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cheriecoke · 9 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა cold embrace (provenance) — fyodor dostoevsky

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎. you buy a two hundred year old house with a two hundred year old painting hanging above the mantel. it's not the only thing the previous owner left behind.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. ghost!fyodor, f!reader, violence, angst, death, alternate / modern universe, no smut but it is suggestive, fyodor is kind of a pervy ghost so, wc: 6.1k

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈. this one has two titles bc it was supposed to be for my kinktober... never finished it. embarrassing ! but here is a semi-revamped version for this series! i can finally check it off my wips page <3 idk how i feel about it but i hope you enjoy

part of my summerween series !

A chime from the grandfather clock brings Fyodor out of his stupor, the sound signaling another day, another meaningless hour that will only continue his eternal misery. He’s grown used to it now—evening after evening of emptiness, of reading nothing but the same books, playing the same pieces of dull sheet music, and the lifeless chess matches against himself. The house is cold with only his presence, dusty without a housekeeper and a life to make it a home.

There are a million things in Fyodor’s life that he must have done to deserve this misery, but he can’t pinpoint which one solidified his reward of a lamentable, endless cycle.

He’s certain hell is better than this. It’s something he wishes for every day, if only to have an eternal companion with the devil, a challenge to overcome.

Though, even with this boredom, Fyodor refuses to let anyone live in his home. They’ll only serve to be another pain, something that would, surely, push him past the brink of sanity.

The centuries old décor will get replaced with gaudy twenty-first century items, ones that will be nothing more than an eyesore. There are a few already scattered around his home from previous tenants, but only things that he believed useful enough for him to keep; a few books from authors he didn’t live to read, a television from the nineties, a computer that he watched one couple scroll on before he murdered them in cold blood.

Perhaps he is two hundred years dead and gone, but he refuses to be an ignorant ghost, one that is unaware of anything beyond these four walls, caught forever in the past.

Although now, it’s been a while since anyone’s tried to move in, and he’s certain the only reason the house hasn’t been torn down is because its preserved nicely, an eighteenth-century home that has withstood the test of time.

Fyodor, in his lowest moments, wishes they would tear it down. Maybe then, and only then, can he be set free. Or maybe, he’s forever trapped in this exhaustive lot, doomed to decay, even when there’s nothing left of the foundations but soil.

He pushes a pawn forward on the board, putting himself in checkmate for the millionth time in a row. It’s been so long that he’s used to his own tricks. Even the computer, which he’d come to understand quickly, is no match for him. It’s far too exhaustive to play against a machine that utilizes an algorithm he can so easily decipher.

Out of nowhere, the front door unlocks, and Fyodor glances over at the sound, dark hair falling over his eyes. Seconds later, he notices an older realtor with a clipboard leading you around, a woman he’s never seen, dressed up nicely with a darker shade of lipstick smeared across your mouth.

He’s been through this before. It’s a miracle the realtor hasn’t given up on this house yet, a mansion she is determined to sell despite the endless horrors that have been committed by his hand.

“Here it is,” she says, nervous, gesturing around the expansive hall, the crystal chandelier and staircase that immediately follows. “It was built in 1731, but one of the owners remolded it in the style of the mid-nineteenth century. The structure has been stabilized; it’s safe… enough.”

The two of you chat, but he doesn’t bother to listen in. It’s all questions of: when can I move in? can we negotiate? — things you will come to regret once he sets his sights on killing you.

Then, the realtor is sighing, wringing her hands together as she watches you spin around the house in awe. It’s clear that you’re impressed by the layout, the rich furniture and colors that have been used.

That, at least, satisfies Fyodor. Everyone else who has moved in was looking to upgrade it to a modern style, rid the place of its aged grace and charm.

“I’m truly sorry,” she says, brushing curly hair away from her cheekbones. “But I am legally obligated to tell you that every person who has lived here before has suffered a terrible, terrible fate. There have been gruesome murders that cannot be explained, done in ways that I don’t even want to tell you about.”

You laugh, eyeing her with skepticism. “Are you telling me it’s haunted?”

The realtor shrugs. “That’s what people say.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” you answer, and Fyodor rolls his eyes, scoffing as he floats to the second floor, unable to listen into the unreasonable conversation anymore. It’s been the same story for decades. No one believes in ghosts, but it is always a ghost that kills them.

He returns to the chess board, irritated, though unable to consider the game any further. Your face is stuck in his mind. For some reason, he can’t remember the last time he’s ever seen anyone with such beauty.

Fyodor stops; your ageless elegance doesn’t matter—it can’t, and it won’t. You’ll be dead by the end of the month, when you gather all your things and invade the bedroom that was once his own. Even if you are beautiful, you are a nuisance, a threat to Fyodor’s eternal torment and quiet existence.

Still, he can’t help but wonder if it would be nice to have something other than his own thoughts to distract him from the endless misery.

You move in on the thirteenth of June, nothing more than a few boxes and a decade old car to keep you company. He guesses you’ve traveled a long distance to get here, and you’ve gotten rid of half of your life in the process.

A good thing for him. That means things can be over relatively quickly, and all your belongings can be disposed of easily after he kills you.

You spend the entire first day unpacking, and Fyodor waits patiently, allows you time to get comfortable in his home. He watches as you bring a stack of thick novels into the waiting room, which once boasted large parties, and place them on a shelf below those that have his name within the covers.

You take a few calls as you hang up your autumn coats, ones that won’t be needed for a few months. The voice on the other line sounds frantic, worried. A local, most likely. You only seem annoyed by his continuous string of anxieties.

When the sun sets, and you grow tired, you rub your eyes and head to bed. The first night you will spend in this place that Fyodor likens to Hell.

It’s the time he’s been waiting for—a moment to catch you off guard. You are so unsuspecting, already so at home in the mansion, that you have no fear of anything hurting you in the middle of the night.

While you get ready for bed, Fyodor slips into your room, observing the pieces of your life that have conquered his bedroom. A soft classical piece plays from your phone, one that he recognizes from his mortal life. Clearly, you are fascinated by the period he once lived in. A shame, really, he won’t be able to tell you more about it.

You leave the bathroom, come back towards him to change into a pair of small shorts, a large shirt hanging over your frame.

He’s forgotten how long it’s been since he’s seen a woman, how long since he’s touched one.

Fyodor finds himself distracted by your body, the smoothness of your skin. His eyes travel over your legs, your hips, the fullness of your breasts and ignores how much he desires to let his thumb graze over your flesh. There is something so soft about you, so gentle and innocent.

Perhaps, that is where his fascination stems from: he has always been the opposite. Even in his human existence, Fyodor was not a kind man, and he doesn’t plan on becoming one now that he is dead.

He shakes away the vision, the thoughts that swirl within his mind. It has been far too long since he has experienced any sort of pleasure, and maybe even a man as cold as himself is not immune to the desires that course within his veins.

Though he tries to be. He ignores his arousal desperately in exchange for a renewed bloodlust.

You climb into bed, put your phone on the white cord, and shut your eyes. Thirty minutes later, you’re sleeping soundly, soft puffs of air leaving your lips as you sleep.

It’s the opportune moment. The silver knife gleams brightly in his hand, streaks of moonlight tracing over the slanted point. It’s the same blade he’s killed every other new tenant with, their screams still echo in the halls like a harmonious melody each time he bring the knife down on another unknowing victim.

He stands before you at the side of the bed, watches as your chest rises and falls, the evidence of your life undeniable. You are a lovely image like this, something to be painted and adored; more beautiful than many of the women he’d met in his time, even those who were of the finest elite in the country.

Fyodor presses the blade to your throat, contemplative. He considers how much lovelier you will look with the scarlet stain of blood seeping down your neck, spraying across the room and ruining the fresh sheets. Will you awaken, gasping as you claw at your throat, or will you drift away without even understanding what has become of you?

He pictures it, and digs the blade close to your throat, nothing more than a pinprick of blood flowering there.

You don’t awaken; but you a little sound leaves you, something between a gasp and a moan, and you shift away from the knife gripped between his pale fingers. It’s a sound that has him pausing, musing, as he regards your vulnerable state, a beautiful figure there with no clue that such a murderous man is also a resident in her home.

You make another one of those pretty noises in your throat, and Fyodor, against two centuries of murderous intent, pulls the knife away. He watches as you roll on your stomach, your shirt scrunching, moving up your body to reveal the undersides of your breasts. Your hand shifts towards him on the bed, reaching in his direction, before you still. Then, your breathing is back to normal, evened out completely.

Your lips part blissfully as you sigh in your sleep.

He can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop wondering what his name would sound like leaving the perfect swell of your mouth, if you’d sound just as pretty when you orgasm as you do when you’re asleep.

Surely, he can find a better use for you—it would be a shame for such a pretty thing to go out so early.

As he draws back, Fyodor notices the chess board on the side table, the pieces arranged nicely, each on the correct square. He can’t tell if you play. You could just have it for decoration, or perhaps it was a gift given to you from a lover that he hasn’t seen pictures of, the one that he’s certain someone as lovely as you must have.

The board is aged; not as old as the one in the drawing room, but a nice set, nonetheless. Fyodor glances back at your sleeping form once more, smiles coolly to himself, and shifts a pawn forward.

The chess piece is the first thing you notice in the morning.

It’s almost ridiculous how easily it catches your eye, a tiny little movement within the chaos that was your brand-new room. A pawn is on a different square, leering at you from the other wall, as if smiling, a flashing sign above its head, calling to you, hoping you’ll pay attention.

You almost think nothing of it; things can move, can’t they? Perhaps there was a shift in the earth overnight… Though, that makes little sense when you think about it rationally.

It’s strange, that much is certain. You remember the realtor telling you about the ghosts, and though you aren’t inclined to believe in haunted houses and scary stories, you find a part of yourself questioning the logic of the chess piece.

You are certain it was on the correct square before you slept.

It’s the only thing on your mind as you get ready, suffer through a tasteless breakfast, and throw on a rain jacket to combat the dreary weather. You’re meeting a friend for lunch—the only friend you have in this town. Sigma is the sole reason you decided to move here, instead of the other arbitrary cities that you’d been desperate to escape to.

Still, the board won’t leave your mind. You take one last glance at it before, on a whim, pushing the opposite color pawn forward as well.

Then you leave, hoping that a conversation with your friend will take your mind off the strangeness of that happenstance, the anxiety you feel about moving to a new place, a new job where no one knows you, a home that stays cold, despite the heat that reigns with long summers.

The walk to the cafe is short, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, you are miserable, your hands wrinkling from the dampness, even within your pockets.

Sigma is waiting for you, his lavender and white hair loose over his shoulders as he peruses the menu, eyes darting across it like he’s never read it before.

You sit, offer him a greeting, and though your conversation is cordial, the two of you catching up on your day, you eventually ask the question you’ve been dying to know.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Sigma stops, puts the utensil back down on his plate, and regards you with a thin frown. “Did something happen?”

You think of the chess piece, wonder if another will be moved when you get home. “No, but—”

“I told you not to move into that house,” he says, eyes narrowing. Sigma refuses to step into that mansion, grows anxious every time you mention it. “Over ten people have died there. Do you want to get murdered?”

“No particularly,” you say, staring at him flatly, your mouth pulling into a line. “But I’ve made it one night already. I’ll be fine.”

A hard laugh leaves him, as he shakes his head, unamused by your cheekiness. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Then they all die.”

“Very dramatic.” You take a long sip of your water. Sigma’s features don’t crack in the slightest as he stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not scared. I just want to know if you believe in ghosts or not… Because I don’t.”

Sigma’s eyes flit across your face, searching for any hint of a lie, for any signs of fear. When he finds none, his hands stretch across the table, lacing them together as he glares. “Whether you believe in ghosts or not doesn’t matter. There’s something evil about that house, and you’re putting yourself in danger by living there.”

The conversation with Sigma weighs on your mind for hours after, when you return home, still thinking about the chess board. It was just as you’d left it, two pawns moved forward, staring each other down menacingly. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You sigh and finally put it out of your mind. It was just a coincidence, that’s all. The piece was probably on the wrong square all along, and you’d been too tired last night to notice it.

Instead, you focus your sights on unpacking, and contemplate what to do with the portrait hanging above the mantel.

It’s a dusty old thing, one that the previous owners had, for some reason, never taken down. It had hung over the mantel for centuries, the corners faded from the sun, but the sinister grin of the subject never losing its effect.

You tilt your head, stare at it from a different angle. Looking at it that way, you could, perhaps, see why the painting appealed to them. It’s old, with a style from a different century, and the man composed of deep shadows and pale colors is undeniably handsome. He seems out of place in the portrait, trapped there, too otherworldly to be captured on such a canvas. His features are sharp, molded out of something tougher than diamonds, something more beautiful than this plane is able to comprehend. His deep eyes seem to know all as they stare at you, trace you across the room.

For minutes, you are hypnotized, before a wave of disgust washes over you, and you turn away, unable to look at it any longer. You’ll sell it, you decide. Maybe it will be worth a pretty penny.

That evening, you decide to look into it, but the search into a local art dealer doesn’t get far. When you sit down at your laptop, beginning to type your question into the browser, the lid shuts on your fingertips.

