dragging him into your own apartment and keeping him a willing hostage for another few hours. It’ll only make it more difficult to not get attached. He doesn’t question it, probably understanding this himself. 

The ping from the app chimes through your phone. You stand up, smiling at him, swinging your purse over your shoulder. “That’s my ride.”

He walks you to the door, waiting for you to strap on your heels. Once they’re on, you smile. “I guess this is it. Thank you for a fun night.”

“Thank you too. This was fun.” It could be wishful thinking, but you hear a waver in his voice. Is he a little bit sad too?

You face the door, ready to turn the knob, when you feel his grip on your wrist. He spins you towards him, kissing you feverishly, his hand caressing your cheek, the other behind your neck. Yearning for one more moment of intimacy with you. He breaks away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes shut as he says goodbye with one last whisper of your name. You avoid his gaze as you exit, walking out of his life.

It’s better this way. 

[foundress0fnothing]

Summary: Looking to rebuild her self-esteem after a messy breakup, Feyre takes Mor up on her suggestion to visit a lingerie store.

~6.5k words, rated E, content warnings for mild dub-con, light bondage

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Happy birthday to my darling @popjunkie42!!! Thank you for being such a wonderful person and the best beta around. I hope you enjoy this smutty, goofy one-shot. I was planning to save it for feysand week, but it was done just in time for your birthday and I couldn’t resist. I cherish you and the feysand brainrot you've encouraged in me, and I'm so grateful for your friendship 💕🥰

“Just trust me, okay?” Mor had warned her on the drive over that La Cour des Cauchemars was, quote, “an experience,” but even so, as Feyre stood at the threshold of the boutique next to her friend and surveyed the labyrinthine space within, she suspected that Mor had not been entirely transparent about what exactly she meant by “experience.”

It was lovely, at least—surprisingly light and airy for a lingerie store, smelling of sea salt and citrus that, paired with the gauzy fabrics and fairy lights and burnished mirrors that were set up around the space, made the space feel sensual and inviting. With the store’s name, she had expected something dark and edgy, something that played up angst and lust in equal measure. But this…

Feyre shouldn’t have been surprised. It was exactly the kind of place that Mor would love—decadent and luxurious, slightly sinful, and, most importantly, expensive. Feyre didn’t need to look at the price tags to know that every scrap of lace and boning in the building would be priced on par with, if not more than, the La Perla sets Tamlin used to buy her just so he could rip them off. 

She mentally recoiled at the thought of him, although she supposed he was partly responsible for her presence here in the first place. Their relationship had been messy, their breakup messier, especially as more and more details about his infidelity came to light. When she left, she hadn’t taken much with her beyond a few comfortably worn clothes and the tub of art supplies she had been accumulating since she was a student at Prythian U. She left everything else behind—the gifted dresses, the custom jewelry, the Instagram gallery of romantic dates—all those hallmarks of the façade of easy wealth and passionate love that Tamlin wanted to present to the world that still failed to mask the rot at the core of their relationship.

So, three bottles of cheap wine deep into their good riddance to cheating assholes celebration, when she confessed to Mor that she missed feeling like herself and in control of her life, she expected her friend to sympathize, to reaffirm that she was “better off without that scumbag, babe,” to maybe (assuming she was sober enough in the morning to remember) send a motivational tiktok about the importance of “self-care” on her “healing journey.” 

But Feyre didn’t think that this could possibly fall under the guise of “self-care.’ “Mor, I…”

“That doesn’t sound like trust, Feyre.”

Feyre snorted. “It’s just that—”

“No. You wanted to move past him and feel like yourself again? This is the best way to do that,” she said, grabbing Feyre’s hand and dragging her into the store. Feyre rolled her eyes. Trust Mor to think that her problems could be solved with clothes shopping. Assuming lingerie counted as clothes. “Find one thing. One. We’re not leaving until you do. And,” she paused, “once it’s yours you can take a few pics and make Tamlin regret literally his entire life, and then we’ll go get deliriously day drunk to celebrate.” With that, she squeezed Feyre’s hand and let go, moving into the recesses of the store with enviable ease. 

Feyre stuck her tongue out at Mor’s back, not that she would see or care, and started following her into the boutique, passing racks of lace and silk that were loosely arranged by color and letting her hands graze the fabrics, buttery and slick beneath her fingertips. 

She stopped as her hand caught on a red bustier and she savored the feeling of cool silk broken up by delicately stitched whorls of black lace. It was nice, but more than that, it was exactly the kind of thing that Tamlin would have hated. He preferred to see her in pastels, floral and lacy and frothy and soft, meant to remind them both that she was delicate, feminine, fragile. But this piece was something else, something that felt more her. Or, at any rate, the version of her that she was trying to find again—someone self-assured and powerful and strong. 

Idly, she flipped over the tag and almost laughed aloud at the price. She had known it would be expensive, but $900 for so little clothing seemed ridiculous, even for someone as ridiculous as Mor. 

“See something you like, darling?” 

Feyre started at the sound of the man’s voice behind her, yanking her hands away from the bustier as if he might scold her for even daring to touch it. She turned to face him, an unconscious apology already half-formed—and then stopped, mouth parted slightly as whatever she had been going to say died on her lips. 

He was gorgeous—tall and dark, with eyes that she swore almost looked purple in the soft light of the store. She let her gaze travel over him, cataloging the strong lines of his legs, the golden rings that glinted on a few of his fingers, the night black waistcoat that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the narrow dip of his waist. God, she wanted to paint him—a study of darkness given breath, she thought idly—if only for the excuse to let herself savor every inch of his perfect body.

The sound of a slight cough brought her back to reality, and she saw the man’s mouth curve into a smirk, obviously delighted at having caught her staring. “Well, darling? Something you like?” 

Feyre scowled and flushed. Fuck. She absolutely did not need to get involved with another self-satisfied man who would expect her to cater to his ego and fawn over him, no matter how pretty this one was.

Trying to salvage some semblance of her dignity, she made a show of dragging her gaze over the man’s body before offering him a smirk of her own. “Not a thing.”

If anything, her answer only made him look even more delighted. “I didn’t take you for a liar.”

She rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder and turning away from him back to the rack of red satin. “I don’t think you could take me at all.”

His smirk grew sharper, more dangerous. “Is that a challenge, darling?”

Feyre looked over her shoulder and glared at him, ignoring the flutter she felt at the menace in his voice and internally berating herself for encouraging the stranger. “Stop calling me darling.”

“Not until I know your name.” He raised a brow expectantly. “What’s your name, love?”

As if she would give it to him. She turned around to face him.“Don’t you have something better to do then calling random women ‘darling’ or ‘love’? Someone to buy something for here?”

“I don’t actually.” He smiled. “I am merely here to serve.” He inclined his head slightly in a mockery of a bow.

“So you work here?”

“After a fashion.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. Whatever the fuck that meant. “Shouldn’t you be helping customers, then?”

“What do you think it is I’m doing, darling?”

“Annoying me.”

“Another lie? Shameful.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock reproach. She rolled her eyes, choosing not to allow him to goad her into continuing their argument.

He raised his hands. “Well, if you decide to do more than look, there are dressing rooms in the back. I’d be more than happy to help you.” He paused, and then, with an absolutely sinful smile, added, “With whatever you might need.”

“I’m sure you would.” Feyre gave him a fake smile, determined to ignore the way something low in her stomach clenched at his offer. He was just an attractive man, and it had been a while. Nothing more.

“I mean it. It’s tricky to get the sizing and the colors right, darling. This,” he held up the red bustier she had been eyeing, a flash of something—sincere?—lighting his eyes as he looked at it, “is divine, of course. But not for you. You should let me help you.”

Taken aback by his apparent earnestness, Feyre frowned slightly. “I’m sure I can manage.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Confident, are we? Not everyone has the eye for it.”

Never mind. Just another condescending prick. “I’m an artist. I think I can trust my own eye.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Well then, darling,” he raised his hands in defeat. “Happy hunting.” With that, he turned smoothly on his heel and began walking back into the recesses of the store.

And if she glanced over her shoulder to check out his ass as he walked away? Well, she was only human.

But as if the man could feel her eyes on him, he paused and looked back, smiling at  catching her ogling him. Again. He settled himself against a display of crystal-adorned black silk negligees and lacy two-piece sets, looking far too at home amidst the silks and the sheer fabrics, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, Get on with it then.

Feyre huffed, irritated that he had once again caught her staring, and spun back around to face the rack of clothing in front of her, her eye landing on the bustier she had been studying before. She pulled it off of the rack, because fuck him, and began moving toward the back of the store where he had indicated the fitting rooms were. Did she have the money for this? Hell no. Was she about to let a man bully her into choosing something else while he watched? Also hell no. She would try on the bustier—which would look fucking incredible on her, by the way, asshole—take a few pictures for her Instagram, and leave before he could corner her again. Easy.

Much like the rest of the store, the fitting room was a study in sensual elegance. The light was a touch brighter, perhaps, but still—there was something almost ethereal about the space—maybe it was in the way the just opaque enough curtains fluttered as she walked past, and Feyre buzzed with anticipation as she stepped into a room and pulled the curtain shut. Fuck you, Tamlin. 

Shucking off her oversized sweater and piling it in the chair in the corner of her room, Feyre shimmied into the bustier, awkwardly fiddling with the zipper in the back until the two halves of the garment pulled together to envelop her torso snugly.

Feeling jittery, she turned to study her reflection.

She looked … fine. The bustier fit her well enough, dipping in easily at her waistline and cupping her breasts decently well, even if it didn’t make them look like anything special. Nothing about it was special. She frowned at her reflection. Maybe the color was wrong for her? Too bright? Too harsh? 

She fiddled with it for a minute or two, smoothing and tugging at the fabric before giving up. It was good enough for what she needed. It’s not like she was planning to buy the ridiculous thing. And besides, it was probably just that asshole clerk getting in her head.

Deciding that it would all look better if she let her hair down to soften the look, Feyre gently coaxed it from its habitual braid, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she finger-brushed some of the strands, trying to get them to lay right. 

As she messed with her hair, a little sign to the side of the mirror caught her eye: NOTICE: NO PHOTOS OR VIDEO ALLOWED IN THE DRESSING ROOM.

Feyre wrinkled her nose at the sign. Wasn’t that the whole reason Mor brought her here? To take a picture in some lingerie as a “fuck you, look what you’re missing” to Tamlin? Did she know about the policy?

She sighed. What a waste.

But…

How would the store know? Feyre flicked her eyes up to scan the ceiling to make sure that there were no cameras. Nothing—just gauzy swathes of fabric and fairy lights. Good. The store may be expensive as hell, but at least whoever ran it wasn’t some kind of pervy creep.

And what harm could one picture do anyway? It’s not like Feyre was some influencer who was going to try and promote her brand while taking advantage of the store. She just needed Tamlin to want to die a little. That’s all.

