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kanekisfavoritegf · 6 months ago

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PERFECT LOVER: The Life of Nanami Kento the 35 Year Old Virgin

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: Kento Nanami, a 35-year-old introvert with a tendency to avoid social interactions, has made a conscious decision to steer clear of romantic entanglements. However, everything changes when he meets a new colleague at his birthday party, (Satoru's Idea). From the moment they meet, he is mesmerized, finding himself increasingly unable to resist her magnetic presence. Like taking a bite of forbidden fruit, he becomes ensnared by the allure, delving into a realm of infatuation and finding himself unable to break free. As he delves deeper into this newfound connection, Nanami begins to realize that he craves more than just a fleeting experience and yearns for more than just a fleeting taste of what she embodies.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 2.3K

CHAPTER FIVE:

Your hands trembled as you fixed your dress. It was a plain black one that fell just above your knees, tight enough to hug your figure. Shiny black pumps complemented your outfit.

You would have worn better had Kento not insisted on taking you on a date right after work that Friday. But you did your best with the little you had, the fanciest, most “seductive” work dress in your closet. The one that showed off the most cleavage.

You were in the company bathroom, touching up your makeup before Kento whisked you away to whatever he had planned. Geto and Yuki had already left, and somehow, very conveniently, both you and Nanami had been given Gojo’s workload for that day to finish, making the two of you work overtime as the rest of the office emptied.

Before you left the bathroom, you took one more glance at yourself. You looked good, a little fancy for work and underdressed for fine dining, but you were comfortable and felt good.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you walked past Kento’s desk, each step deliberate and prolonged. Making sure that the slit in the back shows off the lining of the back of your stockings as you pass. As you passed him, you swished your hair slightly, giving Kento only a whiff of your shampoo. You didn’t turn to look if his eyes were on you. You already knew they were. You could feel it as you turned to sit at your desk and finally locked eyes with him as you sat down slowly. Something flashed within his eyes, a small fire igniting between you, but it was gone as fast as it came. When Kento turned back to face his computer, a slight smirk was now on his face.

It was not long until the both of you were done; Kento finished a minute before you and now stood leaning at your desk, watching you pack your things hurriedly as you tried not to drop any of your belongings under his intense gaze.

He was doing it on purpose, his intense gaze making you want to kick him a little. You thought you could handle his watching you until he leaned in closer, taking a strand of one of your curls and smelling it, his actions amplifying the tension in the room.

You dropped all of your pens and got to your feet, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“Hey!”

“Hey,” Kento echoed back, smiling like an idiot. He thought this was funny, but it only irritated you more.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Why would I do that?” He asked, taking a step closer to you. You stepped back, almost tripping on your desk, had it not been for the blonde grabbing you by your waist.

“Kento Nanami!” You slapped his chest, dropping to your knees and picking up the pens.

“Y/N, you are doing an excellent job packing up.”

“I thought you wanted to take me on a date.”

“Oh, I do, but someone gave me a boner, and I fear I may not be able to leave the office without shame.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. ‘Oh’.” Kento looked down, watching as you reached for the last pen that had rolled down further than the rest of the ones that had fallen, taking notice of the arch in your back and the way your hair fell to frame your face, “I think I quite like you on your knees.”

It's safe to say you hit your head on the desk.

“Are you sure you are a virgin, Kento? Because all of this dirty talk is giving me major whiplash.”

“This is what you call dirty talk?” He held his hand out to you, helping you to your feet but not letting you go. “I was simply being honest; I am sorry.”

Oh god, if this wasn’t his dirty talk, you could only imagine what he would say to you if under you, or on top of you or–

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts before your panties could dampen any more.

“Shall we go?”

“Yes, we should.”

As the two of you walked through the streets, the street lamps lit Kento’s hand, drawing you in close. No words were spoken between the two of you, and it reminded you of the first walk you took with him.

It felt as though you were moving fast but also slow in a way. If Kento were nervous, he wouldn’t let it show. Down the street, you let him lead you to his house.

“You could have bought me dinner before taking me back to your bed, Nanami.” You joked.

Kento smiled; it made the skin at his eyes crease, paired with a soft pink blush on his cheeks and ears, and absolutely took your breath away. You felt your heart jump out of your chest for a moment. He was so beautiful it made your head hurt. He was nervous, and even if he tried to hide, it was smooth flirting and a calm demeanour. Kento was nervous about taking you on a date.

“Instead of taking you to dinner, I thought I would make you some.” A hand reached the back of his neck as he scratched it awkwardly, “Unless you hate the idea! I can snag a table at the restaurant a few miles away?”

“No! No! Dinner would be perfect. At yours, I mean.” You rushed out, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward his building’s entrance.

Kento’s home was exactly like you remember: clean and tidy. As you stepped inside, Kento placed some house shoes in front of you and took your coat from you,

“Come sit,” his hand reached out to you, and you took it, letting Kento lead you into his kitchen and to the island chair, where he made you sit and watch.

“So what’s on the menu, Chef?”

“For your appetizer, you get a Charcuterie board, some pasta and salad for dinner, and maybe some dessert if you have room.”

“I always have room for dessert.”

Kento’s appetizer did not disappoint; taking a cheese cube and some grapes into your mouth, you fought a moan of pleasure from the taste.

“How long did this all take for you to make?” you asked Kento as he worked on cutting the tomatoes and basil. The pasta he had made from scratch was boiling in a large pot.

“Well, I can not take credit for the Charcuterie board; I dropped the first one I made and ran to buy one from the store,” he said, ears red but his head down, avoiding eye contact as he chopped away. But all the other ingredients and preparing for the dinner aren’t new to me.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I often cook for myself. Even as a kid, I have always loved food, and cooking is a great outlet.”

How are you so perfect?

“I don’t think I am perfect, but I will take this compliment anyway, especially if it’s from you.”

You would have died of embarrassment had the wine Kento offered you not been so good and strong. One and a half glasses was all it took for a buzz to hit you. Pushing the rest of your glass away, you focused on the passive way Kento’s body moved. It was almost like a dance; the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to above his elbow, but it was tight enough that you could also see how his muscles moved and flexed underneath the sweater. It was as if he was trying to slut himself out to you through the power of cooking.

This is dangerous. He is dangerous, and you don’t even think he is fully aware of how badly you are attracted to him.

"Hey, Y/N." Nanami called you out of your horny daze with a deep voice, "Could you light the fireplace? It is pretty easy, but if you struggle, call me over."

You nodded, wanting to feel useful as Kento still worked on dinner. The kitchen soon filled with a wonderful aroma. The smell followed you all the way into his living room, leaving you undeniably hungry.

Turning on the fireplace turned out to be more challenging than you thought. On the lower corner of the fireplace, a golden square was bolted to its side, with symbols instructing how to light it. It was not complicated; in fact, it looked relatively easy. Yet, as you twisted the gas with the key, it continued to click without lighting. After your third attempt and failure, you called for Kento.

"I admit defeat. It's not working," you said, your hands in the air, a dramatic pout on your face.

"You called at a good time. Everything is on a low simmer for another fifteen minutes, and then we can eat."

You shuffled out of the way and watched as Kento twisted it quickly, lighting the fire instantly. "Show off." You muttered under your breath, not quite enough to go unnoticed by Kento.

"Is this how you talk to the man working tirelessly to make you dinner?" Kento asked plainly, sitting beside you on the soft of his cream rug.

"I don't know what you are talking about." You leaned into him, your faces inches from each other. Kento took a shaky breath, and you took this time to admire his face. I truly admire everything about it. Under the fire's glow, he looked even more handsome than usual. His hair was a little messy, unlike his regularly slicked-back style, with a few strands falling right above his eyebrow.

He looked nervous, but it wasn't his face that gave it away. Per usual, he held no frown or smile, just a plain blank stare. His quickening of breath, his fluttering eyes, and the small gulp of saliva making his Adam's apple bob catch your attention.

So lost in your gawking, you had yet to realize just how much you had leaned into him and how much he leaned into you.

“Y/N.” He rasped at you, watching as the dancing fire’s glow reflected onto your skin.

“Kento.” You said, your voice wavering in confidence as you did.

“Can I kiss you, please?” You nodded silently, eyes focused on his and his eyes on your lips.

“You have to say it,” His hands now cupped your face delicately, “You have to say it out loud, Y/N. Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. Please.” You whispered, just like Kento. Your hands reached out for his face, too, but rather than stay still, you let your finger ghost over his lips, pulling on them slightly before pushing your lips against him. The hand that once cupped your face found the back of your head and pushed you deeper into him, and his other grabbed onto your waist, keeping you from leaving him. You fought off the urge to whine as the hand that held onto your waist squeezed you harder, and you pressed your tongue to his lips, begging for entry, something that he promptly gave. Your bodies moved and shuffled the longer you kissed, and you couldn’t take the throbbing between your legs any more. Slipping yourself on top of his lap earned you a deep and guttural moan from Kento. Your dress rolled up with you as your legs spread to make space for his body.

The hand on your waist raised to your ribcage, his thumb pressing into your skin as he rubbed rhythmically. You whined into him as you felt the growing tent in his pants graze your clothed cunt. You could not help but push yourself into him while whispering.

“Oh God, you are big.”

Kento’s eyes fluttered shut at your words. His grasp grew stronger at your ribcage and back of your neck as if it were some lifeline.

“Oh Fuck. Oh, Christ. Don’t do that, I’ll come.” You only moaned into his mouth as a response, feeling Kento’s body shudder as you pressed down against his dick. Kento let out a string of breathy moans against the skin of your neck, keeping his head there as he collected himself through shaky breaths.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” He repeated in the deep of your neck, still lost in his post-orgasm haze.

Up and down, you watched his chest rise and fall; it should be illegal to look this good after cumming during a twenty-five-second makeout.

“Feew”

“What?” You asked, pulling away so Kento could raise his head.

“Food? I should go check on it.”

“Oh! Yeah, no, you totally should.”

You awkwardly crawled off of him as his grip loosened, trying not to stare at the wet patch on his pants or the bulge that was still ever so apparent. You don’t know why you were acting like this. If anything, you should be confident. And yet here you are, acting like a preteen receiving their first kiss.

Kento returned a minute and a half later, wearing sweatpants and a loose shirt. Another shirt is still in hand for you.

“Why would you?”

“You have my cum on your dress.” He said plainly. Following the line of his gaze, your eyes came to see the spot where his cum had dribbled through. Your eyes wide, you got your feet, snatching the shirt from his hand and rushing to the bathroom.

Preview...

“I thought you said you wanted me to make you cum?”

TAG LIST: @marikuchanxo @sukunasstomachtongue @getosgirlfailure @allysunny @tojicvmslut @typefeisu @aiyaaayei @villsophie @sillysillygoofygoose @jinleft @rivversin @haikioo @destinyblue-jjk @ramonathinks @actuallysaiyan @actuallysaiyan @melisuh123 @ureuphoriasworld @jaeminsmilk @rileyglas @bonnieblue0606 @alwaysfreakingout @lovelyiida @ayesayman @dreamgirl5300 @swoozleee @belle-oftheball34 @zeunys @yuzu-ku @aomi04 @y0urpr3ttyp0ck3tpussy @zombriesworld @hazzelle-kento @miinhooo @lucilles-witchery @areyouflying

CHAPTER SIX: UPLOADED

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 days ago

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“…Jamil-senpai? Is that you? Ah, I-.. I didn’t expect to see you here, but it’s good to see you again. …How have you been? Have you… gotten a chance to travel the world?”

(Romantic + assume in the context of lots of things left unsaid in the past, feelings never pursued etc., either interaction or hcs whichever’s easier! Congrats on 10k+ Raven!! 🎉🎉)

What comes after Ever After?

“Ah.”

He turns when you call his name, and it’s like cupid’s arrow has shot through your chest, tearing that tender flesh apart. It’s him alright. The boy from 10 years ago, the one you almost gave your heart to—but then didn’t.

Jamil is as viper-like as ever. His form is slim and lithe, the muscle of a dancer—and trained bodyguard—concealed behind a set of demure terracotta robes with golden stitching. Dark, glossy hair falls loose over one shoulder, feathering a swan-like neck, the rest tumbling down his back adorned with beading and bangles akin to glistening scales. The pointedness to his gaze had sharpened with age, almost like he had used a knife to draw on his eyeliner.

His face is like it was before. A mask of placidity, an unreadable emotion set in the grey of his eyes—but you catch the slight purse of his lips when he glimpses you.

“… I didn’t expect to reunite with you here myself. Hello again.” Jamil humbly lowers his head in a bow, the accessories woven into his hair clinking together. Professional, formal. “It has been many a moon.”

Too many to count.

But you know, deep down, you had counted every last one of them. The glowing white orb in the sky as it waxed into existence and waned out of it… Cycling endlessly. Many nights had been spent staring out of a window, arm draped over the sill, tracing the cut of his profile in the crevices and craters of the moon.

Sometimes, using your pointer and thumb, you'd pretend to pluck that pearl out of the sky. You imagined it as a grape. Tangible, easy to have and to hold.

So close, yet so far. Untouchable, unteachable for you. Always wondering about what could have been.

You push down the sadness welling within you, forcing your happiness.

“You look as though you have something to say.” He inclines his head, and his hair seems to spill like wine into a glass. “And here I thought I was the one being asked to share my secrets.”

“Y-You are.”

There’s a faint, melodious chuckle. It blows off the dust that coats your memories, rattling them to life.

Jamil cups a hand around his mouth and whispers. Those lips are scandalous—you feel as though a snake’s forked tongue might dart out from between them, tempting you to take a bite of some forbidden fruit.

“Then shall I steal you away and bend your ear?" His eyes cut to the ongoing reunion, the chaos of it. Students chatting loudly, music bumping, fruit punch sloshing. "I fear that this celebration, amusing as it is, isn’t the most conducive for spinning my globetrotting stories.”

"Oh...!" You lit up. "So you were able to travel?"

"Predominantly for business trips, yes--though I suppose it still counts as travel. You've yet to see it for yourself, correct?" He lays a hand over his chest, offering you the other. "There's time to spare. Let me share the whole world with you."

Your heart flutters at the sight.

Is this... what I think it is? The start of something new?

In a dream-like trance, you find yourself automatically slipping your hand into his. He's slightly cool to the touch, like how you imagine the scales of a snake to be.

The moon.

You're holding it, holding him.

Jamil smiles.

At last, he has you, too.

"And perhaps, while we're at it, you would care to regale me with stories of your own. You have me curious about what it is you've been keeping to yourself all this time."

#disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst x reader #Jamil Viper x Reader #Reader #self insert #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #after ever after

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cheeseatlantic · 10 hours ago

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i lowkey love this or wtv

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x GN reader (Apple)

The moonlight filtered through the cracked blinds, casting a pale glow across the dark room. The sound of rain pattering against the window only amplified the silence between you and Ghost. He stood near the doorway, his signature skull mask slightly tilted as he observed you from across the room. His presence was heavy, an unspoken tension between the two of you. He wasn’t saying anything, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, the pull he had over you.

You were used to the quiet, the stillness that Ghost often surrounded himself with. He didn’t speak unless it was necessary, and his movements were calculated, precise. But there was something different in the air tonight.

Maybe it was the way you had been dancing around each other for months, both pretending not to notice the sparks that flew whenever your paths crossed. Maybe it was the way your heart raced when he was near, the way he could ruin your composure with a single glance. The whole thing was so goddamn confusing, but the longer you stayed in this space with him, the more the line between you blurred.

He had always been closed off, keeping his distance, both physically and emotionally. But something about tonight had changed. Something in the way he was watching you, the subtle change in his stance—it was like he was waiting for something.

You had been pushing him, teasing him, trying to get under his skin, trying to crack the façade that he wore like armor. You couldn’t help it. There was something magnetic about him, and the harder he pulled away, the harder you fought to get closer.

“You’re not gonna just stand there all night, are you?” You asked, your voice a little more breathless than you intended. There was a bite in your tone, an edge of challenge.

Ghost didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved closer, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. The air between you both thickened with every inch he closed, and for a moment, you wondered if you had miscalculated, if you were pushing him too far. But then, he was there—right in front of you, tall and imposing.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he finally spoke, his voice low, almost like a growl. His eyes, dark and unreadable behind the mask, locked onto yours. “You think you can push me around, make me crack, but you’re just as fucked up as I am.”

You didn’t answer, but you felt your heart skip a beat. His words stung more than you expected. There was truth in them—too much truth. You had been pretending you didn’t feel it too. The pull between you was undeniable, but you hadn’t known how far you were willing to go until now.

“You’re just like the rest of them,” Ghost continued, his voice dark, but there was a flicker of something else there, something that made your pulse quicken. “You want to get close, but the closer you get, the more you realize it’s better to stay away.”

The words cut deep, but there was something about the way he spoke, something in the way his shoulders tensed as he stood inches away from you, that made the air feel electric. It was like he wanted to break down the walls he had built around himself but couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow himself to.

You reached for him, your hand brushing against the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. But he didn’t move. He didn’t pull away.

“You’re afraid of this,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his grip tightened around the edge of the doorway.

“You have no idea,” Ghost replied, his voice low, almost husky. His eyes bore into yours, as if he could see every thought in your head, every fear that you weren’t brave enough to voice.

And then, without warning, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was raw, full of the anger and frustration that had been building up between the two of you. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t care about the consequences.

The kiss was desperate, hungry—two people who had been denying the inevitable for far too long. He was rough, his hands gripping you like he was afraid you would slip away from him, and you let him. You let him take control because, in that moment, you didn’t want to fight it anymore.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and disoriented, he didn’t say anything. His gaze was still unreadable, his mask still in place, but there was a change in him—something softer in the way he held you, something deeper that neither of you had been willing to acknowledge before.

You could still feel the burn of his lips on yours, the heat of his touch, and for the first time in a long while, you wondered if this was the beginning of something you were both too afraid to admit.

But the question hung in the air, unanswered, as the rain outside continued to pour.

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bandedbulbussnarfblat · 8 months ago

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Hi!

9 from that pick a number prompt ☺️

finally, I have it finished here on ao3 or under the cut

Louis wanting to meet in Maceió isn’t much of a surprise. It’s been a few months since the book has been released, and it’s doing better than anticipated. His agent is talking about a movie deal; he wants Regé-Jean Page to play Louis and Marsai Martin for Claudia. Daniel told him to lower his ambitions.

They are walking along the coast of the moonlit beach, Louis’ private beach. It leads back to the large cottage up the hill, where Louis currently lived. Brazil suits Louis, he seems happy here.

He’s just telling him so, albeit with a lot more snark, when his phone rings. He picks it up with a sigh. “I’m telling you, Alfred Enoch isn’t gonna bite. You gotta cast an unknown. Find someone who can bring the character to life.”

Louis looks amused by the whole thing.

“Look, I gotta go, I'm with a friend. No, not a lady friend, you nosy prick.”

Louis arches an eyebrow. “Is there a lady friend?”

Daniel hates that, it overlaps in his head and he can’t make sense of it. “Not now,” he says to Louis, “...yeah, I’ll call you back.”

Daniel considers throwing his phone into the ocean.

“You didn’t answer the question, Daniel.”

Daniel huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

His pace slows and he eventually comes to a stop. He sits down and lets the water lap over his feet. Louis sits down next to him, toes buried in the sand. “It’s Armand. He’s been…following me. At first I thought he was gonna kill me, but honestly I think he’s just lonely since you dumped him.”

Louis looks at him carefully. “Armand is following you?”

“I mean, mostly,” Daniel says.

He might have gotten Armand’s cell number from Louis once upon a time, as a safety precaution. But he called him before this visit and said “We both know you’re gonna follow behind me in your fancy private jet; so why not cut the cost and ride together?”

Armand had been stunned into silence for a brief moment, then, miraculously he laughed. He’d told Daniel the time and place to meet. Naturally, he had already booked them both hotel rooms. Adjacent to each other, but no connection between them. Of course, Armand booked him a luxury room with a view and a balcony overlooking the sea. It is heavenly.

What was Daniel supposed to do, walk away from paradise? There’s probably a metaphor somewhere in there about forbidden fruit and temptation, but Daniel doesn’t want to think about it.

Louis catches all that, from the look on his face. “ Ah , that’s how it is.”

“What?” Daniel says, confused.

“You and Armand.”

Daniel is literally stunned speechless. “Me and Armand?”

Louis smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t even see it. Thought you were supposed to be some big shot reporter, and you can’t see what’s staring you in the face.”

“What, that he has some weird fixation on me? That’s all because of you, buddy.”

Louis laughs, and it crinkles his nose. “What does Armand do when he finds you?”

“Bitch and moan, mostly,” Daniel says easily.

“He says, without a trace of fear,” Louis says. Daniel lets the gravity of the words sink in.

He’s not afraid of Armand. Not anymore. He isn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way his fear had become anger, anger had become irritation. Irritation had become annoyance, had become something close to endearment.

“Ok, so what?”

“Oh my god,” Louis cups his face, “Daniel, you’re in love with him.”

Daniel pushes Louis’ hands off. “It’s not like that; I’m just used to him, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.”

Daniel leans back on his hands and sets a sharp gaze on Louis. “You seem surprisingly chill for a guy who thinks his only friend wants to rawdog his ex.”

“Is that how you think it would go?” Louis says. “He’d eat you alive. Maybe literally.”

“Psh,” Daniel fishes his cigarettes out of his pocket and lights up. “That guy is wound so tight; he needs somebody to shatter him. Might help him loosen up a bit.”

“Good luck at the job,” Louis says, and gives a little salute. It occurs to Daniel that Louis has been sipping nothing but tourists on cocktails and is probably a little drunk.

“I never applied for the job,” Daniel says. “Armand isn’t my problem.”

“Oh, he is one hundred percent your problem,” Louis says. “Or did you not pick up that when he falls, he falls hard? To an extreme.”

Louis’ jaw clenches a little at the end, but he shakes it off. “Don’t worry, Daniel; Armand is terrified of rejection. You’ll have to make the first move.”

“Easy enough; I won’t do anything,” Daniel says. He rises to his feet. Armand is probably in his hotel room by now. If he gets bored he starts snooping.

Louis rises beside him. They walk in silence back to the cottage. Daniel sees Louis to his door, and for a moment, there’s a beat between them. It fades as quickly as it was born. In another time, another place they coulda’ woulda’ been. Still, Louis catches his hand before Daniel can walk away. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“You have my blessing. For Armand. He’s…you’ll be good for him.”

“Yeah? He’ll be terrible for me,” Daniel says, but he’s already becoming a little resigned to the idea. Not of a romance per-see, but of having Armand around for the indefinite future.

The funny thing is; he doesn’t entirely hate the idea. Louis' face turns smug next to him. "Shut up, Louis. It'll never happen."

"Famous last words."

#asks answered

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ulabewriting · 9 months ago

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Olja Agregor.

he/they.

TW : quite a bit of cursing, (mystical jerk)! ! !

• is supposed to grant you a wish but… declined every single one so far.

• “Soooo… I grant you one fucking wish, with absolutely no limits and the whole ass opportunity to go wild, and THIS is what you wanna wish for ? Yeah no. Think harder.”

• grinning and smirking 24/7. either that or staring into your soul like you’re the weirdest, most confusing creature ever. (quite ironic. eh.)

• his green skin shines in the moonlight. Frankly, when he’s just sitting on your windowsill, shutting his mouth for once, and the moon lights up his skin, making it seem so glittery; it’s one of the most gorgeous scene you’ve ever witnessed.

• 5’10 with a terrible posture.

• gremlin type of mf looking ethereal, somehow. The gap moe is insane–

• likes fruit. any fruit. He loves raspberries. He’ll pout and mumble a little “thanks” if you ever bring him some.

• has his own demonic(i guess-) grimoire to cast powerful, forbidden spells but fucking HATES reading. Never read the whole thing and never once used it.

• will lose his shit if you ever try to touch it, tho.

• “Get your disgusting little human hands away, DUMBASS, are you out of your GODDAMN MIND????”

• jealous bean. Not the kind to be over the top, but if you ever get home later than usual unannounced, he’ll definitely be pouting, floating away, arms crossed, his back facing you.

• “fuckin’ human, think they can just leave me alone like that”

• playful goblin jerk.

• “you were hanging out with WHO?? No wonder you can’t formulate one coherent wish for the life of you; you’re polluting your brain by befriending stupid idiots like that”

• “uh ? No, you’re a dumbass too. You’re definitely a dumbass, you’re just… You’re… alright. I guess.”

• suddenly blushing and avoiding your gaze.

• “no, i’m not fuckin blushing?? No, I’m not– Just– Just fuckin look away, shut your stupid mouth– i’ll send you to hell if you don’t shut it, you fuckin–”

• a tsundere. Obviously.

• bares his teeth like a dog when he’s pissed off.

• will swear up and down he hates your guts… but he gets worried out of his mind when you’re coming home late, fears you’re mad at him when you get silent, casts spells to make you warm when you’re cold, cleans your room while you’re away “just cuz he’s bored”, his eyes go wide in panic when you cry while watching a movie, always gives you a bite of his fruit, even when you say you don’t want any, is bitching on your “friends” when he feels they did you wrong, will get snappy if you tell him you’re seeing them again, stares at you when you sleep; not long enough to be a creep, just enough to make sure you’re real and still breathing…. . . .

• loves when you’re annoyed and actually snap back at him.

• “oh ?” he quirks his eyebrow, smirking devilishly, openly daring you to keep going. You’ve never seen him look this interested. This jerk–

• secretly cares about you. (he thinks he’s discreet enough and you have no idea but… oh well.)

• weirdly supportive. “C’mon. I know it’s hard waking up every day to study but you’re strong, you gotta do it, you’ll survive it, little troll.” / “Yeah, I think that’s about right. Hey, you’re not as stupid as you look, human!”

• talks big about himself all the time.

• “hey human, did I ever tell you about this one time I, ALONE, fought like THREE evil spirits, definitely by myself, and sent them back to the void? like, ALONE. I’m a fuckin legend, kid.”

• but surprisingly bad with compliments. Like, you’ll mention how cool you think his big witch-like hat is and here he goes, pouting again, furrowing his brows, mumbling little “thanks, yeah, whatever” while a darker shade covers his cheeks.

• twisted inferiority complex masked with a false superiority complex.

• gets sentimental every once in a blue moon. You get home and he’s all quiet, staring at nothing. When he seems to register that you’re here, he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. His yellow eyes dive into your soul and seem to admire your whole existence.

• “It’s actually… nice, being here with you.”

• insanely protective. Oh my god– don’t you DARE going out without a coat or skipping breakfast, “your weak human system needs it”.

• hums the same tune all the time. You’ve asked multiple times what it was but he never really answered. His voice is warm and comforting. You bet he sings like an angel. (he does :] )

• loves cats! especially black cats. (“mf felines as dark as my soul”, he said.)

• sometimes you joke around about summoning another creature to have some company and his face goes dark in annoyance. “I don’t need another dickhead circling around my human all day.”

• likes to flick your forehead when you’re not paying attention to him.

• please pay attention to him. He desperately needs it, for some reason. He’ll definitely tease you for doing so. “What ? Becoming my biggest fan already ? Can’t get enough of me, uh ?” but will pout if you don’t.

• can seem very…. explosive, but never really gets angry. Nothing more than a tough exterior, honestly.

• wraps his tail around your wrist to pull you close to him. He’s too proud to openly ask for cuddles but… you know that’s his signal.

• LOVES cuddles. He’ll just never admit it. ;)

• his symbol is a flower : lily of the valley. Sometimes he just makes one appear in his palm and stares at it in silence, like he’s dimensions away from here. You’re not exactly sure what his link to it is.

• whenever he starts pestering about something, just take off his huge hat and slide your fingers in his hair and he’ll instantly melt– not remembering what he was even saying, closing his eyes and humming in pleasure, pressing his head harder against your hand.

• likes to bite. Even though he has the longest, pointiest, most terrifying fangs you’ve ever seen, he somehow manages to never really hurt you. You know… just enough to mark.

• once, he annoyed you so much, you threw your pillow in his face, hitting him straight in the nose and causing his hat to fall on the ground. It’s his personal mission to make you do it again one day.

• likes to rate your outfits just when you’re about to walk out the door. “Hm mh, ok, yeah, you’re definitely serving today, that’s a 10 for sure.”

• follows you around your house like some kind of lost puppy. Gets hella defensive when you point it out.

• “Me ? Your fuckin’ pet? Do I need to remind you I’m from the deepest pit of hell, you dookie head??”

• rolls his eyes as hard as he can whenever you ask for a new wish.

• But what IF…. the only reason he refuses to grant you a wish is… because he knows once he does; meaning his mission is accomplished, he’ll disappear again. And so, what IFFFFFF…. he just doesn’t want to leave your side so he won’t grant you no fucking wish to remain with you forever– I’m just saying WHAT IFFFFF———

#oc headcanons #oc hcs #oc stuff #oc x reader #oc #oc x y/n #oc x you #gn reader #fantasy original character #fantasy oc #my ocs <3 #my ocs #my oc stuff #x reader #olja agregor

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eggcatsreads · 1 year ago

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February Wrap-Up

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Favorite Read of the Month:

Solita by Vivien Rainn (GR review)

It’s only through facing the past and her buried fears can Sadie find salvation as she upturns the Hacienda’s twisted roots, roots born from the faith and fire of the conquistas, the Spaniards who came from distant shores, bringing with them not only their God, but also their demons.