It takes a moment for you to register what had happened. A faint sting dances along the back of your hands, your knuckles tender as you lift the lid back up. Lines bounce along the screen, as if the imprint of your hand had made its way into the pixels, matching the pulse of your nerves.

You curse lowly, hoping that a reset will fix the issue.

The lid had just fallen, nothing serious. It was a newer model, but those things could happen. Issues with the manufacturing, with the way it was assembled. Technology fails you all the time.

You hold the power button, irritated, and upset, when a horrible, screeching noise echoes from the computer. Nothing but a shrill scream, the speakers begging you for help. You slam it shut once more, and the noise stops, but your heartbeat doesn’t slow down.

Shit.

Tomorrow, you’ll have to take it in, and see if anyone can discern the issues. It’s not ideal, but there’s so many things to still need to do, and a broken laptop makes those things very difficult.

You sigh, pushing the chair back into the table. The portrait looms above you as you retreat back to your room, hands shaking. It’s irrational, you know it is, but you swear his eyes follow you all the way up the stairs.

It doesn’t take long for you to start believing in the ghost that is haunting your manor, the one who has let you live for a week and who plays a new game of chess every time your back is turned. Whoever it is, they are much better than you; so far, you’ve lost twice—haven’t even gotten close to winning.

He hides things from you, items that you are needing for the next day, papers that you can’t submit to work on time because the important files have been stashed away.

You find your books opened to paragraphs the ghost seemingly finds interesting, your sheet music scattered in a mess when you return. The candles get blown out unexpectedly, and doors slam when you’re not suspecting it.

If he’s trying to scare you—it isn’t working. You remain in the house, sometimes talking to him like he’s a friend, whispering amongst the walls that know all of the secrets in your home.

You stop at the library on your free weekend, flipping through a dusty copy of the local legends, only stopping when you find your home. There’s a copy of the painting there—your painting, the one that still hangs above your mantel, despite your better judgment.

Beside it, there’s a painting of your home, done when the house was first built. The outside of it is a differently color entirely, the garden in front blooming with pink and yellow flowers. It looks cheerful; the home of a warm and loving family, inviting and kind to each of the neighborhood children. Nothing like the dark manor it is today, with a dead garden in the front and shutters that keep even an ounce of light out.

You read the pages proceeding the painting. The first owner had been a kind man, but the next were not such. After the original owner lost his wealth, he sold the house, passed it to a line of greedy men, ones that were focused only on their money. For a century, it went on this way—until a man named Fyodor Dostoevsky purchased the home for twice as much as it once was.

He was the one who changed it, renovated it, upgraded it to his own personal style, ensuring that it fit in with the times and his own opinions of luxury. Fyodor was charming, but ruthless, deadly with his own intelligence, owning half the town as they lost their money to his schemes.

Fyodor’s rein came to an end when he was poisoned by his closest friend, perhaps the one man he had trusted. It was the first murder in a string of ones to follow within the house.

You close the book, unsure if you regret the knowledge you’d gained or not.

The house feels colder now that you know the history of it. As if you can see the cruelty etched into every wall. Colors of the home bleed into each other, a pastel yellow of warmth and light, and the next room empty, almost uninhabitable, with its royal purples.

You stare at the portrait as you make dinner, feeling like you can never escape the gaze of those oil painted eyes. He has a name now—Fyodor. It feels even more disarming now that you know more about him than he’ll ever know about you.

And though Fyodor watches you, every night, from every angle, you convince yourself it’s just the way that the painting is situated. It would be foolish to think that he’s really watching every move you make, irises pinned on your form, unblinking.

The oven heats up behind you as you cut up your food, humming a soft tune to yourself. It’s getting hotter outside – you’d almost forgotten how miserable the summers could be. You forget every year, even though you’ve lived many.

Just as you’re getting lost in your thoughts, going through a list of things that need to get done in your fixer-upper home, you hear a scratch behind you.

It’s a quick sound, so quick that you almost think it was only your imagination. It’s enough to give you pause, your humming fading out into the night as your eyes dart around your house. Although you’ve tried not to let urban legends get the best of you, you’re paranoid in this aged mansion now.

A few seconds pass. You listen to the sound of your own heartrate, feel it pounding in your chest as you will it to calm down. It’s just enough time for you to convince yourself that it was nothing, that you’re far too nervous about silly ghosts to think rationally.

Though as you turn, a knife flies from the counter, just grazing your cheek, but enough to cause a scratch to open up against the skin. Your finger draws away scarlet as you press it to the wound, staring at the painted crevices of your fingertip.

You can’t move. Despite every cell in your body begging, screaming at you to move, you’re frozen, trapped in the four walls of that kitchen as you stare at your bloodied hand.

It’s all a dream, you repeat to yourself. A dream.

One that you don’t wake up from.

Time passes strangely, when every muscle in your body is on edge, your head pounding from the anxiety that spikes throughout your nervous system. A bead of sweat drips from your temple, and though you aren’t sure how long you stand there, nothing else happens. The knife remains lodged in the wall behind you, and the ghost makes no other attempt to lodge one into your stomach.

It’s quiet. There’s no noise, save for the music that plays softly from your phone.

After you regain control of your racing heartrate, you realize that the song playing isn’t what you’d put on originally. It had switched to a gentle, classical piece. Tchaikovsky, you think… or something similar. Something that a man from a different era would be familiar with.

“Who’s there?” You find yourself saying, perhaps stupidly. “What do you want?”

There’s no response – of course there isn’t. You’re talking to the air. To a ghost. No one had gotten inside the house. You’d checked more than enough times, just as you always did.

“I live here now,” you offer, thinking that, perhaps anger is not the best course of action. Neither is fear, though, if the scary movies you’d watched as a teenager had been any indication. “But I’ll leave, if you want me to.”

There’s no answer to that either.

You sigh, and deflate once more, trying to make yourself believe that there was a logical explanation to knives flying and playlists changing. Just as you’d made yourself believe that everything the “ghost” had done before was just a game, innocently played.

Perhaps, there was never a ghost at all. It could be that stress is driving you to insanity.

With a glass of wine in your hand, you finish up dinner, feeling like you are at your wit’s end. How is it that only a few weeks in this house has already singed your mind, turned you into a believer of things that you are not?

The portrait feels like an omen, staring at you with violet eyes, as you wonder where Fyodor is now. Does he watch you when your home, cooking, as you shower, a vicious gaze tracing over each curve of your body, with a sickening thought of all the things he wishes to do to you?

You shiver. It’ s been a while since anyone’s looked at you with a hint of desire. The feeling has become foreign, now, but you can still recall the gratification that comes with being wanted, how it makes you feel, if only for a moment, comfortable in your own skin.

That thought alone quickly snaps you out of your irrational behavior. Thinking of a ghost wanting you? A man that had been buried in the earth for so long that his body would be nothing more than bones?

This house was making you sick, you concluded, wrapping your leftovers up in plastic and tinfoil, placing them in the fridge. Your nervous friend was right – you never should’ve moved into this house, and you never should have stayed this long.

Your hands shook along the banister, heart racing around every corner. You expected that, maybe, you would see a dark-haired spirit there, his body translucent, but still corporeal. Though, there was no spirit hiding within the depths of the shadows, lurking in the places where he still belonged. No sounds startled you, caused you to jump as you brushed your teeth, completed the one last routine of your day.

The bed was colder than usual as you climbed into it, like a flush of a cold spot had settled within the sheets. You remembered what they said about temperatures and ghosts—how they changed, nothing able to survive in the places that they haunted, as they were not of this world, but something in between, something unnatural.

Your lamp flickers as you turn it on, and it’s just one more red flag you choose to ignore. In houses as old as this one, there are issues like that. The wiring is faulty, the electric needs to be monitored, a laundry list of items you will probably never resolve.

There are a thousand rational conclusions, though, and only one irrational one, which puts your mind at ease. Things like flickering lamps and cold spots can be explained simply, even if knives flying at your face cannot.

Still, you settle into bed, deciding that you will talk to the realtor again soon. You’ll move in with Sigma if he’ll have you. Anything to put your mind at ease for good.

That night, you dream of Fyodor, as if he is there right in the room with you, looming above you with those deep, violent eyes. His fingers, long and pale, trace across your cheekbones, as your eyes flutter open, consciousness coming back to you.

He says your name – it’s no surprise he knows it, after living with you for so long. It’s spoken softly, with a hint of possession behind it, like you belong to him. And yet, you’ve never said a word to him, even if all this time, he’s gotten to know you better than anyone else ever has.

You expect a scream to leave your throat, some hint of surprise, of fear, even, to see a stranger in your bedroom. To see him watching you with those familiar eyes, hair falling over his pale forehead as he gazes down at you from the edge of the bed.

No sound emerges.

Your mind feels a little fuzzy, hazy at the edges as you blink at him, closer to a state of intoxication, than you are alertness. Despite that awareness, you can’t seem to snap out of it; maybe you don’t want to. Instead, you sink deeper into the warmth, the honeyed feeling that comes with turning off your rationality. Everything feels as if it’s coming through in blurred, rosy glasses.

“Fyodor,” you mouth, instead of the scream that you’d anticipated, his name coming out in two wistful syllables.

You should hate him – there’s something in your instincts pushing back at you. A flash of a knife, the days of chaos and uncertainty, where you were sure you were losing your mind, come back at you.

But none of that seems to matter now, as you trace your finger across his cheek, feeling the sharp indent below the high bone. His eyelashes are a shade lighter than his hair, soft as they flutter over his forehead. The portrait of him didn’t do him justice… or perhaps, it is in death that he has found his purest form.

“I’m too tired.”

You’re not sure where those words even come from. Calm, like this is nothing but routine, and waking up with Fyodor beside you is the closest thing to normalcy.

He smiles at you, leaning over you again on the bed, lips pulled tightly together in a morbid grin. It does little to sour your mood, to scare you into action, even if you can’t quite understand why.

“I know,” he replies.

It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak, a deep, accented sound smoothing against your ears as he traces his gaze against each of your features; musical, almost. His voice calms you, lulls you back into a meditative state.

You reach for him, in a trance, and twirl a strand of his hair between your finger, just to see if he’d let you. After the hell you’d been through the past week, well – was it really that miserable? He seems content to watch over you, observe the gentle movements of his dark hair coiled up around your pointer finger.

“Why are you here?” you ask, your voice softer than a whisper, carried away by the wind until it never existed at all.

Fyodor never disappears from your line of sight, even when you try to blink, to close your eyes. He’s there, gazing at you with a lustful fondness, one that’s dangerous, perhaps even malicious. If it’s a dream, it sure feels like a vivid one.

“You wanted to leave,” he says, taking your finger away from his face, before bringing it to his lips. The kiss is barely there, and his mouth is cold, chapped, from the brutality of the afterlife. “I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Hm?” You try to sit up. It takes more effort than it should’ve – you’re so relaxed, so weak, that you fall back down, letting yourself sink into the plushness of the pillow. “Why?”

Fyodor releases your hand, before touching his own finger to your mouth. It’s slender, like a piece of ice, gently parting your lips before grazing your chin, hovering over your neck. Then, he drops his touch to your collarbone. He stakes a claim on every inch of your skin, pausing as he reaches your chest, still covered by the blankets.

Your clothing is thin – it wouldn’t take much effort to get his cool hands on your bare skin. But he refrains, still smiling before answering your question, tucking his hands together onto his lap. “It’s been so long.”

It doesn’t make sense, but you can’t muster up the effort to question him, not when he’s contemplating every word, like he’s hesitant to scare you away. You let him think, watch him ponder, as you stare, too exhausted to move a muscle.

“I thought you’d be like all the rest,” he says, taking a seat next to you on the bed, nearly touching your hip. “They were nothing but filth, stains in these halls. It’s a crime for them to ever think that they belonged here. In my home.”

You blink. “It’s my home, too,” you say, suddenly filled with an immense amount of dread. It crawls up your neck, chokes you, and nothing leaves you but garbled sounds, as you panic.

Fyodor doesn’t move – there is no twitch in his features, as he watches you with disguised adoration, a kind you didn’t think a ghost capable of revealing. “Of course it is, darling,” he says, so softly, it could’ve been mistaken for kindness. Fyodor leans down, presses his cold, dead lips to your cheek, a kiss of death. “That’s why I couldn’t let you leave. It’s your home. You belong here.”

“Right,” you breath, steadying yourself, before nodding. “My home.” Once more, you gaze around the room, your eyes flicking over every surface. Things are exactly as you’d left them, nothing out of place. “With you?”

The ghost smiles, and reaches out to you, finally helping you into a seated position. Your neck is so stiff, in pain, and you roll it around, feeling nothing there when you expect shifting bones. “With me,” Fyodor confirms, running his icy fingertips across your throat, tangling them with your hair.

He leans into you, pressing a lingering kiss to your mouth, one that catches you off balance, before you accept it with an eagerness that surprises you further. It doesn’t feel unfamiliar, instead, it’s as if you’re coming home, like the man you’ve never seen until now was always meant to find you.

A thought that should’ve scared you, even though it doesn’t.