Before she could lose her nerve, Feyre rummaged in her pants pocket to find her phone. It was an old model from before she met Tamlin. She didn’t trust any of the phones he had given her not to have some creepy location or data monitoring built in, and she didn’t have the money to buy a new one right now. So good ol’ faithful (that didn’t get a signal on cloudy days) it was. Flicking to the camera, she started moving through poses—torso and face, full body, hand in her hair, hand on her hip, even the too desperate peace-sign-tongue-out pose that saw her and Mor through college—taking pictures all the while. 

Hopeful that something in the photo reel would work, she began idly flicking through them—too smiley, too dead-eyed, okay, god why was she making that face, until finally, hot. Thank fuck. She quickly opened Instagram and drafted a post, tweaking the lighting and the shadows here and there until it looked perfect—sultry and effortlessly hot as hell, topped off with the caption, “Tell her about me.”

She was just about to post it when a deep voice startled her.

“Well, huntress? Pleased with your catch?”

Feyre jumped at the unexpected sound, fumbling the phone in her hands. 

“Shit, no—” Feyre winced as she watched it clatter onto the lacquered marble floor and slide just past the edge of the curtain, praying to whoever might be listening that it hadn’t cracked beyond repair.

“Let me.” Feyre heard the subtle shifting of the stranger’s body as he bent to retrieve her phone, and she waited, expecting him to slide it back to her under the curtain.

But no phone came. Instead, there were a few beats of silence before the man spoke again, his voice now gone cold. “I knew you’d be a liar, darling.”

“Wait, what?” Feyre asked, confused at his shift in tone. 

And then she remembered what had been open on her phone. The picture.

“Oh, um, I’m so—”

But her apology was cut short by the man who, wrenching the curtain open, stood before her. With his arms bracketing the door frame, he took up almost the entirety of the open space, and for a moment, Feyre appreciated anew how big he truly was.

And then the reality of the situation set back in. “What the fuck?” She yelped, bringing her hands to her chest in an attempt to cover herself.

“I thought you said you were an artist—”

“Get out!”

“—but no self-respecting artist would be satisfied with something as pedestrian as this.” The distaste was evident in his voice as he appraised the post, and she saw him delete it before casually slipping her phone into his pocket. “I mean really, darling.”

Feyre glared at him. “I’m sorry, are you mad about the quality of the picture? That’s what—” She interrupted herself and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Obviously.” Even though she was more than a little irritated that he had the gall to call her ‘pedestrian.’ “I’ll delete the picture, just get out!” 

But he remained standing in the door, examining her with a critical eye before turning his attention to his nails instead. “I just think an ‘artist’ would aim higher with her clumsily executed thirst trap, don’t you?”

“It was not clumsy, oh my god—”

He interrupted her. “But what do I know? Perhaps whatever little boy you intended this for doesn’t know any better, darling.”

Well, he was right about that. Not that Feyre was going to let him know—or that she agreed. “Good thing it wasn’t for you then.” 

A feline smile curved over his face, and Feyre realized that he had goaded her into arguing with him while he was still in her dressing room and she was still mostly naked. Nice work, babe. Feyre had to get out before she made an ill-advised decision just because she liked arguing with pretty men. So she ignored the excited flutters in her stomach and said, as forcefully as she could, “How many times do I have to tell you? Get out! Do I have to call someone?”

“Do I?” He asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“You’re in my dressing room!”

At that, his smile turned mean. “I think you’ll find, darling,” he said, the pet name taking on a mocking quality, “that this dressing room, that bra, and this entire boutique belong to me. So it seems to me that we have two options.” He held up one ring-adorned finger. “One: you can get dressed, walk to the counter, buy the bustier that looks absolutely dreadful on you, and leave my store “Or,” he continued, gracefully lifting another finger, “you let me dress you. And then we take that picture.”

“What?” Feyre swore she heard him wrong. Did he just offer to…dress her?

He tutted. “I’ll simplify it for you, darling, don’t worry.” Feyre rolled her eyes at his condescending tone. “I just want what belongs to me. Either the money or you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t belong to you.”

“Then I’ll meet you at the counter”

“Oh my god,” Feyre sighed, half to herself. What the fuck had she gotten herself into? “Look, I don’t have $900 right now. Can I—I can bring it to you later?”

He tilted his head, a predator surveying his prey. “No.”

“Why not?”

The man shrugged lazily. “My store, my rules.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?”

“Such harsh language, love. Surely you can work it out. There were only two options after all.”

“I’m not going to be some plaything for you to dress up.” Feyre ignored what saying the word ‘plaything’ in reference to herself made her feel. Those were not normal feelings. Those feelings would get her into trouble. The situation could get figured out in a normal, non-deviant way that also didn’t force her into dropping nearly $1000 she didn’t have on apparently lackluster lingerie. Probably.

The man appraised her, moving to lean his weight on the door frame and crossing his arms. “Why not? I take very good care of what’s mine.” Feyre felt her traitorous heart flutter. “So be mine.”

“I—” Fuck. What should she do? She didn’t want to just agree. Also, where the fuck was Mor? Mor! “I could call my friend, and she could bring the money.” She owed Feyre after subjecting her to this experience.

He hummed. “You don’t have a phone, darling.”

“Because you have my phone.”

The man just shrugged, unrepentant. Feyre glared at him. He looked coolly back. Maybe she could wait him out? Mor had to be looking for her at this point.

A few beats of silence passed between them, neither backing down.

But then he broke the silence. “Decide, darling. There’ll be no other options.”

Feyre sighed. Was she really about to let him dress her? She didn’t have $1000. And…and this was his job anyway, right? So maybe he would keep it professional. And maybe this would mean that she could get a better picture, and that would be worth putting up with his nonsense. Hopefully. So she mumbled, resignedly, “Fine.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Oh my god.”

“Mmmm, not ‘god,’ but I appreciate the flattery.” He pushed off of the door frame and stood up straight, gesturing to himself in introduction. “Rhysand. Rhys to my friends. Or my lovers.” He purred the final word.

“Okay?” She didn’t know why he was bothering to tell her name. It’s not like she actually cared. Much. He looked at her expectantly, and she rolled her eyes at him. Again. “I’m yours.”

“Use my name.”

“Are you serious? Fine, I’m yours, Rhysand.” 

She said his name with as much bored derision as possible, but he didn’t seem to care. He only smiled and said, “Then we have a bargain.” 

And he stepped forward and pulled the curtain shut behind him, enclosing the two of them in the dressing room. Feyre backed up until she felt the cold glass of the mirror hit her back and the garment hooks just brush the top of her hair.

He studied her, reaching into his pocket for a tailor’s measuring tape and slowly unwinding the roll. “Well, darling? Strip.”

Feyre blanched slightly. “I thought you could just measure me over this?”

“And risk an inaccurate sizing? No.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I won’t. Strip.”

God, maybe he was a creep who got off on seeing a customer's tits. “Fine.” She twisted her arm behind her back to get the zipper, and in doing so had to lean closer into Rhysand. She could feel the warmth radiating off of him, but he kept his eyes on her face, even as the bustier opened and she let it fall to the ground at their feet.

“Good girl.” Feyre felt something rush through her body at his words—sweet and cloying like molten honey—and she shifted slightly as she stood under the weight of his gaze. Her nipples hardened, and she cursed her body for betraying how the words made her feel.

“Now arms above your head.”

Slightly dazed, Feyre started to lift her arms, happy to follow his authoritative voice. And then she paused, blinking back into awareness. “I don’t think this is how a fitting is supposed to go.”

He gave her a wicked smile. “It’s a proprietary technique, darling, don’t argue.” He motioned for her to continue. 

Well, in for a penny. Feyre lifted her arms above her head.

“Now stay still.”

“Wh—” But before Feyre could get her question out, he had grabbed both her wrists with one hand and, with the other, looped his tape measure around them in a complicated series of motions, securing her arms to one of the hooks above her head. 

“Perfect,” he purred, finally breaking her gaze and letting his eyes trail down her body. 

Rhysand didn’t move to touch her yet, but she shivered under his attention anyway. His expression was hungry and calculating and more than a little smug as he catalogued the way he affected her—her peaked nipples and the goosebumps that broke out across her skin and the hitch in her breath. She felt on-edge and keyed up as she stood there, waiting for whatever he was about to do. Was this some elaborate revenge plot for breaking the store’s rules? Or was this actually how he did fittings? Would he touch her? Did she want him to? Feyre wasn’t sure she was ready to find out. 

He didn’t leave her wondering for long. “I’m going to touch you now, darling.”

She wasn’t surprised, really, but she grimaced anyway. “Do you have to?” She pulled on her bindings to see if there was any give, wondering if she could still call this whole experience too fucking weird and walk away. She could probably charge the cost to her card and leave before he realized that she wasn’t good for it. Right? But the binding didn’t give at all, and Feyre stopped pulling after her first few experimental yanks proved fruitless.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow at her attempt to free herself, his amused disapproval clear on his face, although he didn’t comment on it. “I’m flattered by your faith in my abilities if you think I can do this without touching you.” 

She rolled her eyes and pulled on her bindings again. “Well, it’s not like you’re going to use a tape measure.” 

“It’s already in use, darling.” There was a pleased glint in his eyes as they flicked up to her bound hands.

Feyre huffed, irritated by the smug look on his face. “No, this cannot be—”

But Rhysand cut her off, pressing a long, ringed finger to her lips to still them. She was so startled by its intrusion and the sheer command in the action that she stopped protesting for a moment. 

He moved his hand to cup her cheek. It was surprisingly tender and intimate for what they were to each other, and she had to steel herself against a crazy urge to nuzzle into his touch. “Trust me.”

“I don’t know you.” 

“I don’t care.” And with that, he finally reached for her.

Feyre was well-endowed, but his hands were still large enough that they easily covered her breasts, and she gasped at the contrast of his warm hands and cold rings against her skin. It felt like he was everywhere—overwhelming and insufficient all at once—as he mapped the contours of her body. 

She had just grown accustomed to the sensation of him touching her when Rhysand shifted and began to tease her nipples. The surprise of the heat that flashed through her made her shamelessly arch into his touch with a breathy sigh, and he smirked at his effect on her. “Do you still doubt my abilities, darling?”

“Yes.” She bit out, just as he leaned down and took one of her nipples in his mouth, forcing her to stifle a moan.

He released it, flicking his eyes up to hers, although he brought his hands up to tease her as he asked, “Do you want me to stop?” 

Feyre didn’t answer him, not daring to admit that she actually liked this. She was only still here because of fucking Tamlin and fucking Mor and because she didn’t fucking have enough money to buy her way out of the mess they’d encouraged her to make. That was all. She wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant if she admitted that some depraved part of her was actually enjoying what Rhysand was doing and it wasn’t just her body reacting to his touch. It would be better if she didn’t acknowledge his question at all. Maybe he’d just keep going and she could have the plausible deniability of just being along for the ride.