THE gothic romance. This book changed my perspective on romance books. I've thought about this book regularly since I read it.

"In my time," he continues, voice low, "sanctity was measured by suffering. Those saints that abstained from the pleasures of life, fasted to starvation, mortified their flesh, drank the blood of the wounded - it was only they who saw the eyes of God, it was only through their agony that they were touched by true divinity, enraptured by their own faith."

"I...I'm not a saint, Silas." Her eyes meet his in a gaze that's wrapped up in the promise for everything she's always denied herself. The promise of temptation for the taste of that forbidden fruit, a single bite all it takes for irreversible expulsion, for an eternal fall from grace.

"I never said you were."

The warmth of his breath is so close to her own, heat mingling, pulses flush close. "Then what are you saying?"

"That I am," he answers. "I found God. And I'm looking into her eyes."

HELLO???? THIS QUOTE HAS IRREVOCABLY CHANGED HOW I READ ROMANCE BOOKS. THIS IS THE STANDARD.

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Rest of Books Read Under the Cut:

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

The Undertakers by Nicole Glover (sequel)

The second book in the Murder & Magic series of historical fantasy novels featuring Hetty Rhodes and her husband, Benjy, magic practitioners and detectives living in post–Civil War Philadelphia.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner

Kissen’s family were killed by zealots of a fire god - now, she makes a living killing gods. That is until she finds a god she cannot kill: Skedi, a god of white lies, who bound himself to a young noble, and are on the run from assassins.

The Book of Living Secrets by Madeline Roux (GR review)

Best friends Adelle and Connie love of a little-known gothic romance novel called Moira. When they find a way to enter the book, suddenly everything isn't how they remember.

The Devil and the Dark Water by Stuart Turton (GR review)

It's 1634 and Samuel Pipps, the world's greatest detective, is being transported to be executed for a crime he may, or may not, have committed. Out at sea things begin happening. A twice-dead leper stalks the decks. Strange symbols appear on the sails. Livestock is slaughtered. And then three passengers are marked for death, including Samuel.

The Song of the Sandman by J.F. Dubeau (GR review) (sequel)

After a terrible mass shooting at Cicero’s Circus, the evil presence responsible for the carnage is taken in by a doomsday cult lying in wait for such an opportunity.

The Cadaver King and the Country Dentist by Radley Balko

For nearly two decades, medical examiner Dr. Steven Hayne performed the vast majority of Mississippi's autopsies, while his friend Dr. Michael West, a local dentist, pitched himself as a forensic jack-of-all-trades. Together they became the go-to experts for prosecutors and helped put countless Mississippians in prison. But then some of those convictions began to fall apart.

Hell's Half-Acre by Susan Jonusas

In 1873 the people of Labette County, Kansas discovered the remains of countless bodies, and below the cabin was a cellar stained with blood. The cabin's family, the Benders, were nowhere to be found, sparking a frenzy that continued for decades.

Seductive Poison by Deborah Layton

In this haunting and riveting firsthand account, a survivor of Jim Jones's Peoples Temple opens up the shadowy world of cults and shows how anyone can fall under their spell.

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Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

Born to be Hanged by Keith Thomson

The year is 1680, in the heart of the Golden Age of Piracy, and more than three hundred daring, hardened pirates gather on a remote Caribbean island. The plan: to wreak havoc on the Pacific coastline, raiding cities, mines, and merchant ships.

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Books read so far this year: 21

How I rate books.

#books #2023 reading #reading wrap up 2023 #reading wrap up #february #february 2023 #bookblr #long post

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arcanepactguile-scribes · 15 days ago

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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — Wet Dream

𝐖𝐂: 733.

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. Husk.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: Non-Con, Spanking, teacher/student.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄: Forbidden Fruit.

𝑨𝑶3 𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓

Sinday Games

At college, unfortunately Alastor's habit dealing with trauma-induced insomnia picked the wrong time to introduce a wet dream — Professor Husk serving a spanking for his cheek in class with subtle provocative teasing.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

Non-Con Spanking, Humiliation, Wet Dream, Orgasm, Age Gaps.

Sent in by top-shelf-tender

A pair of strong hands grabbed Alastor’s, slamming them palm-open on the desk and holding them there.

“Bend. Now.” Malcolm’s voice was like distant thunder: low, but rumbling with undeniable power. He waited until his student was positioned at a satisfactory ninety-degree angle before continuing.

“If you insist on acting like a fuckin’ brat, then I’m gonna treat you like one.” The professor moved Alastor’s hands together, holding them down with one hand while the other moved to grope at the young man’s ass. “One for every time you tempted me today. Count. Out loud.”

With that, Malcolm delivered five, evenly spaced-out spanks.

Staring straight ahead, it was easier said than done. The student's excited smile had quickly vanished, a quizzical frown creasing his faltering delighted expression when his esteemed professor had abruptly shoved his hands down onto the desk — without aplomb. The slap of flesh on smooth wood rang out, the shameful noise reverberating easily in the closed office’s solid walls.

It had happened so fast; first, another fleeting jab made at his teacher's expense, not the first, the entire collection of mischievous flirtations scarcely kept behind locked doors. Out in public, honestly. Keen as he was to work harder at teasing the much older man than he had planned on fixing his written assignments, the cumulative effect couldn't have turned out worse than this.

Fighting the urge to lift his gaze, to pinpoint just what it was that made Husk so incensed with a direct question, instead the young man merely nodded, all bravado lost and replaced with a rising air of docility. Keeping his hands frozen below his professor’s, Alastor bent forward at the hips, spacing his feet apart at shoulder-width — the quintessential position for corporal punishment.

Husk hadn't bothered to strip him himself, or demand hedo it. Biting his lower lip, hot tears welling up in the rims of his narrowed eyes, Alastor desperately tried to recall which taunt might have raised the bar too high, concerning his professor’s threshold for knowing, playful banter in the company of others.

The fact that he was still dressed probably meant this was only the warm up. The unexpected touch of fingers curling between his parted thighs elicited a choked grunt from Alastor's tightly throat, timidly rocking his pelvis forward to slowly grind into the fondle.

“Y-yes, Sir… I promise.”

Closing his eyes in anticipation, they just snapped open again, the patient student’s pitiful yelp uncontrolled. The first smack had fallen sharply — “Three-!” had the humiliated student cry out in a trembling lilt, obediently lifting his ass to meet Husk’s hand. The following blows cajoling a fevered, unrepressed moan after the fifth spank — before counting it aloud, not after. The first four leaden swats had sent a shockwave of unexpected pleasure roiling through his gut, his groin stirring inside his uniform, heat radiating out from his lap and his concealed buttocks.

After the count of five, feeling the heavy hand forcing his own practically glued to the desk pushing in firmer, Alastor jerked awake with a snort; the daylight streaming through the high slim window blinding, Alastor turned his face away to save his groggy brain — then became paralysed with fear.

He was still in school.

After having fallen asleep again during class, Alastor’s inattention had drawn Professor Husk’s concern out of the limelight and into the public's eye. It wasn't even common knowledge that the strange yet highly intelligent student named Alastor suffered at home, and bringing it to school as a silent staple of his unusual reputation among the student body. He stole opportunities to catch up on sleep wherever he could, but unfortunately it now included his hours at the college.

Invited to his Professor’s private office, waiting for his instructor to deal with the class before his absence, had lulled Alastor into sleep yet again. It had been an embarrassment, fallen asleep in class — it didn't measure up in the slightest to waking up in Husk's office after a wet dream. The damp crotch of his lap spoke volumes about how he harbored a secretive yearning for punishment; his cheeks burning red like he supposed his ass would look after his teacher spanked him until he was begging for relief, Alastor's eyes darting around the room in panic — struggling to figure out how to hide his softening tented pants, and clean himself before his instructor returned.

#alastor fic #Alastor NSFT #RadioHusk #hazbin hotel fic #alastor drabbles #ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ — ɢʀɪɴᴅʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ #ᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ — ꜰᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ꜰʀᴜɪᴛ #TW Age Gap

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noirflms · 8 months ago

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DO YOU FEAR — gojo satoru

you make him ponder, you make him wonder. and it is you who make him fear.

do you fear anything, satoru?

gojo satoru still remembers the way these words had rolled of your tongue like sweet nectar. you had asked this with eyes flaming with curiosity, he could see you were pondering if the strongest you know of feared anything. your voice still rings in the back of his mind, it is raw, honeyed, it brings him to the ground, sets him in reality.

no, i don’t fear anything. i am the strongest after all.

and he had answered then, without a thought, no second glances over it or anything, unhesitating, he spoke as soon as he had conjured the answer in his mind. he remembers the way your lips had broken into a smile, it was somber yet soft, warm and gentle.

he wondered what could have been if he had kissed those lips someday. how soft they could have possibly been and did they taste sweet? because you always had this scent so sweet lingering on you; your lips must taste the same then.

“what are you thinking about, mr. gojo?” your voice again. it ground him, it shackles him back to reality. he turns to face you, blindfold discarded in the comfort of his office, icy eyes taking you in. the face of yours that is cascaded with the golden glow of the sun, it dawns on you — and the image burns within his vision.

“nothing.” satoru answers. you were breathtaking in any way possible. you were divine. you were everything he wished was his. you were all that he has ever yearned for.

you are a sweet fruit he wishes to bite into, until the sweet and saccharine juices have dripped and settled onto his tongue, until he has finally washed his hunger, he wishes to feast on this fruit. but you were of the forbidden one, only the fortunate could have you — and he was not so fortunate.

and as unfortunate he was, his students were to. shibuyu had turned into a nightmare, blood and deaths painted those walls, there was no way out. gojo watches, he has fought a war before, and he had fought well, but it is only this time his heart races not is excitement but in fear.

fear that consists of many things, he fears of lives, young and dead, he fears of souls that he has stayed long with — he fears of losing you.

“don’t you die on me, satoru.” you had said. still the most warmest smile plastered onto your face, it irked him for it never faded, it always stayed. even when geto died, even when riko died and even when all that he had took time to build was crumbling, yet he doesn’t hate you, for you were smiling at him, pulling him out of the dark, helping him climb out of the trenches of despair.

and so he smiled the same, warm and big hands caressing your face, “i won’t even dream about it.” gojo answered, and your gaze softens and you too wonder if you kissed his lips would they be as sweet as the delicious and sugary delicacies he eats and you too wonder if his lips truly as so sickly sweet.

his touch stays as he doesn’t let go, but it falters hesitantly. he gives you one last smile before he walks again into war, all you could see of him, was the back that has carried many, the back of the strongest sorcerer that is. you would have laughed in high-school but now as he walks with a head held high, you truly believe he might just be the strongest.

you love her, satoru.

he truly does. he loves you. gojo truly adores you, his heart belongs to you. even in a crowded room, his eyes would always look for you. he would always wait for you. and as he returns from the bindings of the prison, he doesn’t return to warm arms, even if he looks for them, he is breathless and he fears.

“where is she?” he chokes. tears. the strongest did not cry but he still has a heart, enough to hold someone dear and shed a few tears. gojo stares at shoko, she to has been lost, she has seen death and murder, she had cured and she had let souls rest in peace, but here as she too stands before satoru, she feels her heart squeeze.

“she is . . . breathing.” like a warm prayer shoko ends as soon as she had begun. she let’s him through, she let’s him see. and she sees satoru fear; he feared to face loss again.

and as beautiful as you has always been, you lay in a slumber, your heart still beating, you lay breathing. you looked divine, so ethereal in this deep sleep. satoru hums, hand reaching out to caress your face, you are there, yet not. there still sits that saccharine smile on your face, even if you might be standing before death.

and this time his wonder is proved true, when he cannot take it anymore, and he sets his lips on yours. sweet. you taste sweet. soft lips pressed against his, you are warm, you are gentle, and he aches, yearning for you to awaken.

do you fear anything, satoru?

and it rings again in the mind of his. and maybe this time – only if you could ever hear his answer – his answer might have made you grin your warm smile. for gojo satoru finally had something to fear, even the strongest could have something to fear, a weakness.

so, gojo satoru feared. feared that he might not be able to hold you again. to see you smile again, to hear your melodious laughter echo through the hallways, to fearing that your warms eyes could never stare back into his. to fearing your touch would be forgotten, to fearing that you would but turn memory.

he finally accepts, he let’s it sink in, letting it bite into his flesh and ingrain itself into his mind and soul. gojo satoru finally had something to fear.

i do. i fear losing you.

but only if you could hear what he had to say.

satoru angst is at peak then why should i stay behind ‼️‼️🗣️ and thank you so much for a 700 followers ⭐️⭐️

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fangdokja · 1 month ago

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His affection is a slow poison—sweet, deadly, and inevitable.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Baizhu x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Itto x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Kazuha x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Lyney x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 3

♡ Word Count. 4,223

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, drugging, removal of rivals

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ A/N. Low-key wanted to make Itto a mean dom. Dumb yanderes are so difficult to write. I cry. Next to any ISTJ yandere, dumb yanderes are second hardest.

♡ Baizhu – The Alchemist’s Poison.

Baizhu’s smile, a sickly sweet balm, cloaked the sharp intent glinting behind his eyes. “Life, my precious flower,” he murmured, his voice soft yet suffocating, “is much too frail to entrust to anyone but me. Your delicate hands were never meant to bear its burdens. Allow me—only me—to carry them for you.”

His words wrapped around you like silk, tightening, fraying your resolve into ribbons of compliance. At first, you had convinced yourself his devotion was genuine—a healer’s oath steeped in compassion. Protector, savior, guardian—he wore these roles as if born to them. But beneath the guise of benevolence lurked a darker truth, insidious and inescapable: his care was a tether, his love a poison.

Baizhu’s jealousy was not a roaring inferno. It crept, unseen, like a toxin leeching into your veins. Slowly, methodically, it burrowed into every crevice of your existence. His presence was a parasitic vine, wrapping tighter with every passing day, strangling the independence you once held dear.

“You shouldn’t be walking so much,” he chided, golden eyes alight with feigned concern. “Your condition is far too delicate. Let me carry you. It’s for your own good.”

Before you could protest, his arms enveloped you, a cage of bone and sinew disguised as comfort. His touch was firm yet tender, his embrace perfumed with the faint, omnipresent scent of medicinal herbs. It was a paradox—gentle yet unyielding, a mirror of his love. Resistance melted under his grasp, and you allowed him to carry you, unaware that each small acquiescence forged another link in the chains binding you to him.