Fyodor pulls away, right as you begin to shift forward, maneuver yourself onto his lap. “You should rest,” he replies, keeping you at a distance. “It might take some time to adjust.”

“Hm? What do you mean?” you blink, holding onto his wrist as your gaze shifts from his impossibly dark eyes to the mirror across the room.

There, in the darkness of the evening, shrouded in moonlight, you can see your reflection staring back at you, eyes vacant, lifeless. You expect to see yourself as nothing but exhausted, but when you draw your gaze across the image of yourself, there is blood seeping from your neck, a stream of scarlet. There is thick gash across your throat, slashed so deep that it would’ve killed you instantly.

The expression on your face shifts from one of calm to horror, as you scrape at your neck, trying to clear off the blood that isn’t really there, the permanent wound that will follow you even into your death.

“What did you do?” you scream, tears rolling down your cheeks, even though you can’t feel them, can only see them in the mirror. “What did you do to me?”

Fyodor smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. Though you fight against him, he takes you into his arms, and you are too weak to fight him off. “I told you,” Fyodor says, shushing you, running his palm over your head as you scream. “I couldn’t let you leave.”

thank you for reading !

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eatfishies · 22 days ago

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your touch sets me ablaze | 🔞

summary: Rafayel is determined to make all your worries go away.

Rafayel giving his "Miss Bodyguard" the time of her life.

word count: 3.5k words tags: NSFW, rafayel x reader (afab), porn without plot, oral sex (cunnilingus), clit play, swearing, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, exhibitionism, overstimulation, public sex (or semi..? idk), pet names, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship fish notes: rafa fingers owo .. that’s it . i jus have an obsession w his pretty fingers ok . hehe hope all of u enjoy <3 ── ao3 link ★ ˙ ̟ | my twt !

The long-awaited day of Rafayel’s exhibition is finally here. She smoothed out her dress, ensuring that there is no speck of dust or any creases. The dress hugged her curves like second skin, a dark blue shade that matches the ocean — she heard it faintly as she fixed herself on the mirror. The tidal waves swished around with fluidity as the birds chirped merrily, giving her a sense of peace despite the gnawing anxiety bubbling up inside her. She sighed, biting her lip as she mulled over her thoughts when the door opened, revealing Rafayel.

Dressed in a white buttoned shirt, paired with a dark blue suit jacket and black tailored slacks. He looked mesmerizing as he always does whenever she sees him. Many people claim that Rafayel’s paintings are beautiful, each brushstroke has its own story and together, mixed with the soft colors is enough to draw someone in. It was easy to get lost in his artworks hence why his buyers are eager to get their hands on the latest pieces of his art. Every art dealer was entranced by the beauty of it. One could say, if you gaze at his painting, the sight of it could linger in your mind even as you slumber, dancing around and luring you into the depths of the ocean.

He smiled at her, his eyes roaming over her figure appreciatively, “Hey cutie, looking good there.” He walked towards her, placing his hands on her hips, “Why the long face…? It’s my exhibition, not yours.” She knows he was just teasing, trying to quell her dwelling thoughts but she can only give him a faint smile.

“I know that… I just…” She sighed, unsure of how to properly form her sentence. Her mind is constantly racing, overlapping each fleeting thought. “I’ve just been… overthinking about all sorts of things, I suppose. Maybe it’s just the stress of everything…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the side.

The Lemurian hummed, studying his lover’s face with deep concentration, “Well, we still have some time left to kill. Do you wanna do something to take your mind off things?” His hands cupped her face gently, making her stare at his handsome face.

“Uh… I’m not sure.” She responded, still preoccupied with her troubles.

Rafayel’s hands fall to the side before grabbing her wrist and leading her out of the bedroom and into the center of the studio. He gently pushed her down to the couch, “Stay here.” He said before stalking off to grab something from the desk. She could only watch with curiosity, wondering what Rafayel had planned to distract her.

When he came back, he was holding a box of Pile It Up. She couldn’t help but smile, already feeling a surge of competitive spirit bubbling inside her. “Oh, you’re so on!” She grinned at him.

And yet, after a few minutes of playing, she felt the same thoughts resurfacing. Rafayel didn’t need to be told twice to know that his partner is deep in her worries, he could see the frown etched on her features or the way she subtly tapped her fingers repeatedly against the block.

He sighed, standing up and taking a seat next to her, “I hate seeing you like this.” He paused, searching her face before caressing her cheek tenderly, “We don’t need to talk about it but I wished I could take all your troubles away. It makes me sad to see you look so blue.”

A small hint of guilt crept up, she forced herself to hold Rafayel’s gaze. “I’ll be fine, really. Just… stress, the usual.” She spoke tiredly, relishing the feeling of his hand on her cheek.

Suddenly, an idea popped up inside the painter’s head. “Then… let me put your mind at ease, yeah?” But before she could inquire, the Lemurian pulled her into a soft kiss, effectively drowning out any single thought she had previously. Their lips moved languidly in a passionate yet loving kiss. His hands slid down to feel her curves, swallowing her needy whimpers as his fingers hiked the hem of the dress up, exposing more of her skin.

He gently laid her down and pulled away, hovering above her, admiring the way her lips are now swollen and glistened with his saliva. No doubt that the lipstick has smeared onto his mouth as well but he couldn’t care less, slowly inching closer to her most intimate place. She bit her lip, growing impatient at his deliberate and sensual movements but the words of protest died in her throat when Rafayel finally touched her clit, feeling the wet patch growing as he kept stroking her.

“You’re already so wet for me… you sure are eager, aren’t you?” He smirked as she gripped his arms and bucked her hips. “Come on, let me hear your pretty sounds, cutie.” He purred, effortlessly pulling her panties to the side and rubbing her slick folds. A string of moans and whimpers fell from her lips as Rafayel continued to touch her, staring intently as her expressions contorted to one of pleasure. The worry lines on her face, the frown and the anxiousness emitting off of her earlier are all gone, replaced by fervent lust and desire.

With a swift motion, Rafayel plunged two fingers deep inside her wet pussy. Her velvet walls clamping down tightly as he curled his digits, “Ha…! F- fuck! Raf…” She moaned out, it was the sound that he could never get tired of hearing. Her body writhed beneath her lover’s skilful ministrations.

“That’s it… keep feeling good around my fingers. You’re doing so well for me, baby.” He uttered sultry and low, pressing kisses on her neck before biting onto the flesh. He knew that once she was clear-headed, she would scold him for leaving a mark, especially when they were both due to attend his exhibition later. But Rafayel couldn’t care less, he was addicted to her scent, her taste, her sounds and everything about her makes him want to lose himself completely, surrendering himself to the woman he holds dear to.

The heat in her stomach coiled, the tell-tale signs of her climax approaching her as Rafayel fingers her faster and deeper, noticing the pitch of her moans getting louder. Her wet cunt squelched obscenely around his long digits as he worked to bring her close to her release. He licked her earlobe and nipped at it, “Be a good girl and come all over my fingers. Come on, you can do it, can’t you?”

Spurred by Rafayel’s encouragement, she squeezed her eyes shut as her pussy clenched tightly around his plunging fingers. “I’m… I’m close! I’m gonna come!” She cried out, her cunt clamping down on his digits as she came hard, pussy juice gushing out and all over his hand and wrist.

“Good girl. You did so great, my little conch.” He pulled his soaked fingers out and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. Rafayel felt a swell of pride at seeing the state of his lover like this, she’s no longer concerned with troubling thoughts or anxieties. Only a look of pure bliss.

He brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of her. “You taste divine, my love.” A blush spread through her cheeks as she stared at the sight of Rafayel delightfully tasting her essence.

“But… I’m not done yet. Not even close.” His voice drops an octave lower as he spread her legs wide and tugged her damp panties off, tossing them on the floor. Her cunt fluttered around nothing, dripping with slick from her orgasm earlier. “I can’t wait to devour you.” And with that, he leaned in and lapped her pussy tentatively, keeping his gaze fixed on her face as her fingers tangled in his purple hair, gripping it.

Debauched cries and moans bounced off the walls along with the erotic sounds of Rafayel eating her cunt out with vigor, like a man starved. “F- feels so good!” She whimpered as the Lemurian held her thighs, spreading them wider, giving him more access to her sopping core.

Unable to resist, Rafayel delved in deeper, sealing his lips around her clit and suckling the sensitive nub. He flicked his tongue faster, determined to bring his dear bodyguard to her peak once more. The needy sounds spilling from her lips were like music to his ears, urging him on, to give her the pleasure that she so desperately sought.

“D- don’t stop, Raf! Please!” Her hips bucked wantonly as she ground her slick cunt against his mouth. Rafayel smirked in response, letting her tug on his hair fiercely as he thrust his tongue deep inside her clutching heat, fucking her with his mouth, feeling incredibly turned on and eager to watch her fall apart beneath him.

He could feel her juices flooding his mouth, could taste her arousal coating his tongue. Rafayel could go on for days burying his head in between her legs, couldn’t ever get enough of her sweet essence. “Come for me. Come on my tongue like the good girl that you are.” He spurred, the words vibrating against her sensitive flesh.

The all-too familiar sensation coursed through her body as she moaned out, “I’m gonna come! Raf, I’m gonna come!” At that, Rafayel vigorously sucked hard on her clit, feeling her walls starting to flutter and clench around his plunging tongue. He could feel the heat of her core climbing, threatening to spill once more. The Lemurian easily slipped in two fingers, knuckle-deep into her dripping cunt. He pumped them in and out, curling them just so to hit that spot that made his lover writhe in utter bliss.

It was too much, the stimulation was overbearing as her body tensed, her thighs clamped around his head as she teetered on the brink. Rafayel gripped her hips tighter, holding her in place as he ate them out with wild, desperate abandon.

“Rafayel!” She cried out, arching off of the couch as her orgasm crashed over her for the second time. The painter moaned as he felt the flood of arousal coating his tongue and chin, lapping it up greedily as she shuddered and quaked beneath him. He could feel the way her walls gripped his fingers, sucking in and reluctant to let go, milking his hand for all it was worth.

“P- please… too much…” She whined, riding out the intense wave of her climax. Rafayel gave her dripping wet pussy one last lick before pulling back slightly to catch his breath. “I could just drown in your taste for the rest of my life.” He spoke breathlessly, slowly withdrawing his fingers and bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean, just like he did earlier.

Just as Rafayel was about to lean down and kiss her, the unmistakable sound of his ringtone snapped both of their attention. Rafayel stared down at her, a look of surprise on his face, “Let me get it.” He stood up and walked over to the desk, grabbing his phone. Frowning, he reads the message and pockets it away, looking back at her with a sigh. “It’s Thomas. Says we need to be at the exhibition in 20 minutes.”

A small part of her felt disappointed at the fact that they would need to go out soon but she wasn’t just the only one whos’ feeling it. Rafayel gazed at her with a slight pout, he had hoped to fuck her silly before they were called to the gallery. But alas, duties calls and if they stalled any longer, Thomas would suspect something was up, even though Rafayel is known for arriving late to his exhibitions or not even appearing at all.

“Should we just ditch this and not go?” He said exasperatedly, crossing his arms in annoyance. She smiled softly at him, sitting up straight and pulling her dress down, still panty-less underneath. She could feel her own slick running down her inner thighs, a faint blush spread through her cheeks as she briefly recalled the way Rafayel had brought her to climax twice.

However, her gaze lowered to the sight of Rafayel’s painfully hard and obvious bulge, straining against his pants. Biting her lips, she quickly squashed down any lewd thoughts, refraining from losing her focus by daydreaming about sinking her tight wet cavern onto Rafayel’s thick cock. No, she needs to get it together and actually drag her Lemurian lover to the gallery, lest they face the wrath of Thomas.

With a reluctant smile, she stood up and bent down to pick up her panties, slipping them on. “I guess it’s time to go. Come on, you pouty baby.” She pinched his cheek, earning a glare from her lover but it lacked no malice, instead filled with tenderness and love. Rafayel sighed dramatically, intertwining their fingers together, “Fine, fiiiiinee.”

As they began to walk towards the front door, she paused, “Ah wait, I need to grab something.” But Rafayel wouldn’t budge, clasping her hand tightly as he stared ahead. He leaned in and whispered hotly in her ears, “Just keep your panties on. Don’t think this is over just because we’re going somewhere.” Heat rises up to her cheeks at the suggestive implication, was Rafayel planning something? It was a risky move, she knew she should go and grab the short pants to wear beneath her dress but Rafayel only gripped his hold on her, sensing the slight confusion. “Trust me, cutie. I know a way to make the exhibition waaaay more entertaining.”

Alas, she gave in and nodded, “No funny stuff, alright!” She warned but Rafayel only smiled cheekily at her in response. “I’ll be a good boy and behave, dontcha’ worry, my darling.” He gave her a wink, a silent promise to be on his best behavior, yet there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes.

‧───────────────‧

The gallery was filled and buzzing with prestigious art dealers and other VIP guests, mingling around and admiring the exquisite artworks that were displayed on the walls. She stood to the side, a glass of champagne in her hand as she glanced at Rafayel who is, no doubt, forced to converse with the guests by Thomas. She hummed, taking in the scene before her, it was clear that Rafayel has always been popular but to witness it entirely was a different feeling. It warms her heart knowing that Rafayel is loved and cherished by many people here – a respected artist in his own field, earning awe-struck stares and quiet excited cheers.