But as the silence stretched out, Rhysand’s hands stilled while he waited for her answer, and when none came, he asked again, more forcefully, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The answer slipped out of her unbidden. But it was true—no one had touched her like this before. His hands were everything, and they were making her insane, and besides, it had been so long—even since before her breakup with Tamlin—that she had felt this damn good from anything beside her own hand that the thought of stopping this bliss was unthinkable.

“Thank the Mother,” he growled. “These are a gift, darling. A revelation. It would be a crime to do anything but worship them.” And then he did, groping and teasing and tasting until Feyre thought she might shatter with need and desire from just the attention he gave her breasts.

But right as she felt the beginnings of an orgasm start to build, Rhysand withdrew his hands and took a step away, a satisfied smile blooming on his face as he took in flushed face and the devastation she knew must be flashing in her eyes at the loss of contact.

Half-mindless, she whimpered and shamelessly pulled forward against her wrist bindings, straining toward where he stood as if that could entice him to come back and finish what he started.

But he only hushed her with a reprimanding cluck of his tongue. “We don’t want the other customers to hear you, do we?” 

She glared at him in response, still reeling from the unsatisfied ache that pulsed between her legs. 

Rhysand smiled back at her, looked her over, and then nodded. “I know exactly the piece for you.”

And with that, he pushed aside the curtain and stepped out of the fitting room, leaving Feyre panting and needy and still tied to the garment hook on the wall.

“Rhysand.” She whisper-shouted. The absolute asshole left the curtain open. There was a mirror in one of the other rooms across the way, and Feyre had no choice but to look at herself, naked and flushed and helpless. Anyone who came in to try on something would see the same thing—she couldn’t move or hide or even cover herself with her hands. She cursed Rhysand and staunchly ignored the traitorous wetness she could feel pooling between her thighs.

It seemed like ages before he returned, long enough that she had contemplated shouting for Mor to come and rescue her. They had been friends long enough that they had seen each other in various states of undress over the years. What was another look at each other’s boobs between friends anyway? Sure, Mor would have prime mockery material for the rest of their lives, but the longer Feyre hung there, the less she cared. 

But just as she was steeling herself to start yelling, Rhysand stepped back into her line of sight.

He smirked at her. “Well, look at you, darling.” The hunger hadn’t left his gaze. He still looked every inch the predator as he let his gaze sweep over her naked form. “What a perfect girl for staying here, tied up and waiting for me.”

“This was not part of our agreement,” she spat at him.

Rhysand only arched an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, darling.”

Feyre was about to snap back at him, but then a glint caught her eye, and she finally noticed what he was holding.

It was a bustier, black as night, and she wondered briefly if it had been one of the pieces he had perched near as he watched her in the store. She couldn’t see much of it yet, but from the way it sparkled under the dressing room lights, she assumed that the garment was adorned with intricate beadwork as if someone had spilled starlight across the fabric. She knew, even without trying it on, that it would be seductive and sexy and slightly wicked, and that she would absolutely love it.

But fuck, she hated Rhysand for being right. Prick.

“Step in, darling.” He stooped down and held open the bustier near her feet.

Feyre rolled her eyes but still obediently lifted one leg and then the other, allowing him to pull the material over her legs and up her torso. The sensation of his hands as they skirted against the sides of her body had her twitching, the phantom memory of her ruined orgasm making her core flutter piteously.

Once the bustier was around her, Rhysand crowded further into her space and reached his arms around her to pull at the laces in the back. “I need to lace it up, love.”

This close, she could see the delight in his annoyingly purple eyes, could trace the faint stubble that dotted his chin, could breathe in his scent of sea salt and citrus. It was heady and intoxicating, and the combination of it and the proximity of his body had Feyre nearly keening from desire again. 

“Rhys…” Feyre whined, and she didn’t know if she was asking for him to hurry up lacing her or to finally give her the pleasure he had teased her with, but either way, she was tired of waiting. She wanted to see what he would make of her. 

Standing this close, she caught the way that his name on her lips—the name his lovers called him—made his breath catch just slightly. And some vindictive part of her was pleased that she wasn’t the only one affected by what was happening between them in the dressing room.

He didn’t stop his work, however, and his hands made quick, deft work of the laces behind her until he nodded and stepped back a pace, looking her over as he did so. “All done, darling.”

Feyre waited for him to say something else—to praise his work or mock her for how she looked or offer some other depraved choice that she’d somehow get roped into.

But nothing came. He just stood in front of her, staring fixedly.

She glanced down at herself. Everything looked normal from her vantage point—nothing bulged out or cut in or gaped, and so, reasonably confident that the issue here wasn’t with her, she swung her gaze up to him. “Well?”

“See for yourself, love.” And then he stepped aside, leaving Feyre to look at herself in the mirror across the way once again.

She was still tied up like some wanton plaything, but—it was different somehow, now. The bustier wrapped around her like a second skin, following the curves of her waist and her hips that somehow made both look sinfully exaggerated, while the top of it dipped down low between her breasts while arching up high on either side in delicate points that were flared and tapered almost like bat wings. The entire garment was covered in the black sequins and gems that had caught her eye before, adding some dimension and texture to the otherwise monochrome color scheme.

And it all came together to make the woman in the mirror look fierce and wicked and alluring and powerful somehow, even caught as she was. It was everything Feyre had wanted when she let Mor drag her here in the first place.

Her eyes flicked over to Rhys who was leaning against the side of the fitting room door, still just watching her.

He tilted his head. “Pleased?”

“Yes. I—” She paused, realizing that she had almost thanked him for tying her up and touching her and coercing her into agreeing to all of it. As if.

Rhys nodded, apparently unconcerned with whatever she had been about to say. “Now, there’s just one more thing we need to do before you take that picture.” He took a step back toward her.

Feyre blinked. “Wait, what?”

The smile he gave her was unholy. “You need to look the part, darling.”

And then his hands were on her again, skimming over her breasts and down her sides until she felt him start to tease her inner thighs, straying closer and closer to her core until she realized exactly what part he meant. 

She had been performing in her picture before, playacting lust and sensuality and desire. Rhys wanted it to be real.

“Wait, Rhys—” But Feyre’s protest was cut off by the brush of his finger against her clit, and the bolt of sheer pleasure that shot through her stilled the words in her mouth.

“Let me, darling.” He continued exploring her as he said the words, dipping his fingers lower to gather some wetness before bringing them back to her clit and starting to rub in firm, tight circles.

It felt perfect and right and necessary, and so Feyre did, giving herself over to whatever Rhys had in store for her.

He grinned as he sensed her resistance melting away and began to play with her clit in earnest, rubbing and stroking until Feyre was nearly insane from the desire and the pleasure coursing through her. It was like he had never stopped his teasing from earlier, for far too quickly, Feyre was needy and shivering and shaking as she hung from the garment hook.

“Please—Rhys…I need—” Her voice was breathy and desperate, but Feyre didn’t care. She just needed to come.

“I know, love, I know. Come for me.” He whispered the command in her ear, his hand still working her clit, and Feyre shattered.

It was intense and all-consuming, and, tied up as she was, Feyre had no choice but to let herself be overtaken by the pleasure that coursed through her.

She could still feel her core fluttering when Rhysand stepped away again and smoothly slid her phone out of his pocket.

“Now, let’s take that picture.”

A few minutes later, Feyre found herself standing at the store’s counter as Rhys packaged up the bustier she had reluctantly agreed to take home with her—on the house, of course, he had told her with a wink. She was dressed in her regular clothes once again, grateful that the baggy sweater hid the faint marks on her wrists from Rhys’ tape measure.

“Feyre!” A voice cried out from behind her, and she turned to see Mor striding toward them. “Girl, where have you been? I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

“I—” Feyre didn’t know what to say. I’ve been a little tied up? I think maybe I saw God back in those fitting rooms? She didn’t want to admit to either of those things.

But thankfully, Mor didn’t wait for her answer. “Oh, did you find something?”

“She did.” Rhys’ smooth voice cut in, and then he nodded at Mor. “Cousin.”

“Cousin,” Mor replied, sticking her tongue out at him. “This is Feyre—she’s the friend I told you about.”

They were—what. the. fuck. 

“Pleased to finally meet you, Feyre, darling.” He put extra emphasis on her name now that he finally knew it, and she glowered at him over the counter.

“Did you buy it?” Mor asked excitedly, trying to peek into the small black bag. “Will it work for your revenge picture?”

Before she could answer, Rhys smirked at her. “I think she found exactly what she needed.”

Feyre glared at him and nodded at Mor, choosing not to acknowledge the pulse of interest that reignited between her thighs. 

Mor’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them as a pleased smile bloomed on her face as she realized that something was going on. “Oh, I knew you two would hit it off. See what happens when you trust me, Fey?”

Feyre snorted. The bag on the counter and the marks on her wrists and the ache between her thighs proved exactly what trusting Mor got her.

Not that she minded, necessarily. But still—it would be quite a while before she let herself get roped into another scheme like this one.

Mor pulled out her phone to check the time. “It’s time for drinks! We need to celebrate!” And with that, she grabbed Feyre’s arm and pulled her out of the store as Rhys looked on with a smirk.

As they sat down at a bar a few minutes later, Feyre’s phone pinged with a notification from Instagram. Her picture had gotten quite a few likes already, and friends had commented various combinations of fire emojis and hearts and marriage proposals that made her laugh. 

And there was a comment from her newest follower, one highlordrhys: “You make my clothes look like art, darling.” 

Feyre scoffed lightly at the presumption of the comment (although, to his credit, she did look good—flushed and relaxed from her orgasm, her body arching deliciously with her hands still tied up above her head) before noticing a dm from the same account. More quickly than she would care to admit, she opened it and saw that Rhys had sent her his number with the message “Call me the next time you need help looking the part, darling 😉.”

She swore she wouldn’t and closed the app without sending anything back. 

But she saved his number first. Just in case.

[adarkermiserablecrow]

Okay I've been awake for going on 36 hours and I tried to make this post last week but here we go

The lake, right. Season 7B made really damn sure we know the lake meant a lot to Shannon and Eddie. It's where they met, it was important to them. We are also told, explicitly, that Christopher loves the lake, and his grandparents took him there presumably within days of returning to El Paso.

The whole of this plot hinges on grief. Grief surrounding Shannon, the different ways Eddie and Chris have or haven't processed it. Eddie's approach in particular (though I maintain it wasn't really his fault) ends with Chris running to El Paso, to his grandparents, probably expecting to find comfort there, in the last place he truly had his mom, and far away from his dad who he's mad at.

But. But. 8x01 mentioned something that has lived in my mind rent free ever since. Helena and Ramon are taking Christopher to pool club, and thinking of installing their own pool for him, planning for the future. And as relates to the lake, you can argue they're trying to keep a substitute available, or that they are trying to foster Chris's love for the water that Eddie made sure survived the tsunami. We don't know for sure that they don't take him to the lake anymore, only that it has not been mentioned at all.