He didn’t need shackles of steel. His care sufficed.

Every bite of food, every sip of water passed through his meticulous hands. Initially, this vigilance seemed thoughtful, an extension of his role as your healer. But soon, you began to notice the peculiar intensity in his gaze. His fingers lingered on the rim of your cup; his lips curved in a fleeting smile as fatigue claimed your body after every meal.

“I’ve perfected the balance of your medicines,” he explained one evening, his tone that of a patient tutor. “You wouldn’t want to disrupt such a delicate equilibrium, would you, my flower?”

His golden eyes gleamed with a quiet, unnerving conviction. You nodded, your will eroding under the weight of his unrelenting care. After all, who else could understand the intricacies of your fragile condition? Who else could safeguard your life? His words became gospel, seeping into your thoughts until you could no longer distinguish them from your own.

The world beyond his reach began to wither. Friends drifted away, their once-familiar faces blurred by distance and neglect. When you asked why they no longer visited, Baizhu’s expression remained serene, his explanation a dagger wrapped in velvet.

“Their presence was too disruptive,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Your health is paramount. I simply told them the truth—only I know how to care for you properly.”

But the truth, like blood from a deep wound, eventually bled through the fabric of his lies. Friends who lingered too long fell ill with strange, inexplicable ailments. Their messages grew cryptic, laced with unspoken warnings, before ceasing entirely. The patterns became undeniable: his love was a scalpel, precise and unrelenting, excising anything that threatened his hold over you.

“Why would you question me, my sweet?” he murmured one night, his voice a silken noose tightening around your sanity. “Why would you need anyone else when I am here? Devoted to you in every conceivable way. I love you more than they ever could.”

His words clung to you, heavy and inescapable. His love was a sanctuary that felt like a tomb, gilded with care but suffused with suffocation. His golden gaze consumed you, twin suns burning with an intensity that brooked no dissent. When his lips brushed the curve of your neck, it wasn’t affection you felt but possession, his breath a ghostly claim against your skin.

“You belong to me,” he whispered, his tone as unyielding as his touch. “You always have. No one else deserves the honor of protecting someone as precious as you.”

Nights became a battleground of silence and shadows. You’d wake to find him seated beside your bed, his gaze fixed on you with an unreadable intensity. His fingers traced the pulse at your throat, the curve of your cheek, as though memorizing the fragility of your existence.

“Your heart beats because I will it,” he’d murmur, each word sinking into your skin like thorns. “Every breath you take is my gift. Don’t squander it, my dear.”

You wanted to scream, to claw at the suffocating vines of his obsession. But your body betrayed you, weakened by his tinctures, his “cures,” his meticulous control. You were a bird in a gilded cage, your wings clipped by the very hands that professed to shelter you.

———

One day, your curiosity betrayed you, leading you to his forbidden study. The air was thick with the acrid scent of dried herbs and volatile chemicals. Shelves groaned under the weight of ominous vials and weathered tomes. On the desk lay an open journal, its pages filled with meticulous observations—each breath you took, each flicker of pain, each moment of weakness—all cataloged in his precise, clinical handwriting.

Sketches of your anatomy adorned the pages, grotesquely detailed and annotated with chilling precision. One depicted your ribcage flayed open, each bone meticulously labeled, accompanied by notes speculating on the exact placement of your heart during moments of heightened stress. Diagrams of your organs, veins, and skeletal structure were paired with notes on your diet, your habits, your vulnerabilities.

“I’ve ensured your survival against impossible odds,” his voice broke the silence, calm but carrying a razor-sharp edge. You turned to find him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Every sacrifice I’ve made, every choice, has always been for you. Surely, you understand that, my little flower?”

He approached with measured steps, his smile a blade slicing through your fragile resolve. The journal snapped shut in his hands, but its contents remained burned into your mind—a testament to the depth of his obsession. His fingers ghosted over your arm, his touch light but laden with menace.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Safer than you could ever be anywhere else in this world. Remember that. No one will ever cherish you as I do.”

In that moment, the truth crystallized: there was no escape. Baizhu’s love was a labyrinth of his own design, each twist and turn leading back to him. His care was both poison and sustenance, ensuring your survival while tethering you to his will. His arms encircled you, pulling you into an embrace that felt less like comfort and more like a shroud.

“You are mine,” he murmured, his voice a lullaby of finality. “Entirely, irrevocably, eternally mine.”

And as his golden eyes bored into yours, you felt the weight of his words settle over you like a funeral pall. You were his. Completely, inescapably his.

────────────

♡ Itto – The Oni’s Claim.

The shadows of Hanamizaka stretched long and jagged, clawing at the cobblestone streets as the fading sunlight dipped below the horizon. A lone figure loomed in the suffocating dusk, his massive silhouette swallowing the narrow alleyway where you stood frozen. His horns glinted faintly in the dim light, sharp as blades and crowned with streaks of crimson that mirrored the sinister hues of his piercing gaze. Arataki Itto’s wild grin was plastered across his face, but it carried none of its usual warmth; it twisted instead into something feral, manic—a predator’s grin.

"Found ya," he breathed, his voice a low, throaty rasp that slithered into your ears like the scrape of steel against stone. His towering frame blocked out the world behind him, reducing your field of vision to his imposing presence alone. The air seemed to curdle in his wake, thickening like poison, as his heavy footsteps reverberated closer.

Panic rooted you in place, yet your heart pounded furiously against your ribs, desperate to flee. His molten eyes bore into you, their molten hue shifting between desperate adoration and something darker, something ravenous.

"Why…" he began, his tone suddenly trembling, cracking under the weight of unspoken anguish, "why do you keep trying to run from me? Don’t you know what that does to me?"

He stepped forward, the cobblestones groaning under his boots, and you flinched, instinctively pressing yourself against the cold, unyielding wall at your back. He stopped mere inches away, his massive hands hovering on either side of your head, boxing you in. His claws scraped faintly against the stone, a sound that sent shivers racing down your spine. When he leaned in, his breath was hot against your skin, tinged with the faint metallic tang of his desperation.

"Do you think they’ll protect you?" he whispered, his voice low and almost tender, though laced with an undercurrent of menace. "The Tenryou Commission? Those guys? They don’t even know you like I do. They don’t see the real you." His head tilted slightly, his grin softening but never losing its sharp edges. "I see you. I’ve always seen you. And you… you’re mine."

A trembling hand reached up, calloused fingers brushing against your cheek. His touch was reverent, almost gentle, but it left a burning trail that seared into your skin. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Every instinct screamed to fight back, to scream, but his sheer presence crushed you under its weight.

"I don’t blame you for being scared," he murmured, his voice softening into a low rumble that was no less terrifying. "I know I’m… a lot. I’ve got all this strength, all this power, and it’s overwhelming sometimes, isn’t it? But I’d never hurt you. Never. You’re too precious. Too perfect." His hand trailed down, clawed fingers ghosting over your jawline, your throat, before resting possessively on your shoulder. The weight of it felt suffocating, as if he was branding you with his very essence.

"You don’t have to run anymore," he continued, his tone softening into a chilling mockery of comfort. "I’ve taken care of everything. No one can take you from me now. Not Kujou Sara, not the Tenryou Commission, not anyone. They can’t… they won’t."

His grin faltered for a fraction of a second, and in its place flickered a raw, unguarded desperation.

"You don’t understand what you mean to me, do you?" His voice broke, trembling with something that might have been love if it weren’t so twisted, so wrong. "You’re the only thing keeping me together. Without you, I… I…" His hand tightened around your shoulder, and you whimpered involuntarily. The sound seemed to snap him out of whatever abyss he was spiraling into, and he grinned again, wide and wild and utterly unhinged.

"I’d go mad without you," he said, almost laughing, though the sound was hollow. "I’d tear this whole city apart if it meant keeping you safe. Keeping you with me. You get that, right?"

When you didn’t respond, his eyes darkened, the faint ember of vulnerability extinguished by an all-consuming need. His hands shot to your waist, yanking you forward against his chest in a vice-like grip. You gasped, struggling instinctively, but it only made him tighten his hold, his grin stretching impossibly wider.

"Ah, don’t do that," he murmured, almost playfully, though his voice had a razor-sharp edge. "You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep squirming. And I… well, I can’t let that happen, can I?"

His claws dug faintly into your sides, not enough to draw blood but enough to remind you of the danger you were in. His gaze roamed over your face, his expression softening into something almost tender. But there was nothing tender about the way he held you, caging you in his strength, his warmth, his madness.

"We’re gonna be so happy together," he said, his voice dipping into a low, sing-song cadence that made your stomach churn. "Just you and me, forever. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

When you didn’t answer, he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. His horns grazed your hair, and you felt their weight, their sharpness, as they loomed over you like a shadow of inevitability.

"You don’t have to say anything," he whispered, his tone softening into something almost gentle, though it sent ice coursing through your veins. "I already know. I can feel it. Deep down, you belong to me. Just like I belong to you."

As his lips ghosted over your temple, your pulse thundered in your ears. His grip on you tightened, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go for even a second. His breath hitched, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion.

"I’ll never let you go," he said, his words a promise and a threat all at once. "Never."

And in that moment, you realized the truth—there was no escape. Not from him. Not from this. Not from the suffocating, inescapable web of his obsession.

────────────

♡ Kazuha – The Whispering Wind.

Even the gentlest breeze seemed to falter when Kazuha spoke, as if the air itself dared not trespass against his claim on you. His voice, soft and melodic, carried an unyielding finality, each word a thread that tightened around your chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Even the wind,” he began, crimson eyes gleaming like embers against the dim light, “knowing no master, bends to my will when it concerns you. You are my tether, my anchor, and I would cleave the heavens themselves before I let you drift away.”

His words hung heavy in the air, suffocating in their weight. The stillness surrounding him was not peaceful; it was the predatory calm before the kill. There was no fury in his tone, no tremor of rage. His jealousy was a silent beast, deliberate and methodical, stalking its prey with unrelenting precision.

Kazuha stepped closer, his movements so measured and fluid they resembled the fall of cherry blossoms—graceful, yet foreboding. The faint tang of iron clung to him, mingling with the briny scent of the sea that perpetually lingered in his wake. Each step brought with it the unspoken threat of his presence, an oppressive reminder of your captivity.

“You wander,” he murmured, his voice tinged with melancholy, as if lamenting a betrayal. “As though you believe the world beyond me has something to offer you. But every gust, every whisper of the wind, carries my name to you. You are bound to me, no matter where you run.”

His hand lifted, calloused fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that felt cruel in its juxtaposition to the suffocating atmosphere. The touch lingered, deliberate, each stroke of his thumb against your jawline a silent claim. The gentleness in his touch was an illusion, a prelude to the iron grip that could follow in an instant.

“Do not ask what became of them,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, yet his words chilling. “The others who thought themselves worthy of your attention. They were obstacles, transient and disposable. You, however…” He paused, his gaze sharpening, the crimson of his eyes darkening like blood pooling beneath the surface. “You are eternal. My eternal.”

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with the scent of copper and salt. Kazuha’s crimson gaze pinned you in place, dissecting you with an intimacy that felt invasive, wrong. His love was a maelstrom, a grotesque melody of devotion and madness that promised no escape. His blade, an extension of himself, was ever at the ready—not in open threat, but as a silent promise. The memory of screams and the wet, sickening sound of flesh yielding to steel lingered in the air like an unseen specter, a testament to his resolve.

When he spoke again, his voice was a velvet thread, soft and lethal. “You are the ink to my poetry, the essence of every verse I compose. Without you, my existence is meaningless. Do you see? Do you understand, my darling?”

You tried to step back, but his hands caught your face, his grip firm yet deceptively gentle. The dried blood on his fingers flaked off as he cradled your cheeks, the grotesque contrast of his tenderness and violence making your stomach churn. His touch was reverent, as if handling something sacred, yet the possessiveness in his gaze left no room for doubt. You were not a person to him; you were an artifact, a treasure, something to be hoarded and kept.

“Even if you begged the wind to carry you away,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, “it would betray you. The wind knows its master, just as you do. And you… you belong here. In my arms. Where you are both loved and safe.”

But safety was a fragile veneer, cracked by the weight of his obsession. His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of your neck, his touch precise and clinical, like a surgeon mapping his incision points. The pressure was calculated, just shy of discomfort, a silent reminder of his control. His breath ghosted over your skin, warm and sickeningly intimate, as he continued his whispered declarations.

“The world conspires to take you from me,” he said, his tone softening, though the words carried the weight of a threat. “But I will not falter. I will carve away every threat, every obstacle. For you are the stillness within my tempest, the tether that binds me to this wretched existence.”

His crimson eyes softened, but the tenderness only made the madness within them more evident. His adoration was suffocating, a noose tightening around your throat. His kisses, ghosting over your skin, felt like brands, each one marking you as his. He handled you as if you were porcelain, fragile and irreplaceable, yet his gentleness carried an undercurrent of violence—a promise of what would happen if you dared to shatter his delusions.

“A caged bird still sings,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a ghost of a kiss. “And your melody belongs to me.”

In the dim light, his blade gleamed faintly at his side, a silent reminder of the chaos he was capable of unleashing. His crimson gaze bore into yours, unrelenting and invasive, as if peering into the very marrow of your soul. The room grew colder, the air thick with unspoken promises and unrelenting devotion. You were trapped, not by walls, but by the suffocating weight of his love, a love that promised no escape, no freedom.

The wind, once your ally, had turned traitor. And you… you were a bird with broken wings, bound to a love that would never set you free.

────────────

♡ Lyney – The Illusionist’s Trap.

He doesn’t let you see it—not at first, not when the stage lights cast their golden glow on his smile and the audience’s applause thunders like a heartbeat in the hollow theater. To them, he’s nothing more than a charming illusionist, the kind of man who bends reality with the flick of a wrist and the curl of his lips. But you’ve learned to see past the curtain, haven’t you? You’ve glimpsed the darkness that coils behind his playful eyes—a shadow that only ever seems to rise when someone steps too close to you.

“Ah, mon amour,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your ear as his fingers skim your wrist. “You’re the most precious part of my act. Do you think I’d ever let anyone ruin our performance?”

The words sound sweet, harmless, but the grip on your hand tightens just enough to send a chill down your spine. His smile doesn’t falter, not even as his gaze cuts across the room to the unfortunate soul who dared to look at you too long.

And that’s where the nightmare begins.

He doesn’t confront them outright; that wouldn’t do. No, his is a meticulous art, a silent war fought with whispers and invisible threads. The next morning, the admirer finds their belongings missing, their reputation tarnished by secrets they’d never breathed aloud. A scandal breaks. Their face pales in confusion, their voice trembling as they try to explain what cannot be explained.

It’s almost poetic, how quickly they fall apart. Like a magic trick they never saw coming.