She took a sip of her drink, enjoying her solitude when Rafayel sauntered over to her. “How is my princess doing?” He smirked, standing next to her, his gaze briefly flickering down to the hem of her dress. She could tell a thing or two about what he’s thinking, all of the thoughts are most likely inappropriate. “I’m doing okay.” She replied casually, “Shouldn’t you be talking to your esteemed guests? Wouldn’t want Thomas to come hurling complaints again, hm?”

At the mention of Thomas’s complaints, Rafayel grimaced and looked away, “Puh-lease, I’m his boss here, not him. He can’t control me, no matter how much he wants to.” His hand found their way on her hips, pulling her close. “Besides, I’m bored. Let’s go somewhere private, yeah?” Before she could voice out her objections, Rafayel immediately dragged her to the quieter, lonely

side of the gallery. There were no artworks framed on the walls nor are there any people here to disturb the couple. “Raf honey… are you sure we're allowed here? Isn’t this section of the gallery closed off?” Her voice tinged with uncertainty and maybe a little bit of unease at the blank and empty part of the gallery.

“It’s fine, no one ever comes home.” He reassured her, letting go of his hand and cupping her face, “Now, it’s just the two of us here.” Rafayel captured her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up desire from before into it. She could taste the remnants of her pussy juice, rendering her completely into a puddle of mess as Rafayel’s fingers trailed down and slipped underneath her dress with ease. She whimpered against his lips as Rafayel rubbed her clit through her damp panties, soaked from the pleasure she received back in the comfort of his home.

“R- raf… ah! Mhmm… we- we can’t” She murmured helplessly as Rafayel began to nip at her neck, licking the hickey he left there. It had bloomed beautifully, his mark on hers – a sign to everyone that she was his. Only his.

Of course, she hadn’t been a fool, she did try to cover up the hickey before they stepped into the exhibition but Rafayel wouldn’t stop pestering her and telling her to just leave it be. In the end, she caved in and proudly showed off the mark, albeit with much reluctance and embarrassment. Rafayel rasped, “Need you… need you here, right now.”

Swiftly, Rafayel tugged her panties aside and unzipped his pants, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants. He pressed her against the wall, her back facing him, “N- now?!” She sputtered but Rafayel was already stroking his aching shaft on her sopping wet mound.

He lined himself up, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance. Rafayel wanted nothing more than to slam inside, to consume her entirely, his body blazing with need but he knew she was still sensitive from the overstimulation. “Keep quiet, okay?” He whispered hotly before thrusting deep inside her slick walls, burying himself to the hilt, feeling it tighten.

“You feel so fucking good.” He gripped her hips, staring intently at his lover, biting her lips to stifle the moans and cries of pleasure. Without wasting any time, Rafayel set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward as he fucked into her dripping cunt with deep, powerful strokes. Anyone could walk in on them, going at it like rabbits in heat but all caution and care was thrown out of the window. Rafayel could only feel her wet, clasping heat, determined to bring her to the edge and make her feel good. There was no denying the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, if a guard were to catch them, they would no doubt be in trouble.

Then again, the risk is what makes it exciting. Rafayel groaned softly, nuzzling into her neck as she held back her cries of ecstasy, the familiar coppery tang of her blood sinking into her tongue from biting her lips too hard. Rafayel’s hands slid up to cup and knead her breasts through her dress as he pounded into her. The sensation was too much, her brain was all mushy as her pussy fluttered around him, sucking him in deeper, wanting more.

Her hands pathetically scrambled to hold onto the wall, squeezing her eyes shut as she desperately tries to not let a single sound fall off of her lips. Rafayel’s voice was low, “You're clenching me so tightly baby. Ha… what a dirty girl, taking my cock like this out in the open. You love this, don’t you?”

A whimper escaped from her throat as Rafayel slammed his hips forward fast and deep into her dripping, clinging heat. He noticed the way her breath quickened, her face etched in a fucked-out expression, losing herself to the overwhelming pleasure. Her pussy clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering wildly as he drove her closer to the edge.

Rafayel withdrew from fondling her breasts and gripped her face, turning her towards him as his lips met hers in a messy, desperate kiss, all tongue and teeth as he fucked her towards her release. “Come for me, you can do it. Come one more time for me on my cock.” He murmured against her lips, feeling his orgasm nearing.

He felt her body stiffened, coming undone as he drowned out all her cries with a wet, sensual kiss. Rafayel grunted, his hips stuttering and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside her soaked cunt. His cock jerked and pulsed as he pumped her full with his seed. Rafayel pulled away and panted, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, a sheen of sweat trickling down from their coupling. He gazed at her with adoring eyes, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before he reluctantly pulled out of her cum-filled cunt. Rafayel tugged the panties to the center of her clit, covering her as she caught her breath.

Wordlessly, Rafayel scooped her into his arms around her, letting her rest her head against his chest. Her eyes shut closed, her mind dancing around cloud nine from the intensity of it all.

“Let’s go home, my love.” He said softly as he made his way towards the exit, ignoring the curious stares and ogles from the people in the exhibition. When Thomas tried to question him, Rafayel dismissed him and continued to walk to his car, gently putting her down onto the passenger seat.

Once they were home, Rafayel put on a bath and scrubbed her clean with much affection. Afterwards, he prepared dinner and cuddled her, staring down at her peaceful expression as she slumber.

“I love you, my treasure.” He spoke quietly, kissing her forehead before falling asleep with his lover in his arms.

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bandgie · 8 months ago

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In Pixie Dust We Trust

synopsis: You're content with being Chris's best friend for all eternity. It doesn't matter how big your heart is, you're small where it matters most. That's what you think at least.

warnings: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, microphilia (reader is 7-10in/17-25cm), pussy eating, boobie sucking, reader used as a fleshlight (non-penetrative), cum eating (m!), jerking off, little bit of jealously in the beginning, does this count as monsterfucking? idk

notes: man, I did like 3 different rough drafts on this and said fuck it. ALSO?? I guess grammarly has limited help options now? fucking assholes

3.5k words

It would be impossible for Chris to hear you cheering for him amongst the dozens of shouting people, but you scream anyway.

“Go Chris!” You cup your hands around your mouth for extra volume, “Go, go, go!”

Mythics alike cheer for their representative species. Sirens, vampryes, lycans, and many more creatures roar for a winner. Despite the overwhelming number of Mythics, humans fill up a good portion of the audience to spur on Chris. He’s the only mortal in the swim meet, one of the rare humans to be able to compete against creatures like yourself.

Truthfully, you’re not too aware of the rules when it comes to swimming. Something about a certain amount of meters, certain strokes, and when you’re supposed to come up for air. The explanations went right over your head when Chris told them to you, but that doesn’t stop you from screaming your little lungs out.

“Jeez,” Felix rubs his ear. “Who would’ve thought a little pixie like you could scream so loud.”

You give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry!” You decide it’s better to find a better sitting spot. Felix’s shoulder is always your go-to seat, but you don’t want to burst his eardrums from your screams. Your wings flutter rapidly, raising you high until you plop on his blonde hair.

At least you didn’t have to pay for a seat. Being the mere size of a hand, you can easily sit on someone instead.

You lean to one side of Felix’s head, “This better?” He nods, making your grip on his hair so you don’t slip off. “Yeah. You can cheer for your human boyfriend all you want now.” Felix’s head lightly shakes as he laughs. A sheep shade of crimson creeps up your neck and you yank on his hair. “Shut up! He’s not my boyfriend!”

You only feel a little bad when Felix whines. He reaches his hand to fight you with the wiggle of his fingers that you slap away while giggling. “Ouch! That hurt.”

“Whatever,” you slap the final finger away. “You deserved it.” Felix scoffs, rolling his eyes though you can’t see. “For what? Saying the truth? I’m a nymph, baby. You can’t hide those feelings from me.”

Now it’s you who rolls their eyes. As much as you would want to argue with Felix, he’s right. You may have the best friend title when it comes to Chris, but you want Chris in a way you know you shouldn't. You want to feel him hold you, have his lips pepper kisses all over your magical body until you can’t breathe. He doesn’t know how much you yearn for him when you sit on his shoulder, your wings bashfully fluttering when he talks low just for you to hear.

It doesn’t do any good for you to think like that. It’s better to blink those thoughts away and keep cheering, pretending you’re perfectly fine with being Chris’s tiny best friend.

But pretending is never easy for a pixie. Having such a small body does nothing to lessen the emotions you feel. Felix is doing everything he can to keep you from flying away and sobbing your heart out. When you two went looking for Chris to congratulate him on placing in the top three, neither of you expected the many female Mythics and humans to praise him.

“Hey! He’s just feeling excited from the race, he’s just super hyped right now.” Felix laughs nervously. “It’s no biggie. They’re just all congratulating him.”

You wish that were true or that you believed it. Instead, you’re frozen at the sight of Chris smiling from whatever they’resaying. One of them goes as far as to whisper in his ear, earning a deep blush from his wet face. Felix panics more. “She just- She said- oh damn.”

It shouldn’t bother you. If anything, you should be happy that Chris is finally getting the attention he deserves. He deserves people supporting him. Someone who can give him a happy, normal-sized relationship even if they aren’thuman. Not a pixie who is barely bigger than the size of his hand.

You blink your tears away, ignoring the ugly lump in your throat as you dejectedly fly next to Felix’s face. “It’s fine. Let’sjust go.” Felix whips his head to you, eyes wide with sincerity. “No! Pixie, we came out here for him. We can at least say hi then leave right after.”

There’s a twinge of hope in his eyes. Felix has been rooting for you since you told him about your unrequited love. Although you would roll your eyes at his support most of the time, it did boost some confidence in you. Now you realize it was all foolish. A stupid dream you should have kept sleeping.

You shake your head, “I can’t face him, Lix. Not when every girl in this damn city is trying to make him their mate. It’snot like he’d notice me leaving anyway.”

“You’re leaving?” Chris’s voice makes you and Felix jump. His hair is flat against his head from the diving cap he was wearing. It drips with water, leaking down his beautiful face to his naked torso. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

It’s only for a brief moment that you’re stunned. You weren’t prepared to see him so quickly. “Y-”

“No,” Felix quickly interrupts you. “She meant when is everyone else gonna leave. It’s so stuffed in here.” Felix looks at you wide-eyed as if to say don’t say anything before looking at Chris. “But dude! Congratulations!”

Chris’s signature dimple appears on his face. He wraps an arm around the nymph’s shoulder and brings him in for a hug.“I totally thought I was gonna get last. Those sirens are fucking fast.”

The embrace doesn’t last too long, not when Chris is eager to hear you praise him.

“Yeah,” you nod. “It was really impressive. I’m so proud of you!” It’s hard for you to do your normal joyful screaming, not when the bashful look he gave the mythic girl still lingers in your mind. You try to wipe the memory from your mind to focus on the mortal winner standing before you. The half-naked mortal winner that is.

“Yeah?” Chris lightens up at your words. His shining eyes warm your heart and your jealousy suddenly feels silly. “Fuck yeah! I knew you were gonna at least place in the top 5. But top 3? That’s Olympic shit right there.”

The flush on Chris’s face says it all. He rubs the back of his neck and giggles, a small squeak emitting from the back of his throat. “I would say thaaat.”

Felix laughs at the two of you, patting Chris on the shoulder. “I saw this Korean restaurant nearby - it looks super good. Minho told me that the chefs are all human. We should go before it gets packed!” The three of you look amongst each other and nod, humming about how hungry Chris must be.

“You can save a spot for us, Felix,” Chris smiles at him. “We’ll be there soon.”

You and Chris wave Felix goodbye. You wait until he’s out of earshot before you ask Chris, “Are we gonna meet up with him later?”

Chris smiles ear to ear. “We are. I was really hoping you’d come back to my place for a surprise.” Excited is the best word to describe him right now. His eyes shine with what you think is mischievousness. You can’t help the butterflies in your stomach. You smile at him back, “Now? Dressed like that?”

“Oh shit.” Chris suddenly becomes aware of his nude attire, save for the tight speedo. “Let me change first, then we’ll to mine.”

The naughty look on his face wasn’t for nothing. Chris didn’t necessarily plan to have you like this; nude and whimpering, but he isn’t complaining either. His intentions were pure, really. He had set up his apartment all sweet, miniature roses that could easily fit in your palms as he asked you to be his lover.

You thought of everything wrong at first. How strange it might look for your dainty self to be involved with a human. For him to practically live in the waters while you stay in the sky. Different, too different to work you said. You couldn’t help but think of all the other Mythics flocking to him; ones that he could benefit from and most importantly, ones that he can properly love.

Yet, all your worries were washed away in his eyes, full of love and compassion. He would love you because you’re you, no matter what size.

Now you’re thinking there won’t be enough time to meet Felix at that restaurant he’s been revving about when Chris’stongue ravages your body. Kissing him felt weird enough, your lips barely able to lock with his bottom one. But having him lick and suck on every part of your body easily took the cake.