But symbolically, to me, it feels so much like erasure. A severing of this important link between Christopher and Shannon and, to some extent, Christopher and Eddie. That lake stands as a symbol and a relic of the time when Eddie and Shannon had been uncomplicated, young and happy, and, I cannot emphasise this enough, the show has connected it to Shannon. Eddie took Kim to the lake, for crying out loud!

And, I'm glad I didn't make this post last week because 8x02 gave me more brainrot on the matter. Because holy shit. Here's a falling plane, a desperate situation, and a father and his son who are grieving the mother. The father lets his son go, unsure of if or when the kid will come back, because the plane is falling, and only tells him 'I love you.' They were headed to Hawai'i because they were doing things the mother enjoyed to celebrate her birthday. I can't be the only one who reads Eddie and Chris into the whole of this, or at least a version of Eddie and Chris where they coped differently, or lost Shannon in, for lack of a better term, better circumstances.

And I wonder if Eddie will get to witness this father and son next episode, if this is what finally sets the stone rolling on fixing things with Chris, on finally moving forward, on finally celebrating Shannon.

And if the aforementioned erasure of the lake will move things along on Christopher's side, make him see both his parents and his grandparents differently.

This is (probably obviously) lead-up for an Eddie arc later in the season, and the opening of the path to moving forward, and I honestly think it's all going to come back to 'we do things she loved together to celebrate her' and that goddamned lake.

[rottiens]

VENECIA MY LOVE OMG it's your birthday????? what great timing bc i have been missing u so this is the perfect excuse to... bring back somno w stepbro sukuna.....

when he crawls into your bed while you're asleep... touching you from behind and often mimicking his brothers just so you don't know who's fucking you. you can't make eye contact with any of them the next day bc you're embarrassed... choso and yuuji don't think much of it but Sukuna? he's basking in your bashful glances, smirking every time he addresses you. and when he finally gets you alone, he grabs you by the chin, making you meet his smug eye contact.

"avoiding me?" he grins. "or maybe one of my brothers...?"

ugh i'm sorry for bringing this back but it's rainy season and i'm having horrible horrible stepcest brainrot

ANYWAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE I AM SENDING HUGS N KISSES <3 <3 <3

my two favorite things on my birthday?? 🥺 oh my kskdkd jumping for joy all over the house (it's actually tomorrow lskd but! I accept gift in advance).

— "avoiding me?" he grins. "or maybe one of my brothers…?" — HES AN ASSHOLE. I'M PUNCHING HIM WITH MY FIST, GET HIM AWAY FROM ME BUT I ALSO NEED HIS DICK RN 😔

you're evil /j you know perfectly well what this scenario does to me, it's unfair. the dialogue is so him i'm eating my own fist, stepbro sukuna is always going around in my head nonstop

[stobinesque]

held frozen like an angel to me

A birthday fic for the truly incomparable @steves-strapcollection!! Happy Birthday, Gerry, I hope you're having the best and filthiest day imaginable.

If you somehow don't know: Ger is an absolute powerhouse of smutty Steddie creation, and also one of the first people to welcome me so warmly and enthusiastically to the Steddie fandom. It's been a truly wild ride getting sucked back into the obsessive heights of fandom brainrot for the first time in years over the past few months, and Gerry is definitely at least 30% responsible for it (I would be willing to go higher).

Also if you haven't read any of Gerry's work you should absolutely go do that. He's out here writing some of the best transmasc erotic fiction in the English language (I'm intentionally leaving off the 'fan' prefix there).

This fic also has art made by the mind-bogglingly talented @sentient-trash. It's an absolutely stunning piece, and the collaboration with Simon definitely accounts for the richness of detail within the fic as a whole. This story truly wouldn't be what it is without him. Also many thanks to @scarcrossdlvrs and @inairbinad for being my cheerleaders!

A playlist for the fic can be found here.

Steddie | wc: 10.3k | Explicit | cw/tags: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Vers Dom Steve Harrington, Vers Sub Eddie Munson, Monsterfucking, Monster Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Dual POV, Gothic Vibes, Referenced Non-Monogamy, Shapeshifting Genitalia, Dream Sex/Manipulation, Sleep Paralysis, Biting, Aphrodisiac Venom, Blood Kink/Blood Play, Choking, Breeding Kink, Possessiveness/Obsession, Ownership, Collars, Compulsion, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Come Play/Come Eating, Foot Kink (kind of?? including to be safe), Cock & Ball Torture, light gore?? (at least some mildly gory allusions/metaphors), Religious References and Biblical Allusions, Dacryphilia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Tails, Wing Kink, Lactation Kink, Knotting, Good Boy Eddie Munson

[ READ ON AO3 ]

The hall echoes with silence, as it has for weeks now.

Steve stretches his limbs, and the rough sound of stone grinding against stone rends the air.

As marble gives way to skin and scale, Steve’s awareness shifts to a damp trail carving a path down his face. The arm stretched over his head falls, hand brushing over his cheek and coming back wet with the blood of his tears. He brings it to his lips. Licks it away. The taste of his pet bursts across his tongue. The source of all his tears.

At long last, his beloved has returned. He can scent it on the air.

Steve unfurls his wings, letting them open wide for the first time in what feels like ages.

Knowing a mortal has distorted his perception of time.

No matter.

Steve regards the manacle looped around his ankle with an indulgent smile before willing it away into nothingness.

His pet's desire to keep him as a pretty thing never fails to amuse.

Steve twirls the garland of his namesake flower in his hands. Considers disappearing it along with the manacle. But his beloved likes to see him adorned with pretty things.

He wreaths himself in flower and leaf, the tips of his horns holding the white blooms in place.

Steve has always imagined that shaking off his statuesque form must feel akin to waking from that slumber humans seem to love so much. It feels good to be back in his body—muscles tensing and flexing as he turns to regard his stone plinth, tail whipping around him as the stiffness in his joints dissipates.

His eyes rove the space, taking in the finery he rarely gets to see from other angles. He runs his fingers over the filigree of his alcove, careful not to scratch the wood, and smiles with the knowledge that his pet gives him pride of place amongst his collection. That he considers Steve his finest treasure.

But Steve is being too self-indulgent. It's time to welcome his lover home.

The old grandfather clock tolls the witching hour as Steve ascends the staircase. When he reaches the top it’s to find that his lover did not make it past the parlor on his return home.

Eddie is sprawled across his ornate fainting couch—splayed out in a pile of furs. He’s half-dressed in a pair of leather pants that look painted on, while his pale chest gleams in the moonlight.

Steve leans against the door frame, watching as he sleeps. And though no one is there to see it, he beams, wicked.

Oh, how he loves to toy with his food before he eats it.

Eddie is floating; suspended in æther.

Strange lights and shapes of color bend and twist and fold around him.

He chases after them—reaching out to grasp each one. Watching as they disintegrate between his fingers.

And then he’s falling.

No, not falling.

The ground is rushing up to meet him.

To cradle him like a lover.

Eddie stares up into a meaningless sky—void of all but darkness—as hands begin to grasp at his chest. Fingers trail across his torso. Grab at his side. Graze and pinch his nipples with a biting force.

He can’t count them. Can’t see them.

Can’t hear anything.

He is surrounded by disembodied touch—holding him up, pressing him down, squeezing, fondling, grappling.

And he is at sea, searching for an anchor.

He's lost.

Lost without his angel.

His lord.

Eddie casts about, searching without sense.

Stretching the boundaries of himself and pulling.

A wet warmth envelops one of his nipples. A pair of soft lips trail kisses down the line of his stomach. A ravenous mouth sucks a bruise into his neck. Still another descends down, down, and—

Eddie gasps, but still there is no sound.

No breath escaping his lungs.

It's the idea of a gasp, moan, cry sailing through him.

His blood runs hot. Muscles tense.

He’s all sensation with no grounding.

High and drunk on the hands and mouths that travel the expanse of him.

He wants a way out. To escape the sticky web he’s been trapped in.

But a part of him wants to sink.

To drop like a stone.

To drown.

To let The Lord of skies and heavens and seas come to bear him up and pluck him from the depths below.

Where is he?

Angel

His mind echoes with the cry, even while the phantom sense of his body aches and struggles to move. To break free. To fight or flee or float towards the one who loves him.

Angel. My lord.

Eddie wakes with a gasp, air bubbling in his chest. He blinks against the moonlight, sight restored. Yet he still can't move. Pinned in place by some outside force. Alone and petrified—

No, he's not alone. There's a figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the chandeliers he keeps faintly lit in the receiving hall.

Eddie sees the outline of wings. Of horns. A flowered crown.

No sooner has he had the thought to reach out than the figure is stalking towards him. Eddie still can't move, and the beat of his heart picks up its pace. Not yet pounding in terror, but racing like he's just started a chase. He wants to speak. Wants to cry out, wants to—

"Hello, my pet."

Golden-verdigris eyes flicker in the moonlight as the figure hovers over him. It's not enough to see by—not nearly enough—but he knows Steve is smiling by the way it glints off one of his fangs.

A part of Eddie relaxes at the sight of him. Close enough to touch, to kiss—finally, after weeks apart.

But his hind-brain—locked in the throes of disorientation from his dream—still perceives his angel as threat. As monster.

That's what he is, after all.

Eddie's monster.

The talon of Steve's index finger hooks through the one that dangles from the scaled collar around Eddie's neck and tugs gently. "You've been gone too long, beloved." His voice is somehow both honeyed and sibilant. "I ought to welcome you home."

Firm lips press against Eddie's own. He's starting to regain some use of his limbs—can feel his control returning to him at the edges of his consciousness—but the second Steve swipes his tongue across Eddie's lips his mouth goes numb. He lies there, slack-jawed, as Steve kisses him with diluted venom on his tongue. Eddie moans, the sound pulled from his chest like Steve had hooked his talons through his very soul and pried it loose.

He thinks that actually happened long ago.

Steve pulls away, and Eddie wants to chase after him, but he's still held in place by the sleep paralysis. Some corner of his mind still pinned down by Steve's power.

Eddie needs to touch, to feel—to have a voice to speak and beg for it.

He can’t form his mouth around words, but he can make sounds, so he pushes a whine from his throat. Needs to let Steve know how much he’s missed him. How much he ached for him while he was away. How not an hour or minute passed where he wasn't picturing himself wrapped in Steve's embrace, even when he was using someone else to fill that gaping void in him.

And Steve is toying with him. Taking his own welcome by force.

Eddie shivers, and above him, Steve chuckles darkly, eyes flashing again in the silvery light.

Steve straddles his waist, and the faint light from the hall shines through the white blooms of the stephanotis flowers that wreathe the crown of his head. Eddie’s breath catches at the sight. He wants to supplicate himself before his Angel.