And he’s always there, his arms slipping around your waist when the world feels unsteady, his voice low and soothing as he whispers, “What terrible luck they must have had. But don’t worry, ma chérie. I’ll keep you safe from such misfortune.”

You want to believe him. You try to convince yourself that the horrors swirling around you are coincidences, but it’s hard to ignore the glint in his eyes, the way his lips curl when he sees your unease. It’s as though he’s savoring every moment of your confusion, feeding off the fear he pretends not to notice.

One night, you confront him—or you try to. The words stick in your throat as he tilts his head, amusement flickering across his features like candlelight.

“Do you think I’m cruel?” he asks, his voice soft, almost tender. “Everything I do, I do for you. They looked at you like they had the right to dream. I merely reminded them of their place.”

You can’t respond. You’re too caught up in the way his fingers brush your cheek, his touch featherlight but suffocating all the same. His smile never wavers, even as his words twist like a knife in your chest.

“Do you know what scares me?” he continues, his tone darkening. “The thought of losing you. Of watching someone else steal the magic we’ve created together. Tell me you understand, ma chérie. Tell me you’d never betray me.”

The room feels colder, the air thinner. His hands linger on your shoulders, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles that feel less like comfort and more like chains.

“Say it,” he presses, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Say you love me. Louder this time.”

When you hesitate, his grip tightens. The gentleness fades from his expression, replaced by something darker, hungrier.

“Do you need a reminder?” he asks, his smile sharpening. “It’s easy to forget, I suppose, with all these distractions. Perhaps I should show you just how deeply I care for you… and how easily I can remove anything that stands in our way.”

The next day, another admirer vanishes. This time, the disappearance isn’t quiet. Blood stains the cobblestones near the market, crimson streaks smeared across the street like grotesque brushstrokes. People whisper of a beast, a shadow that moves too quickly to see. And yet, when you turn to him, his expression remains serene, his hands steady as he adjusts the cuffs of his coat.

“Tragic, isn’t it?” he says, his tone almost pitying. “But some people just can’t resist playing with fire.”

You don’t ask him what he means. You don’t dare.

Instead, you let him pull you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a way that feels both protective and imprisoning. His lips brush your temple, his voice a murmur that seems to echo in your skull.

“We’re a perfect pair, you and I,” he says, his breath warm against your skin. “Like magic and illusion. One cannot exist without the other. And without me, my love, your world would crumble.”

The worst part is… he’s right.

His presence has become a constant, a thread woven into every corner of your life. He’s there when you wake, when you sleep, when you dream. His voice lingers in your thoughts, his touch a phantom that never fades. And as much as you want to pull away, you can’t deny the truth that’s buried deep within your chest:

You’ve fallen for the illusion.

But illusions, as he’s so fond of reminding you, are not meant to be escaped. They’re meant to be lived, cherished, and—if necessary—enforced.

“You’ll never leave me,” he promises, his voice as smooth as silk. “Not because you can’t, but because you won’t. Isn’t that right, ma chérie?”

And as his lips curve into that familiar, devastating smile, you realize he’s not asking. He’s telling you.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07

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venombloom · 2 months ago

Text

It's not the first time she's felt the touch of his hands; rough but gentle in their ministrations. His dwarf hers in size though not by much. And she can't help but feel amused at the way her inspects hers. They're not smooth or pretty, manicured things --- not anymore. Nicks and scratches, bruises and cuts; they're a prelude to a larger scale symphony of lasting reminders. Almost does she ask if he's attempting to read her palm and all the lines littered across her flesh, to tell her a fortune or future.

Until he broaches the deeper subject; picking at an emotional scab. It doesn't bother her that he has an uncanny knack for such.

It's true, her sisters had been on her mind more frequently as of late what with the state of the world in all regards. "Many times over the last decade." Comes the admittance. Weight shifts from injured leg to the other. "Once or twice I thought about taking a detour when coming back from a job. A quick peek, I would tell myself. Nothing more." She's contemplated how that temptation could snowball into a more complicated situation. Few people have the will power to stop after one bite of forbidden fruit. And she fears she wouldn't stop.

"It's going to sound comedic coming from me, considering certain situations, but sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone." Truly a nugget of hypocrisy; laughable from the likes of her. "It's better and safer for them if I just...keep the distance." The effort made to hide the note of melancholy in her voice is minimal, relying on the hearty dash of resolution to do the job.

Gaze lingers on their lightly entangled digits till meeting his. "What would you do?" The inquiry for his opinion is sincere. And even if she doesn't take the insight to heart, it could be at least mildly intriguing to hear.

Their hands aren't soft. Not pliable nor passive. Meant for surviving, torn and ruthless with their calluses and scars; from below their wrists it's all violence and determination and anything else despicable that could keep them functioning. The world is not kind; it will not allow them rest or to grow indolent of its dangers.

"I see." A simple answer to a simple question. Lucanis leaves it at that, having already struck the blow that's wont to bleed for a while yet. Neither approval nor disapproval meets her gaze. Yet, there is something more there, something just under the adipose. [ A GIRL WHO WANTS TO BE. SEEN AS RESPONSIBLE. FREE. Yet a father only wants. Her to be worth a dowry. Quiet. Girl. You're meant for nothing more. ] Memory, resentment, what rotten things to capture — after all, these recollections are so jarringly exhaustive. Intimate. Personal. Scars of the heart that shouldn't be seen, let alone heard. Still, Lucanis remains silent. There's no ulterior affection in his actions as he raises one of Daisy's hands to inspect the numerous cuts, old and new alike. Mechanical, in the same way he'd admire a weapon, assessing and respectful, he thumbs over more visible scars, acknowledging the past experiences that lead to this marred canvas. Then, without hurry, he holds steady her weight. You're not weak, remains unmentioned on his tongue.

"Something weighs on your mind." Distraction exists by the plenty among all of them, and out of their entire motley crew, he can sympathize the most with the ordeal of hearing someone's else voice accusations, commentary uninvited. "Have you... thought of checking on your sisters?"

#fatewoven #when stars fall (main)#/ gnawing at the bars of my enclosure #/ I love these convos with them asdfghjkl

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ink-and-dagger · 2 years ago

Note

Inky I love that you got into ghost, they are one of my favourite bands! Copia do be caked up an exuberant amount, all that rigatoni did wonders for him😂 if you are taking requests for Copia could we get a short thing/one shot about grabbing his ass 😂 and what he would do about that

Grabbing Copia’s cakes sure would be a treat, but how about I do you one better? 😈🍑

This is my first Ghost fic - so any feedback is welcomed and appreciated! Big big love to @sweatandwoe for beta-ing and to @iseutz for checking my Italian 🇮🇹🖤

Forbidden Fruit

Copia x Reader || Papa Emeritus iv x Reader || Established Relationship || SFW but Mature || Public Ass Grabbing || Public Ass Nibbling || Fluff & Humour || Inappropriate use of Library ladders || Wc: 1.7K

It's a pleasant surprise to stumble upon the newly ordained Papa Emeritus IV browsing through the library stacks. Even more pleasant that he happens to be halfway up a rolling ladder, and wearing one of his sinfully tight suits. What better opportunity to give Copia's cakes the attention they deserve?

No snakes needed to convince you to take a bite out of this apple 🍎 😈

Some insist that change is a good thing.

Others abhor it. Fear it.

Most would argue that the merit of any change is entirely dependent on the circumstances surrounding it, and the perspective of those it affects. That it has the potential to bring with it both good and bad simultaneously.

When Copia had inherited the mantle of Papa Emeritus, much had changed within the Ministry, and those residing within its walls were left reeling in the wake of its war-path. The abrupt disappearance of his papal predecessors. A shuffle of order within the ranks of the Clergy. The new Ghouls slinking through the marbled halls of the Church, and the explosive success of the public Rituals.

Whilst your Siblings of Sin have spent the last few months coming to terms with these biggest of changes, you yourself have been contemplating the smallest.

Mourning the loss of freckles over alabaster skin. Lamenting the disappearance of finely kept facial hair that used to brush so sweetly against your lips, cheeks, thighs… Adjusting the cup of your palms to fit the slant of a new, strong jawline.

Oh but these little losses were worth it for the look on Copia’s face the very first time he had donned his Papa paints and lain eyes on his own reflection. Priceless – to witness the awed emotion in his gaze. To watch a small sprout of new confidence appear, tentative and tender as a spring bud. How that little seedling had bloomed and flourished over the following weeks and months, watered to fruition as the man you so adore had finally – finally – begun to realise his own brilliant potential.

However, some things remain as eternal as a subterranean river; revealing itself through cuts in the rock, and through hidden, bubbling springs. Papa Emeritus he may be, but your Copia threads through him still. A precious vein of ore that can never be extracted. And for that you thank the Dark One.

No amount of authority will ever drive out the innate awkwardness that makes him so endearing. No amount of surgical reconstruction can ever change the two-tone gaze that contains such gentle warmth and kindness.

And no amount of wardrobe changes could ever diminish the sinful majesty of Copia’s ass.

It’s a sight you drink in greedily as you round one of the many towering stacks within the Ministry’s library to find the man himself, standing atop the rungs of one of the rolling ladders, browsing through the upper shelves. You lean against the bookcase, taking a moment to rake your gaze over the sinful swell of his backside – clad in the dark, wickedly skin-tight trousers of one of his more casual Papa suits.

He's completely lost within his own little world – not an uncommon occurrence – and so it takes a low, appreciative whistle, (drawn from you by the way his glutes tighten and shift as he stretches for another book), for him to become aware of your presence.

His mute greeting to you is warm; a silent smile that creases the corners of his kohl-ringed eyes and pulls at the edge of his painted lips. There’s mirth there too, seeing as you make absolutely no attempt to hide exactly what part of him you’ve been admiring so openly.

It’s a throwback to how your relationship with Copia had first begun, after all. When the good Cardinal had caught you neglecting your studies in favour of peeking over the top of your book to ogle his crimson clad backside.

“Is there something I can help you with, Sister?” He’d spoken softly so as not to disturb the other scholars dotted throughout the library, “Perhaps I can recommend some new reading material to, ah, hold your attention a little better, hm?”

And despite the dedicated academic within him – firm and sedate as an oak tree – there had also been a playful twinkle to his gaze that had given you the confidence to shoot your shot.

“My apologies, Cardinal. I was just admiring what’s on offer at the bakery today,” you’d smirked, matching his low volume but drizzling your tone in honey, “The cakes here always look so delicious… I just can’t help but stare.”

You remember how furiously your heart had hammered in your throat as he’d stared silently into your eyes, holding your gaze for several fraught seconds that had felt like minutes. His expression entirely unreadable…

Until his moustache had quirked upwards; a fleeting smirk that fumbled the rhythm of your pulse and sent heat crawling up your neck. Because that’s another thing about Copia. Awkward and introverted as he is, he wields a hidden, inner dominance that can lash out whip-quick.

“Well, mia tortina… you will let me know if there is anything you wish to taste, sì?”

And how could you have refused an offer like that?

“Seems even a big promotion can’t tear you away from your sanctuary for very long,” you tease, fingertips brushing along cracked leather spines as you take a few steps deeper into the stacks towards your partner, “Nice to see you in here though… feels right.”

“Sì, I miss it,” the sighed statement is weighted with sad longing. He’s just as overworked now as as he had been as a Cardinal, thanks to Sister Imperator’s merciless governance. But at least back then he had the small mercy of being able to disappear between the labyrinthine stacks and leather-bound tomes of his beloved library. No such luxury is afforded him now, with all eyes on the newest Papa Emeritus.

“I wish I could spend more time… Allora, I am only looking for a particular book for Mass tonight. There is a passage I am keen to share.”

“Can I help?”

“Grazie mille, but I am certain it is here somewhere,” he declines with a small, polite tilt of his head, before turning his attention back to the row of spines he was in the midst of examining.

You smile to yourself. Soft-spoken manners and dedicated focus – two more of Copia’s qualities that haven’t changed in the least.

His schedule is so demanding these days, often taking him away from the Ministry for weeks at a time, and so any stolen moment together is precious. Your presence doesn’t appear to be disrupting his work, and so you sidle closer, coming to a stop at the foot of the ladder he’s standing on.

Perfectly eye level with his devilish derrière.

Your private smile sharpens.

A quick glance to your left and right confirms that you’re alone, and so you alight your hands on his calves, smoothing your palms slowly up the tightly toned length of his legs.

A vague hum sounds from above – an acknowledgement of your touch despite being wholly occupied with his books. Not that his distraction bothers you; this is more for your own enjoyment than his.

You reach the swell of his backside and take a moment to cup his perfect cheeks, the heels of your hands fitting nicely in the dip where thighs meet buttock, lifting their softly sculpted weight.

Another preoccupied hum floats down the ladder rungs as you proceed with your indulgent massage; squeezing and kneading his gorgeous tush to your heart’s content. Enjoying the way your fingers sink into his muscled flesh. Relishing the body heat that warms your palms even through the barrier of his (downright evil ) trousers. Lust, gluttony, and sloth all in one fell swoop. Won’t He be pleased.

Your eyes glaze over, entranced by the doughy squash of Copia’s buttocks yielding beneath your ministrations. So pliant . Supple but strong; toned. Flawlessly formed. A perfect peach that’s good enough to—

“Aíta!”

Copia’s high-pitched yelp shatters the peaceful silence within the stacks, and he lurches forward, flattening himself against the ladder and white-knuckling the stiles.

"Mi attaccano!” He peers down over his shoulder at you in shocked, wide-eyed offence, “Mordicchio. You bite your Papa?!”

You grin up at him, smoothing your palms over his ass once more, taking extra care to swipe your thumb affectionately over the spot you just pinched between your teeth, “You ever see a piece of fruit so plump and juicy that you just can’t help yourself?”

“Fruit? No. Tortellini? Sì.”

“Tortellini then,” you chuckle, leaning forward to nuzzle the un-bitten buttock, like a gardener touching a vine fresh tomato to their nose, appreciating it’s savoury plumpness—

“Ach-hah!—Mi amore,” he huffs an exasperated laugh, jerking reflexively out of range of your teeth, “Dolce tortina. It is hard for me to focus on my search with you nibbling on my ass.”

This time instead of soothing the sting of your bite with your thumb, you do so with a brush of your lips over dark fabric. Your hands slide to his hips, steadying him as you worship his backside with slow-pressed kisses between your words.

“Doesn’t the church preach that we should give into our sinful temptations?”

“Sì, yes, it does,” he concedes, warm mirth colouring his tone. Your chin is captured between the warm leather pinch of a gloved thumb and forefinger, and tilted gently upwards, “But you forget, mordicchio, that the church also teaches us to listen to our Papa.”