Chris is holding you gently in his palm, your wings tightly tucked into your back so he doesn’t accidentally get them wet. The tip of his tongue dips down into your cunt before it swipes up to your breasts. You can tell he’s trying to be romantic about it, but there’s nothing soft in the way he suckles on your tits, how his saliva drips down the curve of your mounds onto his palm.

“Shit,” you moan when Chris finds your sweet, tiny pussy again. “You’re getting me so wet.” In response, Chris pulls away. You whine at the loss of contact. Your body shivers in his hold from the lack of his hot mouth.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” But he doesn't look apologetic at all. Not when he’s looking at you as if he might take a bite. Not when he licks his lips at the sight of your body spread out in his palm, twitching and soaking.

You reach a small hand up and grab the tip of his nose, earning a giggle from his pretty lips. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” you push yourself up with an elbow to nuzzle against his face. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” the tips of his ears burn redder. “I like it too.”

The two of you share a laugh before you sprawl yourself back in his hold, opening your legs so his large tongue touches you where you need him most. Chris obediently nuzzles his tongue onto your cunt, flicking it upwards. Your hips chase the feeling, arching and twisting until he has to restrain you.

“Nooo,” you gently whine when he uses his fingers to pin your hands above your head. “Wanna feel it.”

Chris smiles, directing you to flatten your feet, spread your thighs, and arch until your back is completely lifted from his palm. It’s a weird position, but you wiggle in excitement when he leans his head down. “You will, baby,” he reassures.“Just gotta listen to me for a little, okay?”

You nod, forcing yourself still when you feel the familiar muscle on your core. It’s nearly similar to when you had the freedom to move, but there’s an extra layer of pleasure from being held back. For his tongue lick up and down, reaching up high to your stomach down to your ass. Chris doesn’t have to add much pressure, not when his tongue is half the size of your entire self.

The first taste of your orgasm builds when he swipes his tongue side to side. It moves your vulva perfectly, not focusing so much on your sensitive nub. Your hands grip his fingertips and you moan. “Channie…i’mma cum.”

He hums against your body, acknowledging your impending orgasm. Chris is too busy trying to get you on his taste buds. It’s more of a hint than a flavor of your pussy. If only Chris could drown in it. To feel these small thighs wrap around his head and yank him closer until all he can sense is you. But having your boobs and pussy in his mouth nearly at the same time is a huge win for him regardless.

Your walls clench, a clear sign that you only have mere seconds before you cum. Maybe you could ask Chris to put justthe tip of his pinky finger in. It would stretch you so much, so good. If you can’t take his cock, you’ll take the next best thing.

“In,” you mewl. “Want it in me.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at you, clearly confused by what you mean. He can’t put anything in you, he doesn’t even want to think about it. He shakes his head with your pussy in his mouth, back to focusing on the task at hand.

“Channie!” You nearly scream his name. “Please! I’ve been good. I’ve been so good! Just the tip of your finger and-”

He sucks hard, making your entire body move from the suction. You wail, digging the back of your head further into his palm. He sucks and licks, obviously trying to get your mind off of being filled and instead finishing on his tongue. It works because all you can think about is flooding Chris’s mouth with your juices. You think about how good it’s going to feel to have his big tongue on you, licking you up.

You dig your nails into his fingers and tense. Chris places the tip of his tongue perfectly on your clit and you finally cum.

He holds you while you shake. Chris can feel the trembling of your body, he can taste the essence of your orgasm, and he can hear your pretty little moans as you tip over. He can’t help but giggle at how your little hips roughly rock against his tongue. Deciding to give you a different sensation, Chris puts his tongue back in his mouth and puckers his lips instead. The plushness is the best way to ride out your high, gentle and soft.

You collapse in his hands when you come down. You can only whimper when he carefully nuzzles your body against his face affectionately. Chris peppers kisses on your body, from the top of your head to the soaked place between your thighs. It helps get you refocused by grounding yourself from his touch. You return his kisses, placing your hands on either side of his cheek and feeling his mouth against yours.

It feels like he’s trying to swallow you or maybe not trying to. You can’t really tell, but you don’t really mind. All you care about is how he whimpers against your lips, making you concerned about his state.

You pull from his lips and adjust in his hands until you’re sitting. “It hurts. Doesn't it, Channie?” You don’t need to specify what you’re talking about. Not when you can see the need in his eyes, the pout in his lips. Chris nods, almost ashamed.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “I dunno what to do about it.”

He looks so dejected, so lost. Your wings untuck from your back and flutter until you’re lifted in the air. Chris’s eyes drop to your breasts as if he wasn’t just drooling on them minutes ago. You snap your fingers until he looks into your eyes. “I know what to do. Why don’t you sit down for me and let me take care of you now.”

You can tell he’s hesitant. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know how he wants to. Chris easilylistens to your instructions; how you want him stripped from the lower half, sitting on the couch with his legs sprawled open so his hard, leaky cock is pretty on display.

Chris looks nervous, you can tell by how he grabs a nearby pillow and hugs it to his chest. “Are you sure, baby? I don’twant you to hurt yourself.”

How endearing your lover is. Willing to sacrifice his pleasure for your comfort.

You fly to his lap and rest on a meaty thigh. “You don’t gotta worry your pretty little head about nothing, Channie.” You reach out a hand to rub it against his cock. “I can handle it.”

Before he can say anything else, you quickly find your place on his shaft with your back facing him. You gasp at the warmth, the thickness of his cock between your legs. Your body is already wet from your orgasm, so it’s easy to gently slide against him. The veins from his cock seem huge this closeup and you can’t help the shiver that runs through your body when your clit goes over one.

“You’re so big Channie,” you hum, looking back. “Almost as big as me.”

Chris giggles shyly, adjusting in his seat so he slightly slouches against the cushions. You turn back to face his tip and place your little hands on his dick to balance yourself. A whine leaves Chris’s throat when you grind against him higher. Your hands reach out to play with his tip, swirling around the sensitive flesh and having your fingers rub against his slit.

His hips thrust up and you let out a surprised squeal.

��S-shit, sorry,” he moans. “I didn’t mean to.” Chris is being so careful not to have you slip off, but it’s nearly impossible for him to keep still. Not when he can see your entire body jerking him off, your little ass humping his cock so nicely. He especially loves the wet trail that you leave behind with every grind.

You laugh, “It’s okay. Just means you’re feeling good.”

Since you’re just slightly bigger than his length, you decide it would be better to lay completely flat on his cock and slide yourself that way. It’s silly though, humping his dick in a way that reminds you of the nights you spent on your tiny bed touching yourself at the thought of Chris. Now, you’re able to put all that practice to good use.

With your legs wrapped around the base, you find it much easier to slide yourself. To go at a speed that has Chris moaning and fisting his hands into the sofa. Your tongue lolls from your mouth as you moan with him, effectively adding moisture that makes everything wetter.

“Baby! Baby, baby, you’re gonna make me cum just like that.” Chris pants. One of his hands shoots down below his cock, tugging his balls to help get him closer. You tilt your head to look down at the sight, whimpering at how he holds and rubs his sack.

It makes you go faster. You practically squeeze his cock with your limbs almost painfully. Chris only finds pleasure in your hold though. Without thinking, Chris wraps his other hand around his cock and you. Your wings immediately find cover behind your back so they don’t get damaged. The hand around you tightens slightly.

“You want me to use you, hm?” Chris carefully drags you up and down his length. “Be my little cocksleeve, is that it?” You can’t even be a fleshlight to him, but you can be useful. it’s near impossible to nod with how he’s holding you, but you let out a breathy yes. Your arms are locked at your sides from his grip, legs open and limp so he has more access to use you how he wants.

You underestimated how slippery you would get. How his precum would leak onto your hair and face. A part of you thought it would be uncomfortable being pressed up against his cock like this, but all you can feel is how warm he is. It feels good to have him use your body like this, having your clit brush against his girth.

Chris isn’t as careful this time, not that you mind anyway. He grunts with every drag, squeezing your body tighter until you whimper. You feel his cock twitch under you and your cunt clenches in response.

“Fuckin’ shit,” he grunts. “Wrapped around my cock so tight.”

You whimper. There isn’t a chance that you would be able to cum again. Your cunt is roughly pressed against his dick to get any real friction, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling any pleasure. “You’re using me so good, Channie. You gonna cum on me too?”

There isn’t a need for Chris’s confirmation. Not when the hot spurt of his release spews from his cock. You can’t see how far it shoots up, how it lands up to his thighs and leaks onto his hand. The only ounce of cum you get is on the top of your hair, a sticky, warm glob of white.

Chris releases you quickly, letting you get the proper chance to breathe and rest on his pulsing cock.

It doesn’t last long, not when two hands carefully lift you and bring you close to Chris’s face. His neck is a deep shade of red. The blood rushes to his face to give off a pink hue. Even the tips of his ears burn with the same color. As fucked out as he looks, he still has the energy to give you an endearing smile.

Your lips twist shyly, “Why are you looking at me like that? You know I’m completely covered in your cum, right?” But Chris only leans in and uses his nose to nuzzle against your face.

“Mhm. My very own pixie dust.”

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz bangchan #skz bang chan #bangchan fic #christopher bang #bang chan smut #chris skz #chan smut #skz chan smut #bang chan

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all4seth · 10 months ago

Note

can u write something with seth being more touchy than usual nd ppl noticing nd teasing him about it, nd like u can write the rest😔❤️IDK IF U TAKE REQUESTS ND ITS FINE IF U DON'T DO U, LOVE UR WRITING💞

seth clearwater x reader

summary: you and seth attend edward and bella’s wedding that takes place in the evening (unlike in the movies where it's noon or something)

i barely ever write anymore, i’m so sorry you had to wait this long for this 😔

i clumsily entered the living room and as i did, two pairs of eyes measured me up and down before my parents jumped up and hugged me.

“you look stunning sweetheart” my mom said, tucking strands of my hair behind my ear. “i knew this shade of purple would look incredible on you”

“thanks, mom”

“i thought you weren’t supposed to show up looking prettier than the bride” my dad joked.

i rolled my eyes and hugged him, just as the doorbell rang. i followed behind my parents, nervously fidgeting with my dress. as soon as they opened the door, they stepped aside, revealing my boyfriend.

my handsome boy.

he was holding two bouqutes of flowers, one of which he handed to my mom, who accepted it happily.

as his gaze met mine, his eyes widened and the world stood still, like it did the first time we ever saw each other.

“you are so beautiful”

my parents made us pose for a picture and they watched us in awe as we headed towards the car.

seth wrapped his arm around my waist and i gently let my head fall onto his shoulder.

“whose car is this?”

“billy lend me jacob’s since he’s… you know”

he started the engine and drove slowly, since it was still quite early.

“i still can’t believe edward and bella are getting married! i mean, everyone knows how in love they are, but still, this is huge! and they’re both just 18” i blurted out.

“it is kind of mind blowing"

seth placed his right hand on my thigh and my heart skipped a beat.

“is this alright?”

“yes” i answered and gave him a huge smile, which he must’ve seen, even though his eyes were glued to the road, because a shy smile quickly grew on his face.

"do you think they’re too young though?" seth asked, after taking a few moments to compose himself. "bella and edward, i mean”

“they are, they’re just about to graduate. on the other hand, they love each other and love drives us all crazy” i giggled.

“do i make you crazy?” seth asked jokingly.

“soo insane, but i bet it’s nothing compared to the other way around”

“i’m crazy about you” seth looked at me for a slight moment and my heart jumped again.

“i’m crazy about you too, seth, you have no idea”

after a little while, he pulled into the cullens’ driveway and reached for my hand as he opened the door for me.

i placed my palm in his and kissed him briefly. his face lit up and he kept me close, his arm around my waist.

we were warmly welcomed by esme, who led us to the garden.

fairy lights hung from the trees, resembling fireflies. a few rows of wooden seats were placed before the altar that stood covered in white, dainty flowers, much like the rest of the place. some of their petals had fallen on the ground, giving the scene a fairytale-like air.

seth placed his warm hand on my lower back and kissed my cheek.

“are you alright, sweetheart?”

“it’s beautiful” i stated, still in awe of the remarcable scenery.

“so beautiful” he whispered.

i turned to him, but he was already looking at me.

we sat down and people started showing up.

finally, bella walked down the aisle, holding tightly onto her father’s arm. edward stood patiently, looking at her as if it was only the two of them, nothing else mattered. tears streamed down my face, overwhelmed by the beauty of it all.

they vowed and kissed and it hit me - there’s no such thing as ‘too early’ when it comes to love. it’s all about taking risks and putting your pride aside, because once you find the one person you know was made for you, you must hold tightly onto them.

“i love you so much” i whispered to seth.

“i love you too, beautiful” he gently placed his right hand on my hair and kissed my forehead.

his left hand stayed on my thigh, while the other fell onto my shoulder.

once the party started, seth and i were separted by the crowd, when bella pulled me aside.