Eddie wants. Not just the simple gratification of physical pleasure—though he aches to have his lover’s hands on him—but also just a scrap of light. Steve may be able to see him just fine, but Eddie is still only human, and can't make out anything beyond Steve’s eyes and the occasional glimmer of his smile.

Eddie misses the sight of his face. Wants to drink in every detail. The sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones. The inhuman shimmer of his skin. The flecks of golden scales that dot him like moles—those catch and shimmer in the moonlight when Steve turns his head just right, but it's not enough.

Eddie’s mouth is still numb, but he can feel the severed link between mind and body reforming, and with a twitch Eddie manages to drag his arm up, to press his palm to the stony texture of his angel's skin.

A scaled claw snatches his wrist up immediately, followed by a hissing reprimand. "Now who told you you could move, my pet?" Steve whispers, leaning in close.

Eddie moans, and as the air passes between his lips he realizes that feeling has returned to them. "Lights," he manages to mumble. "Want…to see you."

"Are you making demands of me, my love?" Steve drags a knuckle down the side of Eddie’s face. "I don't think you've earned the right to make such requests, pet."

Eddie closes his eyes, because it is easier to see nothing than to be deprived of the full, glorious sight of his Master. "Please…my Lord. Please, I wish to be graced with the sight of you," Eddie begs around the cotton of his mouth.

Steve hums. "Well, I suppose you do beg prettily enough, even for a creature who speaks so plainly out of turn." Steve leans in ever closer, until the shining threads of his lashes brush against Eddie's cheek. "But I'm going to need you to stay." Steve punctuates the last word with a strain of Command behind it, followed by a sharp bite, fangs plunging into the tendons of Eddie’s neck.

Eddie gasps, arching his back as he feels the burning heat of Steve's venom enter his blood stream. Warmth rushes through him, heart pumping Steve's essence into each corner and every crevice of his being. His vision blurs as his head grows fuzzy and distant.

He feels the weight on him shift. Move. Disappear. Watches as the silhouette of a demon—an angel's retreating form—moves across the room. And then the parlor is awash with a dim golden light.

Eddie's eyes blink against it, thick with tears. It hurts, almost, in spite of how low it is. But it’s worth it for the vision that greets him when Steve steps back into his line of sight.

Steve was always a vision to behold. A creature without compare.

He moves like a dancer. Like a reed on the wind. Like a snake. Even when he’s standing still—even when literally encased in living stone in Eddie’s stairwell—he looks like a piece of art in motion. Like a spirit that can’t be captured.

He is everything the gods and poets speak of when defining beauty—and not just for the sight of him.

But what a sight he is.

Muscles that ripple in the low light. Golden scales that dot his skin like starlight. Hair that flickers like flames. Like there’s a perpetual gust of wind passing through those gossamer strands. Dusky nipples pierced through with golden hoops that sparkle and shine like the wiry metallic strands of hair that carpet his chest.

His arms and legs end in iridescent scales that flicker between green and gold and sapphire when they catch the light. Fingers and toes capped with talons sharp and black as obsidian.

All except the ring finger of his left hand.

That talon is around Eddie's neck.

His love is bare of everything except the token of Eddie's he himself bears—a collar made of gold, with Eddie's first guitar pick attached to the ring that dangles above Steve’s clavicle. He wears not a stitch of clothing while in this form—an affront to its very purpose, Steve explained once—but he allows himself to be adorned with that marker of Eddie's ownership at all times.

Steve stands before him. Lets Eddie drink his fill of the sight of him. And he knows that Steve has missed seeing him as much as Eddie has missed seeing Steve.

For the next tour, Eddie will have to devise a way to bring him along.

Perhaps as a piece of set decoration.

Steve takes a loping step forward and his wings unfurl behind him.

Eddie's heart lodges in his throat. Seeing them makes him want to soar. To fly above the world while they fuck and drench it with their love. They’re unlike any wings Eddie has ever seen or dreamt up in fantasy. Some cross between bat and bird and mythical beast.

Iridescent emerald, just like his scales and eyes, and layered with feathers and scales like beetle wings that ripple and shimmer with every movement. They tinkle as they shift, like dried scarab wings.

And when Steve flies they make music.

Steve stalks forward like a beast hunting prey. His pet’s eyes are fixed on the expanse of his wings, because his lover is weak for pretty things, as all mortals are. Steve preens under the attention—Narcissus took direction from him, after all—letting them flap and flutter behind him as he crosses back to where he has Eddie trapped in his Command.

“Your gaze is covetous, my love.”

“I have no other way to look at you, Master.”

Steve’s face splits into a grin, fangs pressing into the swell of his bottom lip. His pet is flushed a pretty petal pink all over. Cheeks flaring red, blood pooling just beneath the surface of fragile, porcelain skin.

Steve aches to drink from him. He doesn’t need blood to sustain him like certain other creatures of the night. But he already knows that the taste of his lover’s lifeblood is more refined than the bouquet of the finest vintage.

Steve continues his slow approach, savoring how Eddie’s rapt gaze moves with him. Like there's a cord attaching it to Steve.

When Steve folds himself onto his lover’s lap, his pet keens as though he’s only just realized he’s been straining the front panel of his leathers from the moment Steve got his fangs in him.

“Steve…Stevie…Phan. please.” The muscles of Eddie's neck tense as he strains against the venom's paralysis to try to reach Steve.

Steve’s talons clink against the metal bars pierced through Eddie’s nipples as he twists them in rough admonishment. “You speak out of turn, Theo.”

Their private nicknames for each other are for use outside of play.

Eddie’s breath escapes his throat in pained, reedy gasps as Steve pinches, sending twin paths of blood streaming down either side of Eddie’s chest. Steve watches with fascinated delight as Eddie’s body struggles to move away from the pain, but can’t due to the venom flooding his veins.

“S-sorry, Master. Please, I’m so sorry.” Tears bead along his pet’s lashes, and Steve paws his chest with gentling touches.

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, with an impish smile, taking a bloodied nipple into his mouth with a groan, and suckling at it like it was milk pouring from it. Steve moans, letting the warm red liquid pool on his tongue before swallowing it down. His lover’s blood is sweet and fragrant as honeyed wine, and Steve is already drunk on it. His cunt gushes, wet and ready to be filled with even more of Eddie’s sticky-sweet goodness.

Steve slides back until he’s straddling the tops of Eddie’s thighs, and palms a hand over the bulge there. Eddie moans, looking half ready to die a little death with nothing more than the suggestion of Steve’s touch along his length.

His poor foolish pet always forgets how hot his blood runs when he gets a little venom in him.

“I’ve missed you, my love,” Steve says. He hooks a talon through the laces that tie Eddie’s pants shut and snicks them open. “Missed this beautiful piece of work inside me even more.” Eddie isn’t wearing anything under his pants, and the second the leather cords snap, his cock bobs up and hits his stomach, standing proudly at attention under Steve’s ravenous stare.

Steve slowly drags the curved back of a talon along the underside of it, smiling wickedly when Eddie whimpers and tries to buck his hips upwards. Steve tsks, sliding the finger down, down, down—tickling along the seam of Eddie’s sack, pressing carefully against the sensitive skin of his taint, and continuing downward until the second knuckle of that finger is nudged up against Eddie’s entrance, bearing into it.

Eddie whines, and Steve coos gently as he takes the reddening length of his dick into a loose fist with his other hand. “It’s a shame that you humans are so fixed. I’d bet you’d just love to have a tight little snatch for me to fuck.”

A glob of precome spurts from Eddie’s length and Steve tsks, shaking his head. “Messy boy. You already get so wet for me. Bet you’d love to be sopping with slick. So ready to take me inside, isn’t that right, pet?” Eddie lets out a muffled, high-pitched sound of affirmation. Steve smiles. “We’ll get there. For now I just need you to sit there while I get my fill of you.”

Steve rises up onto his knees, positioning the head of Eddie's cock at the entrance of his cunt. He presses his palms to the center of Eddie's chest as he sinks down in one fluid motion, careful not to let his talons break skin. Steve lets his eyes flutter shut as he sheathes himself on Eddie's cock with a satisfied sigh.

Steve loves to take his pet any way he can get him. But he can’t deny that there’s a particular pleasure to the fullness of his prick inside him. Steve can feel Eddie in his guts. Feels greedy as he sucks him down. Wants his cum and love spilled all over his insides.

Eddie whines—and the paralytic effects of the venom must be wearing off, because Steve feels his lover's hips twitch upward from beneath him.

Now that simply won’t do.

Steve curls his fingers so that his claws rip and rend into flesh. His talons drag down the length of Eddie’s torso—nipples to navel—and Steve relishes in the scream it elicits. Rivulets of blood rush to the surface, trickling in small tributaries over the white expanse of Eddie's skin. Steve wanted to loop each around every line of red there and hold him in his hands like they're the threads of fate. Wants to weave the strands together until he has a cerement of blood and love and viscera enshrouding them.

Steve feels the muscles of his back tense and bunch and ripple as his wings stretch wide. He yearns to take to the skies—still wrapped around his lover—and let the blood he’s pulled from Eddie’s veins spill down like rain on the parochial inhabitants below.

None else but the two of them know love and joy and ecstasy like this.

Steve shifts his gaze back to his lover's face, adoration swelling in his chest. Tears stream down Eddie's face as Steve bounces on his cock and he forces himself not to thrust up into Steve's wet heat. With each minute that passes the struggle to hold still will grow stronger. The venom pumping through Eddie's veins makes him insatiable. Even when Steve inevitably milks him dry, his body will want more. This is just the beginning, the heat in his blood driving Eddie to chase after every sensation—pleasure and pain alike heightened to the edges of perfection.

"You're trying to be so good for me, aren't you, pet?" The words fall from Steve's mouth like a challenge. Eddie moans, head tipping back at the words. "Trying to keep your composure even though I can feel the way you're struggling not to shove this beautiful cock of yours as deep as it will go. But you're just a desperate little slut for me aren't you, pet? No better than a mindless, rutting animal."

Eddie snuffles, hips rocking up to meet Steve's with stilted, half-aborted thrusts.

Steve tsks, condescension dripping from his tone. "Did you want to come for me, pet? FIll me with your seed? Get me fit to bursting with a bunch of wingėd little cambions to fly around the empty mausoleum you like to keep me trapped in? As though you are lord over me?”

Eddie sobs, fists clenching into the furs beneath him, as Steve leans in close, trailing his forked tongue over the lines of blood, drinking in everything Eddie had to offer him, and moaning as the sweet taste broke over his tongue. “I let you own me, pet. And you would do good not to forget it.”

It was a truth wrapped in a lie. Or perhaps a lie hidden in the shape of a truth. Lord Stephanotis was not a creature to be ruled by a mortal in mere letter of law. In deed, however?

Despite the irony of it all, Steve had let this curious mortal bend him to his will. Had let the sharper edges of his own power be domesticated and subsumed by Theo's will. Steve was allowed only the meals that his pet’s body provided. He could, ostensibly, leave at any time in pursuit of a wider menu—but why would he, when his Theo was satiating all on his own?