A flash of mischief streaks across his mismatched eyes – snow and pine – and he swipes his thumb over the plush of your lower lip, pausing in the centre to drag it downwards a touch, “There will be time for biting later.”

You grin, slow and wide, making a point of grazing your teeth against his gloved thumb with your obedient reply, “Sì, Papa.”

“Brava ragazza,” Copia praises softly, releasing your chin to stroke a single knuckle down your cheek. The tender display sends the warmth in your stomach rising instead to fill your chest.

With a small smile, he returns to his search of the upper shelves.

You may have agreed to cease your biting, but he didn’t protest to any of your earlier tushie attentions.

And so you pillow your cheek against his. Sinking into the warm cushion of his buttock and winding your arms around the front of his thighs to hug yourself flush against the backs of his legs. Your eyes flutter closed, and a small smile plays on your lips at the gloved fingers which reach briefly down to stroke the top of your head.

Same as they always have.

We’ve all thought about biting those buns okay let’s be honest with ourselves here 🍑

#inky answers #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia #papa emeritus iv #copia's ass #essentially a love letter to Papa's peach #let me in ghesties I wanna play #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #copia fanfic

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ruki--mukami · 2 years ago

Note

(NSFW) A scenario of Yui having sex with Ruki for the first time

⚠️ NSFW BELOW: 18+ ⚠️

“Keep licking it until no soup remains, Yui. This hand of mine is far from clean.”

Rather than flinching from the searing heat of a freshly cooked tomato soup the legendary Eve prepared for him, Ruki exploited the opportunity to watch as she cleaned the broth off his long, elegant digits. A glimmer of wonder and curiosity in those large sherbet pink eyes ignited with each swipe of her tongue, earning further chuckles of amusement from the Vampire. From his perspective, Yui easily could have appeared to be licking a different area of his body—one lower down and thicker than his fingers.

“Well, if you insist that you are not familiar about a man’s qualities, then allow me to demonstrate. Tonight you ought to pay close attention to your master and the pleasure he shall rain upon you. Is that understood, Livestock?” With the other hand, he began unbuttoning his collar, slowly but surely revealing his pallid yet toned chest seemingly sculpted from empyrean marble itself. “Undress.”

Utter bewilderment and trepidation flooded her visage as she withdrew her tongue from his fingers, eminently hesitant to follow suit and join him in the nude. All the Sakamakis from before had exerted force to catch a glimpse of her bareness, always against her own volition, yet Ruki commanded a humiliating authority that guaranteed far worse punishment should she defy his orders. Out of fear for what could happen next, Yui reluctantly started with her pink sweater, lifting it above her head until she remained topless in only her undergarments. A pleased hum escaped the Vampire’s lips upon the sight, but by the time she removed her knitted garment, a full set of built, porcelain abs captured her gaze. Even if she dreaded the imminent future, Yui could not help but internally admire his form, reminiscent of a work of art.

“If only you could see your own reflection… You look as though you want me to ravish you right now. What an indecent woman. Perhaps this is how Eve felt in the garden of Eden after indulging in the forbidden fruit. You’ve read the Bible, haven’t you? The serpent in particular coaxed her into doing so… Just as I will tempt you.”

Knots formed in the anxious captive’s stomach as a clangorous unzipping noise filled the room, indicating the descent of his pants. Instinctively turning her head, a deep cherry hue dusted her cheeks, shy and apprehensive.

“No. Look at me,” the Vampire immediately clutched her chin to enforce eye contact. “At one point, being in the nude was never a sin. It was mere primal instinct. Adam and Eve lived in that paradise, unaware of each other’s virtue,” a hand overlapped hers, guiding her fingers across his clothed bulge. Both surprised and full of wary, Yui let out a gasp at his well-endowed member. The Vampire simply snickered at the oddly cute reaction to his length, anticipating a protest of some kind. “But there will be nothing virtuous about tonight.”

Before she knew it, he had long torn off the tawny brown shorts from her slender yet ample legs, thighs promising a world of blood should he bite into them. Only a periwinkle set of bra and panties shielded her most sensitive areas from the Vampire, to which he skillfully unhooked with a deftly agile movement. What he deemed an average pair of breasts sprung into view, eliciting a sly smirk from Ruki as he caressed a mound with one hand and lowered his other to prod at her lachrymal pearl, a damp stain soon growing on lace as he inserted two digits inside. Yui failed to suppress a series of moans as he wrenched her open, unfamiliar with the surge and retreat motions of his fingers sinking into her cleft.

“Hm… How adorable for a naughty piece of livestock. And I’ve hardly touched you,” he sighed, lowering his head to her sensitive nub. “I’ll have to prepare you further for your master’s cock.”

The same soup-besmirched hand withdrew from her breast, only to be replaced by his mouth swallowing it whole despite any silly denials from her or the seldom ‘Don’t touch me there, Ruki-kun.’ Lips enclosed around the areola, Ruki suckled the soft swell fervently with abandon. The young woman finally succumbed to rapture, letting out a quivering cry from his unwanted yet pleasure-inducing ministrations. Those sounds only encouraged him to take more, grazing the sharp tips of his fangs just above the nub to lightly puncture her pale skin. Occasionally his tongue would swirl around the perimeter of her sensitive bud, dragging upwards to pull shameless squeals of ecstasy and to exult in the red rivulets of life force dilatorily cascading down.

“Mm… I want more of you, Livestock,” the pumps of his fingers accelerated, emitting a lascivious squelching noise from her core. “It seems you’re almost ready for me… but not quite.”

As Ruki plunged his slender digits in and out repeatedly, he imagined what her convulsing walls would feel like around his cock, erect from the mere taste of her crimson ambrosia. After deciding she had been teased enough, the Vampire hurriedly lifted her into his arms and splayed her out across the atramentous sheets of his bed, both hands placed under her knees to spread her legs apart. With raised appendages, visibly ashamed of how Ruki could see everything down there, Yui’s eyes fluttered shut in embarrassment.

“There’s nothing to fret over, Livestock. You’ve endured everything well so far… Perhaps I ought to reward you for once. Go on and thank your master.”

Peppering kisses along the underside of her thigh, he halted his affection upon greeting her weeping aperture, a small puddle of nectar pooling on the sheets.

“So wet already… Good grief, it’s clear to me now that the Sakamakis don’t know how to train their prey. It’s a shame most men are reticent to such an act—but I shall take great pleasure in introducing it to you. Well, no matter. I’ll show you a kiss that’s far better than anything you’ve experienced thus far. Brace yourself, Livestock.”

Caressing the innermost flesh of her legs with his feathery touch, Ruki reverently ran his tongue along her entrance, instantly tasting the fruit of her arousal. Unable to contain herself any further, Yui arched her head back and voiced a moan, her fingers threading into his charcoal locks for much-needed purchase. Thrusting satisfaction with each swipe, the Vampire eagerly feasted on her womanhood. Slowly but surely the girl found herself a willing recipient of his tongue’s onslaught as Ruki worked her towards her sought-after release, frosting a chill breath over her sensitive folds in tandem with his wet muscle threatening to fuck her in earnest, yet not quite. Without intending to, Yui cried out again and again, his agile tongue dizzying her by the second. Languidly he licked and worshipped her cleft with open-mouthed kisses and spirals of his tongue, frequently decelerating the cadence only to quicken himself when she least expected it. First he focused on the slit, then concentrated entirely on the throbbing nub of her clit in urgent suction akin to the prior bloodsucking.

“Lovely,” he praised, “such a good girl for your master. It’s almost hard to believe you’re just some ordinary churchgoer when you cry so lewdly.”

With those words, his tongue burrowed inside, pulling a symphony of wanton lust from the legendary Eve that would’ve instantly earned exile from Eden. Sheltering heat and a flood of arousal greeted him upon entry, devouring every last bit of her as Ruki’s tongue curled inside her walls and tasted her in full. The ribbon of muscle undulated in Yui’s folds as his lips hummed and vibrated against her entrance with each suction. Sparks and the pyre of ecstasy ignited as she screamed his name, electric coursing through in the most pleasure Eve felt since the serpent awakened her to a new world of sin, beckoning her to cast aside all moral principles and indulge. Indulge in the sheer bliss of Ruki’s tongue building up to crescendos of perfectly timed flicks, his fingers that circled and pressed her clit, and the immaculate suckle of his lips locked with her lower ones as he ate her.

“Describe how this feels for you,” he spoke between withdraws of his tongue, “and remember to stay still. I’m not done with you yet… Not until I make you cum at least once. That way you’ll be more than ready for all of me, Yui. Ahhh… You look so beautiful when I touch you like this.”

As much as she fought her baser urges, the young woman was, in fact, on the fast track to orgasm. Subconsciously, she reached for Ruki’s scalp and buried her fingertips into his cinereous strands, both searching for relief and to urge his face closer to her most sensitive place. With doubled alacrity and acceleration, his tongue never once yielded, each plunge and undulation deeper, faster, far more renewed with urgency than before.

“Those sounds you make when you’re about to cum… Let me hear it. Go on, cum for your master.”

Delaying the inevitable proved increasingly difficult. As if on cue with Ruki’s lust-laden lilt, Yui squeezed his locks of hair tightly and soared to the climax of utter fulfillment, panting heavily and quaking her legs from the onslaught of his oral talent alone. Rising from her womanhood, the Vampire rubbed the tip of his cock against her slit, greeting the abused spot with promise of a far better sensation, one that could only be granted by the same sheer thickness and length she previously questioned. Would he truly fit inside? Just watching him scrub the slightly florid gland along her walls skyrocketed the amalgamation of fear and excitement of being crammed to the hilt.

"You're so cute when you cum for me, Yui. I'm about to make you have an even cuter expression, one you didn't even know you were capable of making."

Inch by inch, he slowly wrenched her open. Clutching tightly onto his backside, Ruki chuckled as he inserted himself halfway, hard member throbbing uncontrollably upon the partial entry of her already tight canal. Exulting in her pristine and amazingly soft body, the Vampire failed to stifle a moan of his own, though Yui's easily overshadowed his. No longer would he hold himself back, pillaging her insides for the apex he aspired for rather than vice versa. Every passionate kiss, gentle caress, and sensual motion; all so Yui could wring him out, clamping on his hardness as it glided towards her cervix from how engorged he was with rapture.

"Yes, that's it... I'm going to move soon. Hold on tight to me."

Gasps of pleasure escalated to that of prolonged, drawn out moans from both sides as Ruki hammered himself at a sensual rhythm, first beginning with powerful strokes that ensured she trembled beneath him then accelerating to the most brutal, merciless thrusts no mortal would ever experience in their lifespan. Over and over again he proved his behemoth length with each slam against her womb, almost as if he wanted Yui to bear his children. Pistoning into her velvety heat, growling from above her writhing frame, thumbs circling and kneading her bosom with each penetration. A carnal euphony of bed springs squeaking, primitively yelled names, and flesh slapping flesh as their hips collided in audible claps that permeated the room in their copulation.

"Fuck... You're squeezing me so much... Ahh... Is this what it takes...? To awaken Eve," he grunted as he pounded in and out of Yui, "perhaps I need to engrave myself into you with more than just my fangs, but also this."

On cue, Ruki rolled his hips with extra exertion and supernatural force, reminding the young woman writhing beneath him that no human could ever fuck her the way he did in this moment. Immediately she felt the edges of his faded scars, in the place where an angel's wings may have fallen off. Without digging her fingernails in too uncomfortably deep, Yui opted to cling to the outskirts of the tarnished flesh instead, dazed and barely keeping up with his animalistic pace. Somehow she verged on the edge of collapsing, yet she wanted more from him. More of that intense gaze like glaciers avalanching into her a million times over, more of his hands roaming her every asset, more of his perfectly sculpted cock that rammed repeatedly into her ever-increasingly tight aperture from how much arousal he delivered with each decisive stroke. The fornication put even his rough bites to shame.

The serpent had Eve under his spell, urging her to forsake a life of innocence in favor of indulging with him, day in and day out. Together they would drown in seas of eternal sin from how their bodies melded into one, a union bound by blood and creativity's essence.

"Seeing you helplessly take all of me in... is so, so erotic," the Vampire breathed out between series of ruthless thrusts. "From here forward you will grow so addicted to my touch that you'll wish I was fucking you even when we are apart... You'll have only me on your mind, at all times... And even if someone else were to steal you from me—which will never happen—they would never be able to satisfy you the way I do," he cooed against the shell of her ear, roughening his strokes. "Your master is almost there... Haah... Ngh... Who do you belong to? You're my..." he let out a short, almost sardonic laugh, "what were you, again? Tell me. I want to hear it as you cum around my cock."

Those seemingly fragile, sweat-ridden legs of hers soon found themselves tossed upon his shoulders to take Yui at a new angle. One more titillating than ever, one that earned a guttural groan from Ruki as he folded her and made her his. Simultaneously his hands left her breasts only to instead entangle with her own digits, nailing them to the soft, now unkempt sheets beneath. Somehow the sensual proximity of it all, the locking of fingers, and his salacious voice this close to her ear not only beckoned her imminent release, but also coaxed Yui into giving in, admitting what he wanted to hear. That she was his dirty livestock. That she was nothing more than a personal blood bag for the eldest. That she was an immoral woman addicted to their copulation. Those words, even more so than the sole act of continuously pounding her cervix, broke Ruki's composure asunder.

"Fuck... Yes, good girl... That's right, you're my prey. You belong—on—ly—to—me." The violent assailment of her insides elicited a rocky and uneven tone in his voice as he neared the apex. "This slutty pussy of yours—haah—exists for me to fuck it to my heart's content...! This hole is only good for catching your master's cum... Ahhhh... Fuck...! I'm cumming...! Take it all...! Yui, here it comes...!!"

An ocean of viscous white surged her folds as Ruki finally hit his peak, wanton need suffusing every moan that escaped his lips; his lips that now connected with her shoulder, hurriedly sinking his sharp ivories into the adipose to descend past the realm of what moral copulation could offer and into the abyss of endless euphoria. By now Yui only seemed to have his name in her vocabulary, screaming it as they came in unison.

"Ahhh... Much to my surprise, you sure know how to please me," he cooed as his tongue assaulted the incision. "Your blood truly is first-rate... Rest while you can, Livestock."

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #ask #react #diabolik lovers rp #yui komori #komori yui #dungeon #(( food for all the ruki x yui lovers here ahaha ))#scenario

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kookiecrumb · 4 years ago

Text

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

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5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

593 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 4 years ago

Text

Prince Of Darkness

Summary: There'll be no escape tonight, the devil always gets what he desires.