“congratulations, sweet girl, you did it!”

i embraced her into a hug, and when i tried pulling away, she held me a bit tighter and whispered "not yet, i just need a moment"

"wow, you're a mess!" i laughed, referring to her makeup, which was mostly gone, due to her crying multiple times. "but you're a pretty mess and i don't blame you; God knows how many times i cried during the ceremony and it's not even my wedding!"

"it's so not safe for me to cry here, alice yells at me and emmett makes fun of me"

“where’s he taking you for the honeymoon?” i asked, excitedly.

“i really don’t know, he won’t tell me” bella laughed.

suddenly, i felt a hand on my waist and felt seth’s lips on my shoulder.

“well, hello to you too” i laughed and pecked his lips.

bella giggled awkwardly and looked around for her groom, who was at her side in an instant.

“you better slow it down, seth, these people seem too tired to handle another wedding tonight” edward joked and we all burst out laughing, but seth’s hands remained glued to my hips.

after a few moments, they both laughed as if one of them had cracked some joke bella and i couldn't hear, so she and i simply exchanged a suspicious look.

the newly wed couple was quickly stolen away from us by the other guests, and seth and i found ourselves wandering towards the quiet forest.

we got to a dimly lit opening; “a thousand years” could still be heard from the speakers.

“how can i love when i’m afraid to fall?”

seth tenderly let his hands fall onto my hips and looked me in my eyes and the same feeling came right back into my chest.

“all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow”

i let my head rest somewhere between his chest and his shoulder, while we slow danced.

"i have died everyday waiting for you/ darling don't be afraid, i have loved you for a thousand years"

seth and i hummed along and mumbled the lyric "i'll love you for a thousand more"

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p0rk-guts · 1 year ago

Text

Velvette if she served cunt

Design breakdown below 👇🏾(BEWARE IT'S VERY LONG)

Alright going into detail about my gripes and edits. Like Velvette but her design is just. Not good to me. None of her (main) outfit details look like they fit to me— pinstripe pants + long fur coat paired with black crop top and scene sleeves? Skull earrings? TINKERBELL HEELS????? Tell me how any of that meshes well or even makes SENSE for the social media influencer persona she's supposed to have going on. Now that I think about it I'm pretty sure she's supposed to be clown themed... But I'm just gonna toss that idea out bc being a revered social media influencer and a clown at the same time just seems a bit oxymoronic to me, and the "clown" details aren't adding shit for me.

And don't think I forgot about her features. Pale ash grey skin and wavy hair at best. If she was supposed to be some type of creature where a nonhuman skin tone would make sense then maybe I could let it go?? But as far as I can tell she doesn't have an object or creature or animal theme like the other V's and if she does I shouldn't need to do detective work to figure it out. There is no reason for *any* of these poc characters to have grey skin, especially since they don't have any other poc features at all.

Sorry that shit gets me heated anyways. Onto my redesign. Gave her a more obviously black skin tone and textured hair bc I love a 30 inch buss down as much as the next girl but considering how there are no significant poc cast members with visibly textured hair I think she deserves to flaunt some coils if no one else will.

Ngl I'm not. A fashion girlie. Idk what's trendy idk what screams "influencer" so a lot of this was just throwing shit at the wall that I've seen around recently but it looks cute enough to me. And there was a bit of inspiration taken from Aliyahcore and ghetto fabulous fashion ❤️

If you can't tell this is shamefully inspired by lovesart23's Velvette reimagining because imo they had some outstanding ideas for Vel. I low-key stole their idea for those floating eyes in her hair that follow her around and help her keep tabs on shit it was just a superb idea for a social media overlord to me. I also took some inspo from @furbtasticworksofart 's redesign because vampire influencer sucking up the souls of her followers in exchange for content??? Too good (also the eyes were supposed to have bat/vamp wings I just forgot 😭) So yeah she's a vampire demon now. Without the features she was looking too human anyhow. Maybe she also feeds off of the energy of her followers through tech like after Vox mind controls them or whatever... Idk idk is that anything

Speaking of Vox, the screen glasses are meant to connect her to him w/ their color and shape while serving the purpose of being like a second phone she can post and check the web with. Like lovesart said in their reimagining vid, Vel doesn't really do more than pose for selfies and scroll on her phone when it comes to social media so in my head she's constantly flipping her shades on and off, using them to scroll and stay active, and they can show when she's not paying attention or respect to something/someone bc scrolling is more worth her time in the moment.

The hearts everywhere are also supposed to kinda represent social media likes + connect her back to Val w/ his heart patterns. That might've been what the hearts in her og design were for but. I just didn't like their placement bc I'm a nitpicker and a hater❕

I have so much more I could say about possible ideas for Velvette because I love evil black girls and I only want them to succeed in my media and I could treat her so much BETTER but I'll refrain bc this is way too long anyway.

Alright for reading/scrolling through all that rambling I offer you the sketches + some alt hair ideas I had

P.S. I'm very open to constructive criticism but if I see anyone just dick riding in my replies or rb's I'm just blocking you on sight ✌🏾

#hazbin hotel #velvette #velvette hazbin hotel #velvette redesign #hazbin hotel redesign #my art #digital art #character design

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priestessame · 4 months ago

Text

❁ From the depths of your very soul, I seek the purest devotion ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

🦋Rafayel x Princess! Reader🦋

❁ IIतबाही पक्की है आग तू मैं पानी II ❁

. ❁ AFAB fem reader, fem pronouns ❁ Minors DNI .

Warnings: Sub/switch Rafayel, dom reader, Oral (receiving), teasing, overstimulation, praise, dirty talk, riding, Food play? very bad things done to a grape, penetrative sex, Master x captive play?????? Idk I have gone mad after the memory.

Malini held the perfume pot under your damp hair, humming her strange tune as the rich fumes curled around your chamber. Her fingers slid through your hair carefully, making you feel drowsier than ever.

It was well past evening and the orange sky had started to bleed through your percolated windows. Your laziness was nothing short of audacious, if you had any care for discipline, you would have been hurrying to get ready for the rituals in the castle. But right now you couldn't be bothered to even drape your robes correctly.

You could practically see how the high priest would be pacing in the prayer hall, fists clenched with frustration, quivering lips murmuring on how the heir had no regard for tradition.

You weren't supposed to keep the Gods waiting today.

Gods, you scoffed under your breath, surely they were too sleepy themselves to be bothered with all of this.

Nushkat tried her best to get some reaction from you, her bangles jingling as she comically imitated the high priest, sending another one of your handmaidens giggling as they set down your jewellery. The jewels glimmered in every shade under the sun, carved ivory and polished gold. But nothing appealed to you today.

It was difficult to get the princess excited about something. Not the gold nor the small army of handmaidens you couldn't bother to remember the names of, not even the glorious festival waiting for you outside.

If the princess, the Noor of the empire was bored. She was simply bored.

"Your Highness." One of your handmaidens tried, "The moon will be visible soon."

You could hear the scare in her voice, eyes pleading with you to finally start getting dressed.

It was a heavy responsibility to get you there on time, no one in the kingdom could break their fast until the palace rituals were completed, and there were no palace rituals without the heir so right now the princess was just starving the people because she couldn't be bothered to get dressed.

You waved Malini to stop drying your hair. "So it is." You hummed out, finding interest in the perfume pot now, opening it to find a small flame tickling over the carmofur.

"I hold no interest in these so-called Gods and their boring tales." you said aloud, "If they were even real, to begin with."

There was an odd silence following your words.

Your thoughts were too arrogant, practically beseeching the old gods to rain down their wrath on you. Your company exchanged uncomfortable looks while you smiled at the reaction. In a sadistic way, you liked putting them in such predicaments. Agreeing with the princess was invoking the fury of gods and disagreeing with her was... disagreeing with the princess.

Nushkat was the first to speak, "But Your Highness, the festival isn't all that boring." She said playfully.

You arched an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

The girl giggled, "I mean the story of course, about what happened between the Sea god and the princess all those years before! All everyone talks about is how the princess saved the Sea God and all that bogus about generosity and virtue and whatnot." Nushkat continued, rolling her eyes.

That was the story bludgeoned into your head as well, the tale of ebb and flow, where the old sea god drained of his powers is found by a kind princess who nursed him back to strength and he had blessed her lineage with prosperity. That was the festival you were supposed to be celebrating today.

"But what the Sea God did wasn't all that virtuous to begin with."

hmm

"Shut up Nushkat," Malini chastised her through her own blush, "Don't speak of such vulgarities before the princess."

Nushkat scowled, her almond eyes finding yours again, "They can't be vulgar if they're in our scriptures can they?"

"There's nothing such in our scriptures." Another one retorted, she used the end of her shawls to cover her mouth, eyebrows knotted with anger as if just the mention of the story itself was blasphemous.

Your fingers trailed over the open fire, the hungry flames trying to lick your fingers desperately.

"I swear!" Nushkat hissed out, "They even painted them! I know they keep them on the higher shelves of the royal archives."

You withdrew your hand before the flames got to char your fingertips, Malini opened her mouth, but you cut her to it, "Tell me more."

Nushkat grinned, happy to have finally gotten the princess's attention. She scurried towards you at once, plopping down on your duvet.

Her fingers dug into your shoulders, "When the princess found the God, she was moved to tears at his state. The lone sea god sat writing on the sand, his veshti had rolled up and on his bare skin she saw his scales, translucent and blue like they were made from moonstone." Nushkat picked up one of your earrings to emphasize, the coral-colored stone rippling in the light, "she saw them lacing up his back, and trailing down his thighs, his body taut with pain."

"With the blood moon rising, the tide had turned so wretched, that it drained the god of his powers. Now until the red moon would be high in the sky, the god would turn mortal, plagued with everything a human is. As the god turned mortal for the night, the winds became too cold for him, the tides too strong for him to swim back, the sharp reefs cut into his skin and he felt hunger for the first time."

Someone in the back gave a dramatic gasp and Nushkat tapped your chin lightly, "So when he saw the princess, her beauty captivated him so much, that he begged her to relieve him. To do something, anything to quell his maddening thirst."

Her words caused one of the girls to stumble over her skirts, and another one crawled closer, "And did she agree?" She asked, her voice bated, all too consumed by the scandalous story Nushkat was weaving.

You rolled your eyes, there was no head no tail to the story, why was the sea god suddenly squirming with desire on the beach? And what kind of princess just went wandering around alone at night?

But regardless, the prospect was intriguing to you. A God begging a human princess for relief, you thought, just imagining the scene sent a strange thrill down your spine.

Nushkat just might find herself cradling a pearl necklace back for finally striking the princesses' interest.

"The princess sliced her palm on his scales and fed him her own blood, her fingers ghosted over his taunt skin and he hitched under her touch,"

"And as they-" Nushkat suddenly stopped mid-sentence, her eyes glazing past your face with a new-found stiffness. Beside you, Malini made a small sound, and the other two scurried to cover their heads. The sudden change in your handmaidens' mannerisms told you who had shown up.

Rafayel leaned against the arched doorframe, hand parting the beaded curtain open, "Her Highness is late." He said simply. You look up innocently, not bothering to shift from your duvet. Admiring how lovely he looked in the amber robes you had tailored for him. As he moved, they fell over his body like water on a stone sculpture.

"I must have finally worn the high priest's patience." You said, "For him to send his favorite minion to fetch me."

Rafayel's face crinkled in a smile, "Who is he to command her highness?" His violet-blue eyes finding yours, "And who am I to fetch you?"

Your claim on him was brazen and shameless. Anyone who saw him could tell that the magician was the favorite toy of the vain, indulgent princess. He walked through the palace draped in clothes they knew came from your chambers, he had bells that rang every time he walked along the stone-cut halls and henna markings in your hand that showed crimson against his pale skin.

"leave us." you said, Malini shuffled on her feet, "B-but your Highness, you're not ready yet."

You gave her a bored look and she dared not repeat herself. The women excused themselves at once, wandering eyes sweeping past Rafayel's frame. Their footsteps echoed as they hurried outside the chamber.

Rafayel crossed his hand over his chest, "That Nushkat needs to keep her nose out of the Royal archives."

"Still you interrupted her story."

"How terrible of me." He mused, "But, Your Highness will get to hear a hundred stories about the sea God at the ritual." He said, his amber flame erupted on his fingers, dancing coyly for a moment before vanishing.

You groaned, "I wanted to know how that particular story ended." you said, rolling over so that you were lying down on your back.

It was a smart move to send him to get you. You'd give the high priest that, maybe that old geezer wasn't all that useless. He knew well that the only way to get the princess to show up was to pique her interest. Dangled a toy before a cat so she crept out of the corner. Plus, no matter your boredom, you just found it hard to deny Rafayel anything.

Somewhere you enjoyed the power you had on him, dressing him, feeding him, playing with him like he was just another one of your dolls. And he let you. That was really the catch, wasn't it? Rafayel never said no to your whimsies. He'd let you dress him in your favorite shades, let you tie little bells on his anklets. And when you'd want to paint, he'd let you trail his back in henna designs.

He gestured towards the robes laid out for you and you shrugged, "You sent all my maids running, I have no one to dress me."

A knowing smile played on his lips, he ran a hand over the blush-colored robes, the fabric seemed to seep through his fingers like water "Should I dress you then?"

This was too easy. You pushed yourself off the duvet finally at least sitting up.