When he was there, that is.

Maybe that was why time stretched to an eternity in Eddie's absence.

Steve rolls his hips with a sinuous motion, moaning as the head of Eddie’s cock hooks behind his navel and drives him wild.

“That’s right pet, fill me up.”

“Master, please,” his pet begs.

Steve’s tail whips out to wrap around Eddie’s neck, cutting off his pleas with a choked moan. “You forget your place, pet. I’ve reminded you more than enough times not to speak out of turn." Steve squeezed his cunt around Eddie's cock on a harsh downward thrust. "If you want to go gallivanting around the world taking any random cock, or stuffing any pretty pussy that flashes your way while leaving me chained here like some common whore, the least you can do is let me use you to get my fill when you return.”

Steve slams down onto Eddie’s cock again and grinds into him, tightening his tail around Eddie's neck and watching with a sick, twisted glee as his face turns a bright red. “That was our deal was it not? You keep me locked away, and in my stead you go and sow your wild oats? If you want to change the terms of our contract, my love, you have to ask. You can’t just go around acting like this cock doesn’t belong to me once you’re back under this roof.”

Eddie let out a sound that Steve was more accustomed to hearing in muck-filled stables. A desperate whinnying sound that makes his clit throb.

“Listen to you bray for me. You’ve certainly got the cock for it, my little stallion. Go on, fill me up. Breed me.”

Sometimes Steve forgot what it meant to hunger.

No, that's not right.

Hunger has become his natural state since falling into the talons of Theodore Munson. He's forgotten what it feels like to be full. To be satiated. He hasn’t had a true feast in what feels like æons. He often finds himself wondering if perhaps Eddie himself was a creature of myth in disguise. If he’d ensnared Steve in some hidden trap and snipped his wings so he couldn’t fly past the bounds of his lover’s estate.

Deep down he knows the truth. That Steve has allowed himself to be domesticated. That he’s buried a piece of his essence in the grounds here, binding him to them as surely as he’s bound himself in his devotion to Eddie.

When they're together the time passes in glorious blips, and long, winding stretches of bliss. Beautifully long and bitterly short in equal measure. The time passes so swiftly because it costs nothing to be with his pet. And so addicting was spending time with Eddie, that time and space seemed to bend around them—create a bubble outside of the rest of the world.

But when Eddie's away?

The first time Steve had been left behind he’d tried to stay awake. He’d paced the lengths of the hall. He’d fucked himself on the toys they used together when Eddie was home. He’d even made one ill-fated trip to the town’s market. But come the third day the need to breed or be bred bowled him over. He'd attempted to have a waitress over a bartop at the restaurant up the street, but the second he so much as smiled at her, the collar around his neck had tightened, stealing away his breath. He’d ignored it. Unconvinced it could truly bring him real harm. And then he’d gone to really lay it on thick and the metal burned around him.

Enough to leave a brand around his neck.

Something that shouldn't be possible to remain imprinted on this form.

That night, Steve returned to the manor, gazing wistfully from the window overlooking the grounds, and settled into place in the small alcove Eddie had situated his plinth in.

It was lowering.

A creature of legend cowed and kept by a humans' weak and flinching hands.

Steve loved him for it.

Steve had curled there, shoved a hand through his hair, and let the ache of missing Eddie turn him to stone.

Never his heart though.

That beat beautiful and black at all times, a steady rhythm calling his lover back home. Back to his Master.

He needed to have his pet in his arms.

Eddie is going wild beneath him. Hips thrashing. Hands grappling at the tail wrapped around his neck as he struggles for breath. When he finally gives up and lets them fall away, Steve groans, throwing his head back and grinding his hips down as he chases after the building tension in his gut.

“Come on, pet. Breed your Master.”

Eddie cries, his hips bucking sharply, and Steve feels his release flood him.

Steve moans, head going fuzzy as Eddie’s cum fills his cunt.

Steve climbs off of Eddie’s lap, letting his softening cock slip out and slap back down against his stomach. Eddie watches as a trail of his cum slides down the inside of Steve’s thigh, and a strangled whine gets stuck in his throat at the image.

Eddie tingles all over. Feels lightheaded and loose-limbed. He’s a puddle on the pile of furs beneath him and doesn’t think he could move if he tried. But there’s still a fire burning in his gut and he wants more. Wants Steve’s cunt back around him. Wants his cock buried in his ass. Wants that clawed hand wrapped around him, stripping him raw. Wants his Master to bite into his chest and rip him open.

Eddie pants, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes. He barely registers Steve moving, arranging himself on the little couch so that he’s sitting next to Eddie’s feet, thighs spread wide. Eddie barely has a chance to consider the implications of how Steve’s arranged himself before he feels himself moving without will at Steve’s hissing Command. “Get on your knees for me, pet.”

The Command overrides any whisper of exhaustion. It blanks his mind. he isn’t Eddie anymore. he is merely the tool by which his Master’s every whim is realized.

he feels himself rise onto unsteady feet, then fall to his knees in supplication. he’s still in the leather pants he’d worn for the last tour show—sticky and uncomfortable from sweat and cum and blood; fly hanging open, framing the flaccid dick between his thighs. he settles into his place on his knees between his Master’s open legs, leather squeaking against the parlor tiles, arms hanging, head bowed towards the floor.

“Look at me.”

The Command shivers down his spine. he loves the way his Master’s commands burrow under his skin and slide through sinew to move his body before thought is known. Loves the way his muscles and bones seem to instinctively follow the exact designs of his Master’s mind. There’s no question whether or not he’s being good enough, because it’s his Master’s will arranging him like he’s the perfect puppet for His desires.

his Angel never asks for anything more than he is able to give—nor anything less than what he needs.

his head lifts, chin jutting up and out, eyes peering up through lashes clumped together with tears, and stares at his Angel. his Master stares back, but His gaze is hard to meet, pupils round and black like shining stones, with only a thin band of viridescence left shining there.

“So good for me, my pet,” his Angel murmurs, slipping His fingers into his pet’s curls. He doesn’t pull, or tug—simply weaves the strands over knuckle and claw, securing His hold. “Now—” his Master tips His head down with a smile that stokes an anticipatory curl of heat in his pet’s groin. “Clean up your mess.”

he moans, diving forward to bury his face in his Master’s cunt. The hand at the back of his head doesn’t quite guide him. Doesn’t quite hold him in place. Just sits there like a promise. If there was any chance he might move away without permission, that hand was there to correct him. If his Master wanted to inflict pain, that hand would wring it. If he tugged against its grip, the claws now grazing his scalp would tear.

“C’mon on, pet,” his Master snarls. “Eat your cum out of me.”

he mewls, tongue darting out to scoop a dollop of cum from his Angel’s pussy and swallow it down. The salty-sweet taste of his own cum mixed with his Angel’s slick drives him wild. he lets out a desperate cry, pressing his face further into his Master’s cunt.

But something niggles at the back of his mind—it feels almost wrong to eat his cum from his Angel’s cunt. Unnatural. He needs it. Needs His pet’s seed to take root. Needs His pet to shove his fingers into his Master’s cunt. Needs to have His pet’s release pushed as far up into Him as it will go. Needs His pet to bully past the tight ring of muscle of his Master’s cervix and force it to take.

he's already hard as nails between his legs again, whimpering with desperation as the pressure in his gut mounts. he can’t take it. Needs release. Needs to come. Needs to fuck. Needs to breed. Needs to fill his Angel up again and again and again until His belly is heavy and round with it. With his brood—their little cambions.

And if he can’t have that—his hand will do.

Eddie doesn’t even consciously realize he’s doing it. Doesn’t make the choice to shove a hand down the front of his pants and curl his fingers around the base of his cock. Didn’t plan to pump his fist over his dick. Doesn’t mean to circle the pad of his thumb over the glans as he slowly and thoroughly guzzles down his own spend from his Angel’s cunt.

At first, his Master doesn’t react. But then Eddie moans, loud and long into the cavern of his cunt as he twists a hand around the head of his cock on an upstroke.

A clawed foot kicks his hand away before pressing down onto his stiff length.

Eddie keens, tears slipping down his face as he sucks on his Angel’s engorged clit and bucks up against the rough texture of his sole. The edges of his Master’s scales catch at the sensitive skin of his shaft, His claws just shy of piercing the skin at the base of Eddie’s cock. The sharp pinpricks of pain white out Eddie’s brain and leave his ears ringing.

His mind goes soft and fuzzy as he drinks down his Angel’s slick, the sharp counterpoint of pain leaving him at the cliff’s edge of utter desolation. The Command keeping his mouth fixed in place does nothing to stop the unconscious rocking of his hips, and Eddie can’t help but thrust upwards as he sobs into his Angel’s cunt, chasing after release at the risk of his own destruction.

“You’re being very naughty, pet,” his Master growls, words broken up by harsh pants and grunts. his Master’s foot flexes, tightening his grip until the claws over Eddie’s cock break skin, and the pain drags a bleating sound from the depths of Eddie’s soul as thin trails of blood drip down the back of his balls.

“I should put you in a cage next time,” His Master growls—so dark and low he’s nearly subvocalizing. “You can’t be trusted to focus on anyone else when you’re this hard and gagging for it.” The hand in Eddie’s hair tightens into a fist and presses him harder into his Master’s groin, nose grinding over the engorged length of his massive clit. “You already got to come once, pet. What makes you think you’ve earned it a second time?”

Eddie wails, heart pounding in his chest as he laps desperately at his Master’s cunt, trying to get every last drop of spend that he left there down his throat. his Angel’s words from earlier flit through his head and a desperate moan escapes him as he pictures himself with his very own sopping cunt, throbbing and ready to take his Master’s swollen cock so deep it punches through his guts. Eddie’s hole twitches at the thought, head going static as sweet, sticky slick pours down his throat.

Eddie can’t control himself. Has no ability to stop the wild bucking of his hips as he chases his second release. Whatever his tongue is doing now is utterly by Command. Eddie thinks his tongue would keep slurping cum from his Master’s cunt even if Eddie were to drop dead right then. Thinks he’d have to be physically detached from this cunt for anything to get in the way of him carrying out his Master’s edict. So every glimmer of actual thought he has is aimed at driving himself over the edge—pain be damned.

Or maybe the pain is the medium and method by which he achieves it. The blood trickling down his balls is just another point of stimulation. The scales dragging along his shaft drive sparks of intoxicating heat through his nerves.

Eddie leans into it, chasing pleasure, chasing pain, even though some part of him knows that on the other side of release lies danger. he trembles and whines, images of his Master bending him over the parlor’s piano to deliver his punishment flitting through his mind. he thinks about the whip Steve keeps coiled down in the dungeon. Thinks about the barbed end of his tail curving in the air behind him. Thinks about the skin of his back breaking open as he takes twenty lashes in penance for the pleasure his Master did not permit.