Pairing: Devil!August Walker x Unnamed OFC (3rd person pov)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+, DARK! NonCon, kidnapping, stalking, breeding, exhibitionism, loss of virginity, supernatural stuff, sex in a cathedral, mention of heaven and hell. Please proceed with caution.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: I have put a lot of effort into this story, and I’m really anxious af. We all like to see August as a demon, but I decided to go all the way... And I’m nervous at your response and going to die after hitting submit. So bye.

Many thanks to the love of my life @agniavateira, for support, brainstorm and beta. And to @crimsonrae and @wondersofdreaming who held my hand.

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Title: Prince of Darkness

Blood painted the streets, courtesy of the blinding scarlet lights that danced upon gravel and tar before dwindling into darkness. The soft, beaming glow pulsed with the muffled beats of a monotonous song that played inside the luxurious nightclub. Like thundering war drums, it rumbled in the ears of the elegant man who stood along the shadows.

Leaning against the cement, he took a sip from a glass of spiced Bordeaux and brushed an index finger over his thick moustache to wipe away misguided droplets of wine.

‘How could anyone enjoy this abomination?’ He wondered with a guttural groan, never quite grasping this electronic noise thing; but then again August was older than this music, and his tastes far exceeded cheap and trivial antics. He was a man driven by the appetite for destruction and forbidden delights, and tonight, he was finally about to obtain both. After decades of anticipation, the succulent fruit was ready to be plucked.

Oh, what an intoxicating and delicious mist his unsuspecting beloved emanated, setting his heart aflame with her sheer ripeness.

‘It’s been so long, so painfully long.’

Time had lost its meaning as he waited, curving and swerving into a stream of an infinite river flowing with decay and death.

But as the old saying went: all haste comes from the devil.

So the man lingered against the wall, a sparkle enkindled and crackled in his eyes, morphing into black wells whilst the waves of her honey-liqueured ambrosia grew pungent, seeping through his airways and sinking in his throat. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, revelling in the sound of harsh tapping heels that echoed louder with every step until she came summoned into the naked wilderness of the city street.

‘Beautiful and innocent as the garden of Eden. Of course, of course...’

The stranger scrutinised the young woman with another sip from his wine and a bite of great intrigue - but stoicism and silence, for now, were his most valuable allies.

Clad in a lithe black dress and a stylish leather jacket to keep herself warm from the chill autumn breeze, she fished for the mobile device in her purse while distress washed her wrinkling brow. Illuminated by the bright screen, her face sulked as for the seventh time in the last 30 minutes, her attempt to find an Uber bore no success whatsoever.

Was there something about tonight that all drivers were kept occupied, or had her luck simply run dry?

Showing her face to the moonlit sky, she sighed in great frustration. This must have been fate’s retribution to a mindless bad decision; she should have left with her friends, but staying alone to fruitlessly catch the eye of the uncaring bartender seemed more significant as the buzz of alcohol dimmed any ray of logic. Now deep into the night, walking home alone didn’t appear to be the most sympathetic solution, yet it occurred to her that there wasn’t much of choice.

“You seem distressed.”

Equal to a dark chant sputtering words of witchcraft, the low yet incredibly soft baritone of his voice slithered from the corner and crept down her spine with icy scales. A lurching hollow flared within her gut, her neck seized by the tight grip of a serpentine phantom.

His vibrato sounded like a voice that called her through a dream she never had before; despite the unsettling arctic spasm gyrating through her shaky limbs, it lured her to return a stare and meet the cryptic face behind the seducing chant.

Two sharp glaciers glimmered at her as the stranger sauntered into the penumbra, momentarily lit by another flash of neon red that broke onto his face and highlighted his ethereal features. Her lips drew open, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her dress as a shiver ran through her. To say that the stranger was handsome would be an understatement, as it almost seemed as if he was ‘designed’ by a sculptor - carved cheeks led a path to slightly pouted lips, and a stark, dimpled chin was shadowed by dark stubble. His chocolate-brown hair was elegantly combed to the side, with a couple of large lustrous locks gently nestling over his brow.

Though it wasn’t his good looks that left her riddled with prickly goosebumps, but the unprecedented magnetic haul that made her feel as if she was physically drawn toward this mysterious man.

Frightened by the unbidden reaction of her own body, she quickly retreated to gawk at the phone and provided no answer to his inquiry. A strange yearning to submit grew between her clenching thighs, a primal response to his striking looks and charms.

But she killed the seed before it set roots in her flesh.

‘They said Ted Bundy was charming as well…’ she mused. Frivolous as she wanted to be, getting murdered was undoubtedly not among her plans tonight.

Revelling in her silent reply with an arched brow, he tilted his head when a blinding flicker abruptly caught his keen eye. Kissed by the pale moonlight’s beam, a small silver cross rested upon her collarbone. His sharp fangs begged to peek with sardonic amusement, but he kept his lips clamped, not wishing to scare her too soon.

There was to be plenty of that later...

“May I offer you my help, sweetling?”

Threading his long fingers between the smooth stem and clasping them around the bowl, he lowered the glass to the side of his hip, dragging the girl’s unwilling eye to the healthy bulge in his groin.

Her lips drew open as a surge of staggering heat flushed at her apex.

It seemed enormous...

“Name’s August, like the emperor, but you can call me whatever your heart desires...”

Embers burnt at her cheeks; in her belly, the odd mystical calling continued weaving at her core in an urge to accept whatever it was he had to offer. Her eyes warred to tear her gaze away from his nether region as her lashes fluttered to meet the abysmal glance that bestowed both frost and fire through her tendons.

There was something archaically familiar about this man as if she knew him before the days had names. Yet she swore, it was the first time she ever saw his striking face.

“I can take you wherever you need to go.”

Breath laced with wine titillated her nostrils as the words spilt from his lips, whilst another crimson ray broke upon the marble of his face. Never had he urged, but instead suggested with a tongue soaked with honey. Still, a blazing aura of danger encircled him. And even though the very natural fear of walking home alone grappled her, it still seemed like a much better plan than entrusting her life to a stranger who was twice her size.

Deciding to keep her tongue knotted, she turned and began striding away. ‘Best not to engage him,’ she thought, but once she moved past his bulky figure, her heart suddenly picked up its pace and her legs refused to function as if they no longer belonged to her.

Seconds stretched into eternity. The thought that this civilised savage will assail her and drag her into the night scratched at the back of her head. But the worst of it was the simmering throb. Unforgiving, like gathering storm clouds, it thundered the closer she walked by him and then gradually died out as she finally managed to move away and free herself from this invisible bond.��

Savouring the final drop of wine, August watched amused as the frightened little lamb quickly oscillated on her feet, scampering into the horrors offered by the dark. It was funny how fear made animals act so heedlessly and rush straight into the burning heart of peril.

A toothy grin peaked his chiselled cheeks. Always the gentleman, he shifted from the concrete, discarding the glass carelessly to shatter on the sidewalk. His sinew stretched in a relaxed ripple of an apex predator before he straightened both vest and jacket and stroked his thick moustache.

Though her heavenly fragrance still soaked the air, the girl was already gone from normal eyesight. It was a pity to see her leave, yet there was no need for him to rush.

There was never really a choice for her.

Strangely, the night kept growing unnaturally darker. A great ocean of blackness and crystalised stars spread from above, casting looming shadows across the tall buildings that resembled a maw filled with rotten teeth. The tepid wind that blew between the vast concrete monoliths was nothing but the breath of a mythical beast intoning her name through the shadows.

Clawing at her forearms, she meandered through the inert street with a wary eye. Desolate neon signs flickered hauntingly, bequeathing a vibrant beacon of dread over the shimmering, onyx road. Not a living soul was in sight as if the world descended into stillness, dominated by an eerie, dead silence save for the harsh echo of her hasty heels. And yet, the long path felt anything but lifeless. With every step landed on the ground, she could sense the movement beneath the surface: swarming vile things, slippery and scaled. Unseen by the human eye, they hissed dirty little secrets and slithered with sinister hunger, drizzling down their fangs.

‘You can already feel me inside you, can’t you sweetling…’ Remaining hidden, he had to admit that watching the little lamb leap shivering into the slaughter has been somewhat of foreplay.

A veil of fumes emitted from her parted lips. The air became colder, summoning a terrifying truth that made her lungs clench around the black void that abruptly filled them with the notion that maybe... maybe… that chill, liquid-like thing that threatened to touch her ankle wasn’t just in her crazy imagination.

There was something out there, something undeniably familiar. This unusual gust of wind brushing at her nape has accompanied her since she could remember herself, an unsettling breeze bidding that evil lurked between the creases, holding its sinewy fingers clasped together while waiting for her to answer his hushed calling.

‘And once you finally answer, there is no turning back…’

Fear gnawed its frosty fangs at her bones, puncturing tiny painful cavities that were needles in her flesh. Tonight, of all nights, the same hazy feeling became stronger than ever before. Deep inside, she knew she would meet her end. Pressing the oily pads of her fingers at the sharp corners of her pendant, she inhaled and chanted a prayer, refusing to succumb to the noxious malice when a frozen pin pierced her heart.

Like the lark calling on the dawn, an unbidden chant carried her name.

Drenched with frigid sweat, she exhumed a shuddering breath, praying to God that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her ears.

‘The greatest trick he ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.’

Indeed in the darkness, leered the beast. All teeth and malicious glee, August moved from one shadow to another, feasting on the aphrodisiac that was the mixture of her harrowing terror and unveiled desire. If only she knew the trail her scent left for him to follow - he could smell her from miles away.

The little flower between her legs began blooming the moment their entities finally encountered one another, and it was his ancient name her dew had dripped for.

‘My sweet little thing, tonight I will finally grant you a purpose...’

Like a hound awakened from a deep slumber, he flexed his bulging muscles and tailed her in utter silence. The same spell that burnt in her core seethed the blood gathering in his ardent loins. Since the dawn of humankind, he had more women than any other man on this earth, yet none has evoked such hunger in him.

He would have eaten her alive and torn her to shreds if only he didn't have bigger plans for her.

Still hidden by the unnatural night, August stalked from behind, the blaze of his enkindling burn licking her path as he crept further to ensnare his prey. He wished she could see herself through his own flaring glance, how beautiful she was with tears of despair rolling down the tender slope of her cheeks.

His beloved girl; his, by ancient law. Spirited as a rageful tempest, she insisted on escaping her prophesied fate. Muscles and bones strove against the panic that turned her boiling blood frigid. But no power, physical nor divine could revoke this otherworldly attraction that bound her to him. His bidding could never be undone and as much as his blood relished from the thrill of the chase, it was time to put an end to this dance and seal their union.

Appearing from a stygian haze of a spectral nightmare, the beast drew his claw to grasp the fleeting girl’s shoulder.

The world froze along with the scream that died in her throat. Cold, slippery wet, the phantom serpents slinked around her ankles and held on to the ground as the thing behind her bit his nails into her collarbone. His touch was no ghost, but as real as the quiet moon that voyeured her fate from above and did nothing. A wretched gasp of anguish shuddered through her airways as his fingers stalked forth to cinch at her neck.

His grip was tighter than the icy finger of death, yet its caress was the sensual lick of a gossamer tongue.

It was almost as if he worshipped her.

Shadows befell her as the assailant leaned close, wafting a mist of intoxicating fumes scented of poisonous elixirs and an ancient forest that laid deep between the veils of the underworld, hiding forbidden mysteries that none dared speak of. Seeping through her orifices, it stung her eyes and raked remorseful tears.

“Please…” she broke into sobs, shaking her head at the dawning of her fate.

The man inhaled deeply. Though she could not see him, the joyful malice that danced on his pleased breath roared in her ears.

“Do not fear me.” The sonorous rumble caressing her ear was hardly a surprise in its familiarity. It was him, the handsome bewhiskered gentleman from earlier. But of course, it was always him: the whisper in the dark, the slithering things moving beneath the tepid ground, and the smell of burning pyres.

But who the hell was he?!

As if he read her mind, his hand twisted around her nape and with a careful sway, turned her to face him. The voice inside her head warned her over and over again not to look at him; yet the temptation was too great, peeling her eyes open to stare at the thing that made her heart drop to her gut.

Vast, raven wings spread from each side of an Adonis figure, their intimidating length denying her widened eyes to look at anything but the dark god that soared tall in front her. No, not a god, a devil. A pair of small golden horns peeked from the mane of long curls, and the heavenly icy gaze she remembered from earlier had melted into an abysmal lake of fire.

He was beautiful.

He was monstrous.

And just like that, she descended from the earth, swept into a thick swamp of darkness that swallowed her whole. Never letting so much as her feet kiss the ground, August scooped her into his strong arms. Peering down upon her, he broke into a delightful grin, already enamoured with his delicate new bride. The pang of lust tingled in his groin, though despite the raging need to claim her now, it was her screams he desired more than all as he would consummate their eternal marriage.

Wicked tongues of fire licked up the shallow air, casting a faint amber glow into the abominable sombre of a vanishing nightmare. Shy as feral nymphs, the bursting sparks ascended melancholily, whispering tales of perishing days that fell to harmony with a strange mumbling chant. Still locked in a void of unconsciousness, the fallen girl shifted with disquiet, her hands restlessly clutching at a virginal silk gown that covered her body.

Vaguely remembering a horrifying dream of a demonic entity, she woke with a sudden electric jitter. A peal of breathless pants pushed through her heaving chest before she slumped into the intense relief one experiences from a brush with either death or a ghastly fantasy.

“Thank God…” she whispered with a fist pressed to her breast.

Yet, something was amiss. The low vocal melody continued despite her state of clarity, tangled with the eerie presence of a hundred cutting glares that stabbed her crawling spine. Slowly and carefully, she lifted her head and scanned her surroundings.

The blood drained from her face.

Swaying like shadowy wraiths stood men cloaked in black velvet hoods. Tears of milky boiling wax trickled from the candles held by their stringy fingers, yet they didn’t seem to flinch as the burning rivulets seared their flesh. Their hollow eyes were fixated upon her while words of a dark sacrament sputtered from their lips and reverberated through the endless archways and ribbed vaults that towered above them.

Her trembling muscles were briskly stifled under the unsettling realisation of her whereabouts - a cathedral, a thousand years old if not more. Burning torches lit crumbling pillars and statues of monstrous winged creatures that encircled them from every niche, their malicious shadows dancing upon dusty obsidian bricks. Unglazed windows were barred by black iron, the beautiful floral shapes preventing any means of escape.

Only the fractured ceiling held a cheap shred of hope, as a vast rupture of broken stone exposed her to the scarred carmine wolf-moon.

If only she had wings…

Bones rattling beneath her crawling flesh, she sat upon the hard surface with wells of despair. Her hands clutched around the edge of the bed, only to be kissed by the sharp corners that pierced the delicate flesh. Hissing with pain, she lifted her arms and stared below at what appeared to be a midnight-black marble creased with golden veins and saplings-like patterns.