You tilted your head gesturing him to go ahead.

Rafayel's cheeks were dusted pink, his fingers diligently pleating your robes, not daring to meet your gaze.

Your fingers trailed down his chest playfully, only ghosting over his skin as he figured the drape of the fabric.

"How do you think the sea god felt?' You asked, eyes not leaving his face.

"To find yourself at the mercy of a beautiful princess?" he said, "I can hardly imagine."

Your actions were already getting him worked up. Your fingers trailed down his tone chest, peeling the thin layer of silk so you could slip your palm up against his torso. You could see how deep his blush went, a ragged breath falling from his lips as his translucent scales peeked over his skin. They appeared every time you touched him, sprouting randomly, surfacing over his skin like little diamonds. You tugged him closer, blowing on the ones of his neck, making him quiver.

"Court magician," You hummed, "you're the one who creates flames, then why do you hiss like I scorched you?"

He pulled his doe eyes to meet yours, head tilting his a little. The heat in his gaze was masked with something playful yet dangerous, he took your wrist lightly, stopping you. "Your Highness", he warned, pressing your palm against the swell of his cheek, "You're being inappropriate." The slight pout on his face, the furrow of his brow wanted you to have him kneeling.

But you huffed, retracting your fingers, being obedient for once. Rafayel continued to measure the fabric around your waist. As he tucked it in his fingertips brushed against your bare midriff, but he seemingly brushed off the touch, before reaching to adjust the pleats across your chest. You remained quiet as he did, eyes gazing at the thin sheen of sweat lining his neck and the little scales that refused to melt back into his skin.

For a second, his fingers lingered on your waist slightly longer, thumb fanning over the smooth skin of your stomach before he could catch himself. You watched his eyelids flutter, his feverish eyes finally met yours and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him, so devoted and so lovely, like he could drown in reverence to you.

He just stared at you with that lovesick gaze as his fingers slipped under the fabric of your blouse, pushing it up to slide his fingers under your breasts. You jumped at his sudden touch, a faint blush covering your face as he continued to get bolder. Thumb grazing along your hardening nipple,

You took in a ragged breath, arching a brow "You're supposed to dress me Rafayel."

Something about him was so insatiable to you, "Didn't Your Highness want to know how the story ended?"

You pushed him against the duvet and he went willingly, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you to straddle him. The moon had brought in a pleasant coolness, the midnight hue of the sky leaving the lamps in your chamber to be the only light.

The low flame caught gold skittering over his bare chest, his eyes wandering shyly as you traced your fingers over his torso. From his chest to the slight dip of his waist.

You cupped his face, drawing him closer, "Great sea God." you hummed out, running your thumb over his cheekbone, "What has this wretched moon done to you?"

He drew in a breath, taking your wrist to leave a featherlight kiss "I'm weak and tired, princess." He whispered against your skin, "The moon has drained me of all my strength." He continues, tracing his lips along your arm, leaving a quick kiss to taste your skin, "I couldn't even push you off even if I wanted to."

The way his mouth felt on you burned into your skin. You slung your hands around his neck, smiling at how red the tips of his ears went. His throat wobbled as you parted your lips over his neck. "How tragic" you whispered, nipping at him. The gentlest of pull from your teeth left immediate crimson marks down his neck, he moaned against your touch, fingers gripping your waist tighter.

His fingers dug into your sides, hitching up your skirts and pressing you to grind down harder on his erection. They trailed from your hips to your bare breasts again, thumbs twirling around your sensitive nipples. You dragged your core against him, leaving a trail of slick on his amber-gold robes.

But you kept drawing backward as he tried to kiss you, his violet eyes narrowing with frustration, pretty lips pulled in a soft 'o'.

"Your Highness," He complained, annoyed fingers pinching down on your breasts. "In the story, the princess was very generous to the God."

You chuckled, "I favor you too much." You said, reaching over to pluck a grape from the fruit plate beside your duvet.

You pressed it to his lips and he dug into it willingly, lips parting over the grape in your hand, tongue flicking out to leave a kittenish lick on your fingers. He held it between his lips as the juice dribbled down his chin and you closed your own lips over it, using your tongue to push it deeper in his mouth.

It rolled sloppily between your tongues. You could taste the sweetness of the fruit between the panting. He pulled you closer, moaning into your mouth, arms around your waist pressing you against him. Your breasts grazed against his gilded chest, the gold deliciously cold against your feverish skin.

His cock felt painfully hard, you had to fight the urge to just slip the blush tip in your mouth and feel his pre-cum against your tongue. But you just couldn't deny the way your core was throbbing anymore. A soft gasp left his mouth as you laced your fingers through his, pinning them on either side of his head. His cock kept slipping from your arousal, the tip briefly pressing into your clit, as you rubbed your folds along the length.

He gasped helplessly as you slipped in the tip, before lifting yourself off entirely.

"P-please." He gasped, shaking from the restraint. His doe eyes looked at you yearningly, "I want to feel you, please-"

"Just look at you," you said, bottoming down on his girth feeling him twitch and throb desperately. He bit his lower lip, hair matted to his forehead from the sweat. How could you not tease him? Especially when he was making that divine face.

"Should I just..." You said, hooking your finger around his necklace, jerking him closer. "chain you in my chamber?" His eyes widened, breath hitching from the conviction with which you had said it.

"Y-your Highness." He drew in a sharp breath as you held him close by the jewels. Close enough to feel his breath on your skin, but pulling away the moment he leaned in for a kiss.

"Keep you here as my pet?" You finally sank down, his balls slapping up against your ass. He jerked up from the sudden movement, hands flying to grab your waist. Your pace grew desperate as you fucked yourself on his cock, squeezing down on his girth until his face contorted from the pleasure. Arching your back just so his tip pressed in the right spot and his abs dragged deliciously against your clit as you rode him. His look of submission made you roll your hips harder, bounce on him until it hurt from friction. His hands grabbed at your waist weakly, trying to keep himself from squirming. But the way sunk down on him had him seeing stars.

His jaw sagged lightly as you continued using him the way you liked, your movements rough, forcing him to bottom into you. You jerked his necklace again, pulling him towards you so your eyelashes brushed against the flush on his cheeks "You belong to me now, sea God." You whispered, sinking down his cock as he trembled from the overstimulation, "Your body is mine to command."

"Princess, if you move like that, I'll c-" He tries, voice choking as you orgasm, walls pressing down uncontrollably around him. That's what finally sends him over the edge, you feel his cock twitch as he cums inside you, filling you until his cum is trailing down your inner thigh.

You slide off him, as his cock softens, slipping out of you. You plop down beside him, the high from the orgasm washing over your body. You feel his arms around you immediately, crawling over you and caging you in a lover's embrace.

You giggled as he kissed down your form, placing hot kisses on your breasts, halting only over your stomach. His fingers dug into the plushness of your thighs spreading you to open to admire his work.

"You're highness, you're all dirty." he mused, eyes still hazy with desire. The pads of his thumb parting your folds, mewling praises. He leaned down, his scales luminant under the moonlight. Just the sight of him buried between your legs, had you squeezing your thighs around his neck.

"Such a pretty cunt," he purred, hot breath fanning over your core. He pressed fleeting kisses on your messy folds making you squirm under his touch, fingers digging to his violet locks, gleaming azure in the lamp-light.

You yanked him up slightly, forcing him to meet your eyes. His mouth latched on to your clit, not breaking eye-contact, his tongue felt smiting hot, making you squelch as he ate you out. You pulled at his hair harder, grinding yourself against his mouth. Rafayel's grip around your thighs tightened, holding you in place. He felt himself grow hard again, dragging his cock along the duvet to get some friction.

"Does this please you, your Highness?" His asked innocently, tongue flat against your throbbing slit. "Such a greedy thing." He snarked suddenly finding his voice. His tone edged with something darker as he fell deeper into his desire.

"It'll just lap up anything I offer" He says, a smile playing on his lips as he started to slip his fingers in you. His digits curving to dig into that one spot he knew so well.

"Rafayel? what-" your voice trailed off as you felt what he pressed up against your entrance. The cold skin a sudden change from his warm mouth. He pressed the grape into you shamelessly, coating it in your slick as he rolled it over your folds.

"Look at you, "He cooed out, "So fucking hungry." Digging it deeper as he sucks on your clit. Your fingers dug into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. Your grip tightened painfully as you neared your release, mouth slacking open from the pleasure, "R-rafayel" you gasped out, and he groaned as you called his name, tossing the grape and slipping his tongue between your folds to feel you clamp down as you came.

He pulled away, your arousal coating his chin, a thin string of slick connecting you as you pulled his face closer tasting yourself on his tongue. You moaned through the kiss, your grip on yourself slipping. Your entire body felt excruciatingly hot, clouding your mind with a desperate need to feel more of him. It was messy the way his fingers went grabbing to feel your soft breasts as you reached for his hardening cock, aligning it with your opening again.

Again again, again, you wanted him again.

No matter how many times he entered you, The stretch alone made you curl your toes. He was a tumble of flustered sounds, as he pushed his leaky tip inside, practically purring at at how warm you felt around him. His thumb brushed over your sensitive clit.

You were right, despite his mastery over flames, it was always you that scorched him. His fingers linked through yours as pressed into you deeper, the tip sitting snugly before he dragged it out, almost slipping out before slamming it back hilt deep.

"You're taking me - s-so well." He panted out, eyes pinned on how you sucked him in. You yelped as he pulled you back into himself, the slick trailing down your leg as he continued to fuck into you. Your thoughts were far too consumed with the pleasure, slamming bak into him so he didn't stop his delicious pace.

"Didn't you want me chained here mistress?" he whispered, "Keep me here, so i could only please you?" You bit your tongue to keep yourself from snapping back, giving him a bruised look. He was just treating you like some common cocksleeve. But you didn't want him to stop and tease you, not when you felt the pleasure of another orgasm right at the back of you throat.

You fisted into the robes under you, crumpling the fine pressed silk, as he continued to split you open.

"Your highness! You're ruining your clothes," Rafayel purred out, pulling your wrists back as he thrust into you. It angled him deeper, and you threw your head back, the lewd slapping sounds echoing out in your chamber.

The coil in your stomach snapped, your wrists slipping from his grip. And you sprawled forward unto your duvet, cunt spasming around his girth. You felt his swollen and hot his cock felt as he came inside you again, refusing to pull out. He felt so good, his length curving up, moulding your walls to his shape.

The warmth of the room hung around you and you buried your face in the peach-pink robes. Rafayel's voice was playful, humming against the nape of your neck, still buried deep into you,

"Would your Highness like to be dressed now?"

Don't actually fuck around with fruit it will give you infections xoxo. Reader here just has an all powerful magical princess pussy.

#lads rafayel #lads mc #reader x rafayel #lnds rafayel #rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel smut #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x mc

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chericos · 4 months ago

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Moon Struck! —> sneak peak

Pro hero! Shouto x Popstar! Reader

cws; allusions of past abuse, shouto is WHIPPED, there's nothing more to this snippet, he wants you BAD. a/n at the bottom

[…] your head lying on his shoulder. You’re so close that he can hear your shallow breaths. This was just supposed to be like any other time you visited.

But somewhere along the way something changed. Like a switch flipped in his brain and now all he can think about is you. And he’s terrified. Because how is he supposed to tell you that he wants to kiss you so badly, that you’re the only thing he’s been thinking about for the past 3 months? That he wants to hold you, and love you in ways that can’t simply be explained.

He wants to know you.

Which may sound dumb considering you've been ‘friends’ for almost a year now, but he wants to know why you do every little thing, why you like that shade of lipstick, why you season your food the way you do, he wants to know every little bit of you, but he just doesn’t know how.

He's not good with feelings. Yes, he had friends, and a family—dysfunctional, but still a family nonetheless—but he’s never had to open up to a person like this before. Breaking down the protective walls over his heart because he’s never felt this way about someone before. He’s never had to explain the way he acts because of his family’s past. He’s never had to lay out every flaw— every impurity, for someone to dissect. He never had to do much of anything.

Before you, that is.

And he’s terrified of messing this up. Cause deep down there’s nothing more that he wants than to just be with you. And now his heart is hammering in his chest, and his mind is running a mile per minute because you’re just so perfect and you’re looking at him like he’s holding the world, with that adorable smile of yours and he swears he could kiss you stupid if you just gave him the chance.

Shouto’s not good with feelings. But for you, he’d try.

a/n; i wish i could say it gets better from here, but i'd be lying. You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder! (omg spoiling my own work). Full fic should be posted mid-end of october, along with two other surprises!

random side notes; im so scared to watch the recent eps of mha, idk if id be able to take it. started this game back in 2018, I've been here a while and it's so close to being over(anime-wise). Truly sorry for the person I will become when the class as pro heroes gets animated.

#🍥writing.#🍡sweet treats.#todoroki x reader #pro hero shouto #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki #x reader #mha x reader #pro hero shoto #bnha x reader #shoto x y/n #shouto x y/n #todoroki x y/n #I love posting snippets now #it’s like I’m teasing yall

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dorkszn · 5 months ago

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logan howlett x blk!reader hcs <3

for both masc and fem readers !! these are kinda stupid and crack-ish lmao

— you always let him pick your next braids color and he pretends he doesn’t love it.