Eddie wants it. Wants to tip his Master over the edge from the doling out of reactionary pain into calculated torture. Because his Angel doesn’t lose control when he gets truly angry. He sharpens it like a knife. And Eddie wants it sunk right into his heart. Through the gaps of his ribs. Wants to let his Angel cut him open and come inside. Mix His cum and spit and tears in Eddie’s guts and lungs.

Eddie sobs out at the thought, and his Angel comes apart under his tongue.

Eddie isn’t unaware of it happening—how could he be ignorant of the nectar of the gods spilling over his lips?—but he’s no longer in his body when it happens. He’s floating above it all. Or sinking beneath it. High or drowning on ecstasy and devotion, mindless with it. Tears pour down his face, and he’s no longer aware of his own arousal. There is only h,is Master and how to serve him.

To please.

Eddie collapses, unaware of whether or not he’s come.

he feels like his strings have been cut. he’s on all fours, prostrating himself before his Lord.

his Angel’s clawed foot is no longer on Eddie’s cock, but Eddie doesn’t care, doesn’t even register it beyond being able to now lean forward and press his sodden face to the top of it. his tears wash over scales and drip down the crevices between his Angel’s toes.

The hand in Eddie’s hair moves, stroking gently. From far away Eddie can make out his Angel raining praises down on him as Eddie washes His foot with his own tears. Thick translucent droplets twinkling in the dim light of the room.

Eddie uses his tongue to wipe them away, licking across the scales of his Angel’s foot, following the graceful lines of it to his ankle, up his calf. Eddie stares up at his Angel from beneath his lashes, and his Master drops his foot away from Eddie’s mouth, bringing it to rest on one of Eddie’s thighs. Pinning him in place and splaying him open like an entomologist's specimen.

Eddie no longer feels a desperate hunger clawing at him, but tears continue to fall freely from his face. Like his tear ducts know he longs to baptize his Lord in sorrow and joy. Eddie bends his face down to his Angel’s other foot, letting the tears slip free and decorate that one, too.

Steve lifts his foot, tipping his lover’s head up by the jut of his chin. The tears on Theo’s face sparkle in the moonlight, and Steve takes in a deep, steadying breath at the sight of him. His pet is so beautiful, even in greed.

But he’s docile now, seated so submissively at Steve’s feet. He’s taken the time to wash him with his tears. So Steve can’t bring himself to hold onto any tone of reprimand for acting out of turn.

Steve wraps his tail around the length of Eddie’s hair, pulling it into a loose ponytail. He uses that grip to pull Eddie back onto his haunches, and Eddie follows, moving like water under Steve’s command.

He stares up at Steve as though he’d hung the sun, moon, and stars within the heavens—and Steve smiles back. Eddie closes his eyes against it like he’s been blinded.

With a steady hand, Steve take’s Eddie’s face into his palm, brushing a thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip. His pet’s mouth parts for him, tongue lolling out, and Steve presses the talon of his thumb there until a small spurt of blood bubbles up. Eddie whines, sucking the talon into his mouth and laving over it carefully. The soft sound of a claw clacking against enamel echoes in Eddie’s mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Steve unwinds his tail from Eddie’s hair, dragging the tip along Eddie’s cheek before nudging at the corner of his mouth. Eddie's throat rumbles with soft, low, and strung out sound as he turns his until Steve’s talon slips free, and the tip of his spear-capped tail is pressed along the seam of his lips. Eddie sucks the tip of into his mouth, bobbing his head as though he were sucking down the stony length of the prick rapidly growing between Steve’s legs. Eddie’s mouth is warm and wet around him, and Steve’s ears flicker as heat pools at the base of his spine. He always manages to forget how good this feels as gooseflesh raises along the back of his neck, and heat races down his spine. Steve pushes the spear-tip further in, relishing the way Eddie's lips spread wide to accommodate the intrusion, and the soft clack of metal against teeth as the charm tangling from his tail almost enters Eddie's mouth as well.

“You can touch me, pet,” Steve offers with breathy beneficence—and Eddie doesn’t hesitate—trails calloused hands along the curving line of Steve’s tail. Curls one into a fist, stroking back and forth along the shaft in a pantomime of the world’s slowest, most decadent handjob. The other reaches back to settle at his tailbone massage practiced fingers into the muscles that bunch together there.

Steve groans low in his throat, hips jerking forward—thrusting the now fully formed length of his dick into empty air.

Heat coils through him, and the scales along his arms ripple and raise like goosebumps. Steve wants to sink into Eddie’s tight heat. Wants to impale his pet on his cock. Knows that he can’t breed his pet in the way he longs to, but is driven mad by the desire to try anyway. With the urge to rut up into him and make him take and take and take everything Steve gives him until they’re tied together.

The tip of Steve’s tail withdraws from Eddie’s mouth—replaced swiftly, but gently, with Steve’s thumb—to skirt along the mountains and valleys of Eddie’s spine. Eddie shivers and nestles further into the hollow of Steve’s thighs, suckling again at Steve’s fingers. Always happiest when he’s got his mouth full.

Eddie shivers and moans as Steve continues to work his tail down the length of his back, emitting a small squeaking sound as the edge of the speared tip presses against the barbell pierced through sensitive flesh. Eddie ruts down onto it, chasing friction, and when Steve looks back down it’s to see Eddie’s eyes completely glazed over. He makes small little humming, begging sounds around Steve’s thumb, like he’s trying to ask for something without opening his mouth to form the words.

Steve scrapes his free hand through Eddie’s hair, ruffling it gently. “You’re so good for me, love. Such a beautiful pet. So well trained when you choose to be.” Steve adjusts his tail so the very tip of it is pressed against his lover’s opening. Eddie’s hand twitches and flexes against the base of Steve’s tail, almost squeezing there. Steve groans again, dick throbbing and tail twitching in a way that has it breaching just that first ring of muscle.

Eddie yells, sound muffled by the clawed talon in his mouth, and his hips jerk backwards to try to suck more of Steve’s tail into him, in spite of how dry he is.

Saliva pools in Steve’s mouth and he quickly pulls the tip of his tail from Eddie’s ass, sucking it into his mouth to slather with spit and venom. Eddie keens, staring up at Steve with wide, wet eyes, and Steve just smiles as he slips his spit-slick tail back into his lover's hole.

He doesn’t shove in very far—doesn’t want to accidentally snag Eddie’s rim with the bit of jewelry that dangles from his tail—so he shallowly fucks just the tip of it in and out of Eddie’s opening, while his pet attempts to hold himself up on shaking thighs.

“Look at how gorgeous you are for me, my love. So good, even when you can’t restrain yourself from taking whatever you want.”

Eddie’s jaw drops open, dropping Steve's finger from his mouth, tongue lolling out, as he pants and tries to work himself onto Steve’s tail with small hitching thrusts. Tears work their way down the sides of his face, and his eyes have gone glassy and cross-eyed as they fix on the heavy weight of Steve’s thick, erect cock bobbing between his legs. Eddie licks his lips. Stares up at Steve with wide imploring eyes.

“You want Master’s cock, love?”

Eddie nods desperately.

“Get up here, then,” Steve says. But he doesn’t offer a moment for Eddie to move under his own power. Instead he fists a rough hand in his hair, yanking him up onto wobbly feet, and dragging him forward until he’s straddling Steve’s open thighs.

“You look so pretty in my lap, love,” Steve murmurs, drawing Eddie down into a long, languid kiss. Eddie chirps in surprise, but leans into it, parting his lips so his tongue can twine with Steve’s. Steve holds back on mixing venom with spit this time. Wants Eddie to feel every bit of him loving him this way.

Steve flexes his wings wide. Curves them forward. Cocoons the two of them together in a pocket of solitary silence, glittering green and gold.

Steve strokes a hand along the knobs of Eddie’s spine again, carefully tracing their bumps and ridges with the tip of a talon. Along the path downward, he shifts his hand, willing talons to recede, and scales to smooth away from fingers and palm. He brings a human down to the rim of Eddie’s hole, pressing gently alongside the tip of his tail. Eddie shudders in his lap, bearing down ever so slightly, and Steve leans in to press a kiss to his neck.

“Want to take my cock, pet?” Steve whispers into his ear.

“Please, Angel. Please, please take me. I need you. Need you in me, I— “

Steve strokes a hand through Eddie’s hair, shushing him gently. “Quiet, pet. I’m going to take care of you.”

Steve raises the shifted hand up to his mouth, sucking the first three fingers inside to coat them with saliva and venom. When he's satisfied he drops it back down to Eddie’s ass, and pushes his forefinger into Eddie’s hole in one slow, smooth glide.

Eddie moans, rolling his hips in Steve’s lap, chasing the sensation. “Feels so good,” he mumbles. “Tingles.”

Steve nuzzles his nose against Eddie’s cheek and murmurs in his ear. “I know, pet. I know how much you love feeling my spit and venom in you. How drunk you get on my cum. Can’t wait to fill you up, sweetness.”

Eddie makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, bucking down on Steve's hand and tail. His arms reach up to wrap around Steve’s back, laying a flat palm against the space between Steve’s wing blades and stroking along the place where his wings sprout from his back. The other trails down Steve’s back to settle at the base of his tail again, and Steve can’t help the sharp exhalation of breath the sensation punches out of him, or the way his hips rock forward into the space between Eddie’s thighs, even though it offers almost no friction.

Steve presses forward so close to Eddie that the barbells through Eddie’s nipples hook through the rings dangling from Steve’s own.

They both let out twinned cries of shock as their hooked jewelry tugs at both of their chests. Eddie drops his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, hips jerking more erratically as the jewelry in his chest pulls with a steady tension, and Steve begins to press a second finger into his opening.

“Fuck, Theo. You feel so good around me. Around my fingers. On my tail. With your hands on my back. Want to love you so hard.” Steve curls his fingers forward, brushing over the bundle of nerves buried there. Eddie grunts and thrusts forwards, pressing his weeping dick to the solid plane of Steve’s abs. “Want to blot out the sun for you,” he vows. “Stop the next day from coming—and every day after. We can stay just like this. All night. And all night can be all time. I can keep you here just like you keep me. D’you want that?” Steve feels like he’s set his heart out on a silver platter. Waits for Eddie to pick it up and devour.

Eddie nods into Steve's neck, now growing damp with tears. “Yeah. I want that, Angel. Want you to stop time for me.”

Steve makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest, desperate to be inside his lover now. But even though Eddie’s tolerance for pain is high, two fingers and some spit isn’t nearly enough to take him, and Steve doesn’t want to make his cock any smaller. He wants to split his pet open wide around him. Wants to drive him out of his mind with the perfect feeling of fullness that this cock alone can grant him.

“You’re doing so good for me, pet,” Steve gasps, pressing another spit-and-venom-slick finger to Eddie’s opening.

“Thank you, Master,” Eddie sobs.