It was beautiful, just like the creamy gown that covered her body.

“Do you like it, bride?”

Rising from the crowd like a flame among charred coals, appeared her handsome abductor. Suitable to a true evil prince, a long red cloak enrobed his broad, sturdy form, the velvet hem trailing behind him like a thick river of blood while he marched forward with no haste in his dauntless mien. Human once again, August offered the most endearing grin; two profound dimples embellished his scruffy cheeks, and his eyes shone brighter than a frozen sea.

Yet in her sullen gaze, he was nothing but a monster.

Abruptly enraged and driven by pure instinct, she jumped off the marble and paced backwards. Tears of anger and fright rimmed her swollen lids and her bare feet nearly collided as she shook her head at August who was neither impressed nor concerned by this foolish protest.

“You stay the fuck away from me!!!” She warned with a scream and hastily turned away.

Lost in some trance, the praying mob never stirred, granting the girl a fair chance to escape the bewhiskered man who was still several strides away. Her feeble legs made three to four steps when her muscles swiftly turned to stone, and her stomach lurched.

‘No! It couldn’t be! How?!’

Curls shining like precious coils of onyx, August emerged in front of her, continuing his relaxed gait as if this was a natural occurrence. His bright icicles melted into malicious dark pools of twisted desire, and his tongue briefly laved his plump lips at the sight of pure disbelief that cascaded over her face. He could feel right under her skin, hear the thrumming heart that both chilled and fumed for him. Further beyond her thoughts, his betrothed yearned to be defiled and torn open by him.

It was her destiny, whether she liked it or not.

Still she fought, so ferocious and defiant, flinching away from his attempts to seize her. It was almost comical to watch her deny him, knowing that her fate would be no different; she will spread her legs and submit to his conquest. And yet, her battle was immensely appealing; what better bride to the dark lord than a woman who breathed fire.

“Who are you?!” She cried, her trembling voice rising with panic and her cheeks soaking with tears, “What do you want from me?!”

August's face was devoid of mercy, her whimpering hisses did nothing to deter him and only further increased the appetite of the deprived wolf that circled in his gut. With a wring of his wrist, his fingers snapped at her elbow, hauling her against his rock-hard chest with such might her heels hovered above the ground.

Writhing in his grip she flung her hands at his face, clawing streams of crimson to trickle down his cheeks. The notion of hurting this vicious man brought somewhat of a sick joy; but her onslaught died at once, and her mouth fell agape as his skin healed with not even a trace of injury.

“Oh God, what are you?!” She shuddered.

Still holding her elbow hostage, his free hand travelled to the hem of the white gown, the long, perverted fingers twisting around the fabric before yanking it off at once. A resounding rip echoed through the tall arches, causing the chanting choir to halt their susurrations at once.

All eyes were afloat as the cold air kissed her skin. In vain, she attempted to cover herself only to be felled by the restraints of August’s grasp.

“God?...” The man finally spoke, his melodic voice ending with a sonorous hum that sprouted through her arteries like a deadly toxin. Not less poisonous, his gaze trailed down her form, worshipping the very sights of his delightful prize.

“Not God, but once I was an angel,” he suggested and leaned down to inhale her skin with a gratified growl before he flicked his wide tongue at her chest.

A groan of approval emitted from his lips, the sheer coat of sweat that layered her bosom was soaked of freshly brewed fear, his most favourite savour. His wet, velvety snake swept the sweet-briny wetness and licked further down her breasts, twirling around the erect nipple.

Unintended, she moaned. A river of delights rushed between her grinding thighs.

“No!”

Wrongful, unwanted bliss awoke in her. She felt desecrated and allured at once. Her fickle body deceived, mistaking this vile conquest as consensual. And the more August took, the more she desired; her dutiful womb demanded to consummate this bond, almost as if the beast had bewitched her a long while ago, embedding his essence in the marrow of her bones.

August grinned against her skin, the scent of her arousal fresh in his nose while his lips travelled to kiss down her sternum and the slope of her torso. His thick whiskers left a trail of fluttering butterflies.

“Have sympathy, my love. I had built my own realm and waited in the forlorn abyss. Empires fell and worlds disintegrated into ashes while I waited for thou,” he explained and clutched the cheek of her behind in his claw, squeezing it possessively. “I have longed for your touch since the day your ancestor promised you to me, little lamb. A hundred years’ worth of waiting for the bargain to reach its end, and for you to finally be ripe.”

The beast pressed one last languid kiss below her navel, a guttural hum exuded in between his lips, huffing hot against her belly. Slowly he rose to his full height, towering above his helpless victim who hugged her arms to cover her naked body and watched her nightmare unfold once more. Cold wind chilled her damp cheeks as August flung the blood-red cloak and exposed his naked figure before her.

He was massive, a masculine build fit for a warrior angel, covered with thick bulging muscles and dark hair. Lips parted, she forgot herself, gawking in awe and allowing her gaze to trail down to his unapologetically monstrous cock. Firm and throbbing, it dripped with hunger, urging to find release inside her clenching cavern.

She didn’t even know a man could be this vast, but alas, he was no man at all.

It was at that moment when blackest wings spread before her that realisation finally struck through like a blunt hammer to the back of her head. Covering her mouth she cowered away, her exposed back hitting the raised altar behind her.

August was no man nor god, but Lucifer himself.

Seeing the hope die in her eyes, the devil sneered.

“No, no, no! This can’t be real! This isn’t real!!!” She yelled, pathetic little hiccups sputtering from her lips.

August tilted his head, giving a scornful pout and scoffed with amusement. “Am I not?” He asked as he lifted an arm to flick his fingers, summoning two of the hooded servants to approach the dais. Their eyes were soulless gems embedded to a grey face that was cracked like a broken eggshell.

“I am real, beloved, as real as the child you will conceive me tonight.”

Shrills of terror flew through the great hole in the ceiling. Kicking and screaming, she fought as the men seized her arms and dragged her to the altar, forcing her flat down and holding her arms to prevent her from escaping. They never blinked at the ferocious war she waged against them, though an impish smile slowly possessed their faces as their master strode forward.

“Sweet little lamb,” August chanted, enamoured with his fiery bride while he sauntered by the edge of the altar. His Adonis body golden in the candlelight, his fingers squeezed and pumped the ravenous demon that hung heavy between his legs. The twinge in her womb rose in response, a low roar thrumming as it yearned to succumb to its unbridled purpose. Sheen, the arousal trickled between her kicking legs and onto the smooth stone, making her cheek flame.

Much to August’s pleasure.

“Our son will burn this world to cinders,” he promised and snaked his fingers at her ankles. Calmly deflecting her attempts to kick against him, he dragged her toward him until her knees folded over the edge and spread between his thighs. The platform was in the perfect height, positioning her delicious Eden at the height of his blessed demon.

“You will make an excellent mother.”

Her entire body shook, her cunt clenching along her sobs in both defence and beguiling need as August leaned in and grazed the silky pink crown between her wet petals. She begged he wouldn’t be able to invade her, but her prayers fell to deaf ears.

“Please don’t do this to me! I will do anything… please!” She wailed a bargain, still trying to escape the servants’ grip and looking at him pleadingly, “I… I...haven’t been with a man!”

“Oh I know…” August beamed and stroked himself back and forth between her engorged lips. Vamping flames tingled at her flesh, her core foolishly squeezing around nothing in demand for this wretched monster to defile her.

“You’ve kept yourself for me, didn't you? I have waited for you too, for centuries even, but now our waiting has ended, and I can finally love you.”

With one brutal thrust, he breached through the gates of her sacred haven, corrupting her purity and ripping her open with the elegance of a savage.

Exasperated bats fluttered their wings over the red moon at the sound of her pained howl. Eyes flared to the bleak sky above; the girl watched them in a daze, disbelieving the blazing demon that scorched her from inside as he nestled himself between her resisting gates with no intention to cease.

In his villainy, August pushed further. Stunned thunders of ecstasy erupted from his lips, all to humiliate her along with the dark minions who circled the altar to pervertedly witness this sacrilegious ritual in which their master ravaged the unwilling maiden. Ignoring her body’s vehement protest, he forced himself unfathomably deep, only stopping until the head of his cock kissed the gateway of her cervix.

Crystalised tears rolled down her temples and stained the cold marble beneath her body. Slit impossibly sore, she twitched and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling of being invaded by another entity. Her once protected realm was now under the domain of a ruthless prince, and he took no prisoners and granted no mercy nor care at her vain endeavours to push him out.

He would never stop. He would have her again and again until her sacred little womb would be plentiful with his seed.

“Tight,” he blurted out in a blissful huff and reached his talons to bite into her quaking thighs. Spreading her wider, he hooked his hands below her knees, moulding her into a vessel to be fulfilled. Arctic orbs glazed down her naked figure, his plump lips cooing at her aching whimpers. The taut and hairy muscles of his gut flexed as he carefully withdrew his vicious cock, coated in the crimson sorrow of her maidenhood.

Hollow pain throbbed in her empty cunt as he suddenly abandoned her. Distressed and overwhelmed, she hoped he would stay out, yet her traitorous body coveted his return in a false faith that it would ease the fervid twinge that soared to her belly and even burnt in her breasts.

It was far from true.

No less vigorous than before, August plunged back inside her, stretching her again, shaping her as his own as she yipped and struggled to escape. His head threw back with a roar of divine pleasure, feasting at the thrill of her dauntless veils wrapping around him like a succulent flower. For a moment there, he wondered who preyed on who. Her concupiscent little cove sucked him so wantonly it threatened to swallow his raging cock.

‘But of course, every virgin is destined to become my whore.’

Hot and heavy, his shaft seized the void that had always been inside her, their heaving organs collided in euphoric bliss like two broken shards that were lost for decades and finally pieced back together. And even though she seared with every jerk or shift he made, the impassioned flames licked at the seams of her twitching cunt in waves of ache and foreign desperation.

“No…” she whispered, shame singeing her throat as the little pesky sparks enkindled where the devil had violated her. Vision blurry, she gazed at him utterly mystified. Part of her warred to stoke the fire that screamed heresy, while the other begged to yield to her demise.

As August pulled away again and thrust harder, a breathless moan tore from her lips.

A cutting grin radiated onto his face. “It feels so good inside you,” he sang and slid one hand to stroke all the way down from her sweat-ridden thighs to her belly, feeling the movement of his cock with every push and shove.

He was taunting her, yet she couldn’t care less. Over the cinders of pain and virtue, a garden began to bloom. With every abysmal stroke of his swelling shaft, she could feel green saplings and coy vines growing within her uterus—soft, beautiful tendrils stalked through her arteries, sprouted through her cove, and engulfed his swelling demon as well.

She was no longer burning but becoming alive. Pained cries suddenly evolved into asphyxiation of bliss. Beyond her realisation, she undulated her hips in the desire to endure each of his wet claiming thrusts. Her spine coiled against the surface, further allowing him easier passage to nourish the wilderness that continued spreading through her blood.

Noticing the change in her, approving groans rumbled in his throat; his little bride was growing tighter around his demon, her quivering lips and fluttering lashes the image of true Elysium. It was not long before he would plant his seed in her fertile lush. Her cunt milked and suckled around him, demanding to be bred by the devil.

“Yes, my love! Give in to me! Give in to your primal sin!” August urged, enhancing the rhythm until he was thrusting into her like a battering ram, the sinful elixir of their union smearing on his groin and dripping down her rump. “Descend with me!”

In her delirium she witnessed magical nightshades and sinewy stalks growing amidst the gritty bricks, encompassing the ominous cathedral with bright colours.

It was paradise on earth, given to her by the unearthly rapturous joy of having this demon violate her, slamming harder with growing frustration until his thick girth ripped through the last threads of her self-preservation and that which she tried so hard to deny erupted through her clenching core.

Euphoria.

For a lingering moment, she had wings of her own, pale as precious pearls and lustrous stars. Tingling waves of ethereal white heat burst at her seams, purifying her as she flew above the cathedral, and watched their ungodly union from above. But her wings suddenly caught aflame and before she knew it, she crashed onto the earth with a secondary, more violent climax.

The beast’s roars erupted into a brutal thunder, causing the sturdy pillars of the cathedral to quake and crack like thin glass. With all his might, he clutched her thighs and hauled her against him, slamming his swollen cock deep into her belly and releasing his smouldering, milky essence until it seeped from her sleek. August’s wings flew open as he found his own rapture, blazes following through and consuming the ancient hall.

This was no longer a hallucination.

This was Inferno.

Still radiating with orgasmic glow, she screamed horrified as everything around them vehemently burnt to coals. Even the soulless servants crumbled into dust, accepting their fate without so much of a yip. The fire raged and died within seconds, leaving nothing but broken pillars and ashen smoke.

Shortly, the tepid air of night caressed her naked skin as they remained alone in the ruins of what was once an ominous cathedral. Still buried in her viscera, August broke into a low, stretching groan of relief which made her immediately return her eyes to him. Shame rose bitter in her throat and new fresh rivulets trickled on her cheeks.

After all that he had done to her, she could see nothing in him but a beautiful monster.

“My beloved queen,” August keened to comfort her and moved his hand to tenderly stroke her lower belly.

A toothy smile broke upon his face, his eyes gleaming with surprise as he felt the life that had already begun growing in her angelic fortress. A son, strong and glorious as his father. For the first time in his long existence, the devil was truly elated and he vowed in that moment that he would give her much, and much more. But first, she needed to be cared for.

Her assaulted hole convulsed with pain as he pulled himself out, leaving a trail of creamy fluids to dribble at his departure. Sniffling and shaking, she watched him bemused, as he climbed onto the altar and moved to lie beside her. Though she no longer flinched as he touched her, what was the point of it anyway? He had already destroyed her and stolen her innocent soul.

“You make me so happy, my beloved queen,” August had murmured as he gripped her jaw and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss claimed her breath, pillaging whatever left of her chastity and wit until she absentmindedly kissed back, forgetting herself as his tongue bested her will.

When he broke away, the taste of spiced ruby wine and blood lingered in her mouth.

“An eternity awaits us,” the devil explained as he pecked her nose and her forehead lovingly, to which she shivered - out of fright or out of want, she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“You had made me the happiest, now give me the chance to grant the same favour, ask for anything you want in the world and it shall be yours,” he begged and wrapped her in the shelter of his strong arms to lie down with him on the smooth stone surface.

Absentmindedly, she welcomed the protection offered from his embrace and stared silently as flakes of cement broke from the remnants of the wall floated in the air around her before she opened her mouth.

“I wish for…”

Her whisper faded into the dark.

*Disclaimer: I do not own Mission Impossible or August Walker

Beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker x ofc

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