The muscles of Eddie’s rim clench and flutter around Steve’s fingers in steady patterns. Steve pulls his hand back slowly, and as it draws back it shifts green and gold and black again, nails lengthening and thickening back into sharp claws.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me,” Eddie chants, rocking his hips in Steve’s lap as he whispers his pleas into the side of Steve's neck. A part of Steve wants to punish him for speaking out of turn. For thinking he’s earned the right to demand anything from Steve. But Steve can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing right now, so he wraps his clawed hands around his lover's hips, digging in so that his talons and fingers dig into pale flesh and leave bruises and pinpricks of blood littering the surface. Eddie gasps—the sound pulled out of him like he’s been woken from a deep sleep—as Steve bodily lifts him, positioning his stretched-out hole over Steve’s dick, and watching him sink like a stone onto it.

Eddie has lost all control of his limbs. Sits in the cradle of Steve’s arms and lap limply as Steve rolls his hips up and begins to set a slow pace between them. Their piercings are still hooked together. Every thrust that’s just a little too forceful pushes a surprised burst of air and laughter from one or the other of them.

Eddie’s hands continue their idle petting over Steve’s back, clenching against the base of his tail, stroking over the place where his wings meet his back. Steve trembles, a constant stream of soft breathy sighs that sound desperate to his own ears slipping out between his lips. He feels light all over. High on his lover’s touch. So much feeling and sensation that Steve can feel it start to leak out of him.

He pulls away from Eddie with a gasp when he feels the place where their chests meet begin to grow damp. The barbells studding Eddie's chest slip free from the hoops of Steve’s own with a painful twist. Eddie cries out, ragged and shocked. Steve echoes the sound in ecstasy.

Eddie’s head is still hidden in the side of his neck, but when Steve looks down at his own chest he can see his tits have grown heavy and swollen, nipples leaking milk all over him and the tip of his dick is forming a bulge in Eddie's belly. The sight is overwhelming, and Steve vibrates with the gravelly rumble that passes through him as he bucks up into his pet with punching thrusts.

“You’ve made another mess of me, love.” Steve whispers, low and dark, in Eddie’s ear.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything in response. Makes a small questioning sound into the side of Steve’s throat and pushes further into him. Steve pulls him back by the hair, forcing Eddie to look down at where he’s dripping from his chest. “You gonna clean this one up too, pet?”

Eddie answers by dipping his head down wordlessly and pulling a nipple into his mouth. His tongue pokes through the ring and tugs—pulling a yelp free from Steve's throat—before his wet mouth engulfs a dusky brown nipple. Eddie suckles at it gently, moaning as the taste hits his tongue. He swallows Steve’s milk down, and his chest aches as he feels it tugging through his ducts. His lover pulling his essence from him with greedy teeth and tongue and lip.

Steve could stay here forever. Gorging himself while he feeds his lover. Fucking his fill while his heart beats in his chest at a steady pace. A slow drumbeat of affection. All he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears, Eddie’s whining moans against his chest. Not even the crickets or the wind enter his awareness. Wings folded around them, all there is in Stephanotis’ world is himself, and his pet. His love. Greedy and divine.

Eddie’s head grows heavy against his chest, and Steve takes all of his weight into his arms. He’s still fucking into him, soft and slow. Not in any rush to chase after his release. Time passes without measure, but after a while the breast Eddie is latched to runs dry, and Steve coaxes him free to meet his gaze.

His lover's eyes are heavy-lidded and dazed. He looks like he’s floating high above and far away, and the only reason Steve wants to bring him back down to earth is to have him in his arms.

But Steve can fly. He can meet him where he’s at.

Eddie’s breaths come in shivery gasps, and he seems unaware of the way he’s rutting forward, seeking friction against his flushed red cock.

Steve takes mercy on him, reaching down to curl a scaled claw around his length. Eddie hisses at the way the scales catch along the sensitive skin of his shaft. His hands keep roaming over Steve's body—now following the curve of feather and wing. Stroking along the bones that run through the body of them. Petting carefully at the feathers that tinkle and glitter around them.

Steve strokes his hand over Eddie’s length with a tightening grip as he feels the pressure in his own groin grow tighter and tighter. He feels ready to burst apart. Explode into a cloud of gas and light and stardust. Twin stars on the way to collapse. Steve scrapes the talon of his thumb across the head of Eddie’s cock and his pet screams, long and drawn out, voice going hoarse as he comes and comes, white spunk spurting from the tip of his cock and drenching Steve’s hand. His hole tightens and clenches around Steve’s thick length, and Steve breaks, following him over the edge.

Steve bucks his hips restlessly as the knot at the base of his dick swells and ties them together, and his cum keeps pumping into his lover—making him full and bloated on Steve's love.

Steve tightens his wings around them, blocking out the moonlight. He brings the hand covered in his lover’s release to his mouth and licks it away carefully, groaning at how his love tastes on his skin; stuck in the webbing of his fingers.

Eddie stays curled against his chest, head resting over Steve’s heart.

“I missed you,” Steve murmurs into Eddie’s hair, brushing a hand through it. “The house is too quiet when you’re away.”

Eddie looks out from under the curtain of his hair, blinking up at Steve slowly. “What if you come with me next time?” His words are slow and sleep-soft.

“Oh, Theo.” A melancholic note bleeds into Steve's tone, and he drops a gentle kiss on Eddie’s temple. “Thought you didn’t want to share me?”

Eddie rubs his forehead along the crook of Steve’s shoulder, leaving two quick kisses on what Steve knows to be Eddie’s favorite scales. “You could be asleep the whole time. Could put you on display during the shows.” Eddie trails a line of kisses down Steve’s clavicle. “Everyone can see.” Noses at the pick hanging at Steve's throat. “No one can touch.”

“If you think I’m letting anyone get their hands on you while I’m right there—“

Eddie wiggles in Steve’s lap, shoots him a devilish grin. “We can find a club. Put you in a corner. You can watch as everyone has their way with me.”

Steve growls, fisting a hand in Eddie’s hair. “Careful, pet. Doesn’t look like you’re up for another round.”

Eddie whines, hips rocking restlessly in Steve’s lap. “Please, Angel.”

“Shh, settle.” Steve tucks a strand of hair behind Eddie’s ear. “Let’s get you to bed, love. You must be tired.” Steve loops his arms around Eddie’s thighs and lifts him as he rises, careful not to drop him and tug his knot free. Eddie’s head rests against his shoulder, and his arms come up to loosely circle Steve’s neck. Steve unfurls his wings from the cocoon around them, letting them hang at rest as he makes his way to the staircase that leads to the master bedroom.

When they get to the room, Steve settles at the edge of the bed, keeping Eddie tucked against him like the favored pet he is. “You’re so good for me, Theo,” Steve purrs. They both trace idle patterns into the other’s skin, Steve careful to keep his touch light so as not to break skin—especially while Eddie’s blood is thinner from the venom still working its way through his system. Steve considers switching his hands back to human form, but knows that even when they’ve finished playing, Eddie still revels in the edge of danger Steve’s touch carries.

Steve wants to ask how the tour went. Wants updates on everything the band did and saw together. A jealous corner of his heart wants to hear what he and their backup guitarist got up to on the road—Steve has suspicions of the man’s true nature that he’s chosen to keep close to the chest, but if Eddie is going to bring him along the next time around, that may be a door he has to open. The hungering instincts of his base nature want to feed on the stories of Eddie's exploits with fans and groupies. Theodore Munson has such a beguiling nature for a mere human, and Steve always sucks down recollections of his hedonistic adventures with ravenous delight.

But Eddie is close to snoring on his shoulder. Still has a thick cock shoved up and knotted inside him, and looks like he could do with a bite to eat. Catching up can happen later.

When the swell of Steve’s knot finally recedes Eddie is fully dozing on his shoulder, a thin trail of drool forming there. Steve carefully pulls his love off his softened length, watching with rapt fascination as his cum began to seep out of him. Eddie whines in complaint, eyes blinking open as Steve arranges him on the bed. “Don’ wan'you to leave, Phan,” Eddie mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Don’t worry love, I’ll be right back. You won’t even miss me.”

Eddie grumbles, turning onto his side. “Always miss you.”

Steve chuckles as he steps away, crossing the room to the cabinet where he keeps all their supplies. When he comes back he uses two human fingers to carefully scoop the cum that has started to trail down the back of Eddie’s legs back into his gaping wide hole. Eddie groans, nuzzling into the pillow underneath him.

“I know you want to stay full of me. Want me to stopper you up with my love. Wake up slick and wet and open from my cock and cum so I can just slip inside you again? Or maybe I’ll use you while you're still aslumber. You still owe me an orgasm or two to even things out, pet.”

Eddie moans. There are few things he enjoys more than the sensation of waking to Steve fucking into him.

Steve smiles and presses a soft kiss to the knob at the top of Eddie’s spine, before slipping a thick, golden plug into him. Inlaid at its base is a smaragd jewel that catches and shines like Steve’s eyes in the light.

Though Eddie says it’s impossible for any jewel to compare.

Once the plug is in place, Steve picks up the damp cloth he’d collected and wipes carefully at the trails of dried cum there. With a second cloth he cleans away any and all traces of blood on Eddie’s chest, ass, and thighs, gently smoothing antibacterial cream over them as he goes.

When all is said and done, Eddie is a soupy mess in their shared bedsheets. But it still isn’t enough for Steve. He climbs onto the bed and gathers Eddie into his arms, so his back is flush to Steve’s chest. Steve grabs the glass of water he'd deposited on the bedside table and carefully presses it to Eddie’s lips, encouraging him to take a sip.

“Go on, drink up, love.”

Eddie gulps it down with giant, greedy swigs, gasping when he gets to the end and letting out a small burp and satisfied exhale.

Steve laughs, and grabs the snack bar he’d brought from the cabinet and hands that over to Eddie as well. “You’re so good for me, Theo.”

Eddie leans his head back against Steve’s shoulder with a dopey smile. “Not doin’ anything, Phan.”

Steve drags a knuckle up and down the length of Eddie’s arms and whispers, almost to himself. “You’re letting me take care of you.” Steve sweeps the hair away from the back of Eddie’s neck and presses a kiss to his nape. “There’s a time when you wouldn’t even have let me try.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? Hard to trust a demon.”

Steve chuckles. “Oh no, pet, it’s easy to trust a demon. You know exactly what they want. It’s hard to trust someone that loves you. They’ll surprise you every time.”

Eddie turns in the circle of Steve’s arms and stares at him intently. “You’re the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

A tear slips down Steve’s face unbidden, and he spares half a moment to wonder what color it is. To question after its source. He smiles back, wistful and fond. “And you, mine, Theo.”

The moon fades behind the clouds, and light begins to creep along the horizon. And an angel and his monster fall asleep.

A/N: I genuinely went a bit crazy while writing this, and I've got lots of ideas for other fics in this universe, so watch this space for more demon!Steve filth and devotion 😈