— he grumbles when you leave shiny lipgloss kiss marks on him but after a while, he just stops trying to wipe them off.

— but he does love kissing you on the lips with your gloss on, especially if it’s flavored. he loves seeing it all smudged and messed up when he pulls away. and he just grins at you when you swipe your thumb over his lips, removing the lip gloss he stole from you.

— if you not the one cooking, he ain’t eating. i know he had some soul food once and it touched his soul forever.

— you’ve put your bonnet / durag on him. he may or may not have been asleep but who’s really checking?

— one time, you gushed to him about how megan thee stallion was coming to your city and told him you’d literally die if you didn’t see her. he said you were being dramatic and he didn’t see the big deal. but he got you the tickets.

— i can see you forcing him to come with you which he reluctantly does. of course, he’s unamused. until he actually sees her. you can’t even be mad at him for it because.. real?

— he gets jealous when you gush over male celebrities, especially if they’re caucasian. he’s supposed to be your favorite white boy.

— loves your natural hair. like he loves it so much. short or long, tight coils or loose curls, he doesn’t care. he just loves it.

— and your body. utterly obsessed with you and your body. he thinks your skin is so pretty and perfect and soft, that your eyes are just the most perfect shade of brown, that you just smell so sweet and nice all the time, that your skin bruises to nicely when he sucks his marks into it.

— idk how he’d feel about rap or hip-hop but i think he’d mess with r&b.

— he used your hair products in the shower once and got the ass-whooping of a lifetime because apparently he “used too much” and “it’s not even for his hair texture.”

— calls you ma’am or sir in front of your family

— you bought him a nice, little silver chain to replace his dog tags with the initial of your first name on it and he never takes it off unless he’s going on a mission or something. only because he knows if it breaks, he’s breaking the neck of whoever broke it.

— hates chitlins.

— watches spooky scary sunday with you. he doesn’t really understand it or see the point but he’ll watch it if you ask.

— he’ll pick you up and carry you past big dogs if you’re scared of them. he’s gonna tease you first, of course. maybe push you towards it a little.

that’s all !! and sorry again, ik these are pretty bad 😭

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uss-genderprise · 9 months ago

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okay the new episode has people poking my sleeping special interest like a bear and it was about time to wake it from hibernation anyway so here are some fun facts about welsh fairies

it's spelled fairy. it's always spelled fairy. not faerie, faery, fae, or fey. fairy. please. or tylwyth teg if you want to be proper about it

fairies are not inherently malevolent. they work by their own rules that sometimes don't make sense to humans but there are rules, if you pay attention.

yes fairies will punish you for doing something they don't want you to do

they will also reward you for doing things they do want you to do

fairy rings are circles of green grass. they sometimes how up as a different shade of green than the grass around it and are generally markers of where fairies dance, as well as portals to the fairy realm. mushrooms aren't really a thing for that in welsh folklore.

string and bones and flowers are man-made and possibly supposed to bind or protect against fairies (though i haven't seen anything quite like what we see in the episode described in any of my sources) but generally breaking one of those doesn't immediately anger fairies, just lets them in to affect whoever put the ward up in the first place. that's not called a fairy circle.

changelings exist in welsh folklore. have fun with your theories.

fairies will generally let you leave the fairy world if you ask nicely. yes even if you've eaten the food and drank the drinks

however time moves differently so when you come back you might be super old and/or turn to dust the moment someone touches you

dancing is a different thing tho. they don't exactly want you to stay dancing with them until you die of exhaustion but like that's on you my dude get your friends to help you

if you broke fairy rules like kicking them out of their meadow to build a castle they will count eight* generations** and come back to turn that castle into a lake and drown everyone inside. you have been warned (repeatedly. usually by old ladies and/or bards and/or birds or sometimes just. A Voice™)

* the number of generations can and does vary but in welsh folklore it's generally 8 that's an important number, not 3 or 7.

** also the way generations are counted is. weird. idk if it's that i'm bad at math or bad at welsh or that the book i read explaining this is over 100 years old but i don't think i fully got how many generations this actually is.

oh and they only wait if you beg enough otherwise they kill you now

so basically. no getting trapped in the fairy world as punishment. they just kill you

personally i think the closest thing in welsh folklore to that old woman is a weird lady but even that isn't a great fit

yeah fairies bend time and space to always be far away from you if they want to but that's generally because they're trying to avoid you not following you at a distance

i am fully aware rtd probably couldn't care less about any of this. he definitely didn't do the work that i did to learn all this and incorporating this into your theories is probably shooting yourself in the foot as far as actually being correct goes. HOWEVER i do think it's more interesting and fun this way :) theories are gonna be wrong anyway might as well respect the culture that's inspiring them while we're at it yeah?

i will cite my sources if anyone asks but i doubt many people care to read hundreds of pages of edwardian non fiction novels just to fact check me. trust me on this guys

#doctor who #dw spoilers #73 yards #welsh folklore #fairies

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herstoryheaven · 6 months ago

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Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: Scripted Romance, Unscripted Love

Request: Could you do one where the reader got casted as a new character in D2 and the reader is dating Harry on screen but ends up falling in love with Thomas behind screen idk just something behind the scenes with Harry.

Reader: Female

Word count: 2551

Average reading time: 9 min 20 sec

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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Y/N had always dreamed of being in a Disney movie, so when she got cast as a new character in Descendants 2, she was over the moon. Her character was part of Uma's pirate crew, and to her surprise, her character was dating Harry Hook, played by the charming Thomas Doherty.

From the very first day on set, Y/N felt an instant connection with Thomas. There was an undeniable spark, an energy between them that made every interaction feel like fireworks. But she pushed the thought aside, assuming it was all part of their roles. After all, they were professionals, and they were supposed to have chemistry on screen. 'He’s just being professional', she would remind herself whenever he flashed that dazzling smile her way, or when his touch lingered a little too long during a scene.

One of their first scenes together involved a heated argument between their characters. Harry was supposed to grab her wrist and pull her close, the tension thick between them. As they rehearsed, Thomas kept breaking character, laughing and teasing her whenever she tried to be serious. “C’mon, love, where’s that fire I know ye’ve got?” he’d say, his accent thick and teasing.

Y/N would roll her eyes, trying to ignore the way her heart raced whenever he called her "love". She forced herself to focus, channeling the anger her character was supposed to feel. But when they ran the scene for the cameras, and Thomas grabbed her wrist, pulling her close, the smirk on his face shifted into something deeper, something more intense.

“Look at ye, lass.” he murmured in his deep Scottish accent, his voice low and filled with something that felt all too real, “Stealin’ my heart both on and off the screen.” His eyes, a shade darker now, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her hold her breath.

Before she could respond, he lifted her hand to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. The kiss was gentle, his lips warm against her skin, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight through her. It wasn’t part of the script, wasn’t something they had rehearsed, but it felt natural, as if this moment had been building between them all along.

Y/N's breath hitched, and for a moment, she forgot they were surrounded by cameras and crew members. The world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them, the heat of his gaze making her stomach flip. But then, the director called cut, and she forced herself to laugh it off as part of the act. Thomas, however, seemed to have other plans.

As filming continued, Y/N began to notice how Thomas was always around, even when he didn’t need to be. Between takes, he’d find reasons to talk to her, whether it was to joke about a scene or to compliment her on her performance. “You’re doing’ great, love.” he’d say with a wink, causing her heart to flutter every time.

Off-screen, Thomas’s attention only grew more intense. During lunch breaks, he would search for her in the crowd, always saving her a seat next to him. He’d share stories about his life in Scotland, asking her questions about her own life in a way that made her feel like she was the only person in the world. The way he listened to her, with genuine interest, made it harder and harder for her to dismiss her growing feelings.

Then there were the little gestures, things that could be easily overlooked as simple kindness but made Y/N’s heart race all the same. He started leaving little notes in her trailer, always signed with a playful heart or a cheeky "Yours, Harry." One day, after they had a particularly challenging scene, Y/N found a small bouquet of her favorite flowers waiting for her, with a note that read, “To brighten your day, love. – T.”

On breaks, he’d bring her snacks, always making sure they were her favorites, like the time he surprised her with her favorite chocolate bar, claiming he “just happened to find it” even though she knew it wasn’t easy to come by on set. During late-night shoots, when the temperature would drop, Thomas would drape his jacket over her shoulders without a word, his hand lingering just a moment longer than necessary on her arm. Each touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she’d find herself wearing his jacket long after she no longer needed it, just to keep his warmth close.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of filming, the cast decided to relax by having a small gathering. Thomas found Y/N sitting alone, watching the stars from a quiet spot away from the others. Without asking, he sat down beside her, their shoulders brushing.

“Long day, huh?” he said, his voice soft as he looked up at the sky with her.

“Yeah, but I’m getting used to it,” she replied, smiling at the thought of how far she had come since the first day.

Thomas turned to her, his gaze soft but intent. “I’m glad you’re here, love. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, and she looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Thanks, Thomas. That means a lot.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, but charged with something unspoken. She wanted to ask him if he meant more than just as co-stars, but the fear that it was all just him being friendly held her back. What if this was just his way of keeping things light on set? She was new, after all, and maybe this was just how he made everyone feel welcomed.

But then, there were those moments, moments that didn’t feel like they could be just for show. Like when they were filming a scene where Harry had to protect her character from a threat. The script only called for him to pull her behind him, but Thomas improvised, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her close. Even after the director yelled cut, Thomas didn’t let go right away, his hand lingering at her side as he looked down at her with something that felt far too real to be just acting.

As the weeks passed, Y/N found herself falling for him more and more, despite her best efforts to remain professional. The way he treated her, the way he made her laugh, the way he seemed to see right through her… it was all too much to ignore. But that little voice of doubt kept creeping in, telling her that she was just another co-star, that he didn’t see her the way she saw him.

One day, during a particularly emotional scene where Harry had to comfort her character after a fight, Thomas went off-script again. Instead of just saying his lines, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheek as he whispered, “Ye deserve better, lass. I’d never let anyone hurt ye like that.”

The intensity in his eyes made it almost impossible for Y/N to stay in character. She felt tears welling up, not from the scene, but from the overwhelming emotions she was feeling in real life. When the director called cut, she quickly turned away, trying to compose herself. But Thomas followed her, his concern genuine as he asked, “You alright, love? Did I push too far?”

Y/N shook her head, forcing a smile. “No, it’s just… you’re really good at this, you know?”

Thomas smiled, but there was a hint of something more in his eyes. “So are you, Y/N. So are you.”

Despite all these moments, the fear that it was all just part of the job kept her from believing it could be anything more. What if he was just being nice? What if he didn’t really see her the way she saw him? But every time he looked at her, every time he called her "lass" or "love", that tiny spark of hope refused to die. Maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.

-----

The last day of filming was bittersweet, and Y/N felt a deep, aching sadness settle in her chest as the reality of it all began to sink in. The entire cast had gathered for a wrap party, the air filled with laughter, music, and a sense of finality that she couldn’t quite shake. She tried to enjoy the night, but the thought that this might be the last time she’d see Thomas kept creeping into her mind. He’d return to his life, and she’d return to hers, and the thought of losing him, of losing the connection they had felt almost unbearable.

Thomas seemed unusually quiet as the night wore on, his eyes constantly following her across the room. He wasn’t his usual playful self, and it only made Y/N’s heart ache more. She kept trying to convince herself that this was just another chapter ending, but every time their eyes met, she felt something pull at her heart, begging her to reach out to him.

Needing a moment to clear her head, Y/N stepped outside to get some fresh air. The cool breeze was a welcome relief from the warmth of the party, but it did little to soothe the turmoil inside her. She wrapped her arms around herself, lost in thought, when she suddenly sensed someone nearby.

Looking up, she found Thomas waiting for her, leaning casually against the wall with that same boyish grin she’d come to adore. But there was something different about it tonight, something softer, more sincere.

“Y/N,” he called softly, his voice almost a whisper in the still night. “Come take a walk with me, love.”

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding, her heart pounding as she fell into step beside him. They wandered away from the party, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the empty studio lot. The silence between them was heavy with unspoken words, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel that something monumental was about to happen.

Thomas was quiet for a long time, his usual easy confidence replaced by a tension she had never seen in him before. Finally, he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself, and broke the silence.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” he began, his voice uncharacteristically nervous. He stopped walking, turning to face her, and Y/N’s heart raced as she saw the serious expression on his face.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of hope and fear swirling in her chest.

Thomas took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. His touch was warm, tender, and it made her heart skip a beat. His eyes searched hers, as if trying to find the right words, the right way to say what he had been holding back for so long.

“I’ve had a hard time keeping this to myself.” he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “But… I’m not just acting when I look at you, love.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she processed his words, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “What do you mean?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and disbelief.

Thomas took another step closer, their bodies almost touching now, and the intensity in his gaze made her knees weak. “I mean that I’ve fallen for you, Y/N. Not just as Harry, but as me, Thomas. I care about you, more than I can explain. And I was wondering if maybe… you felt the same way?”

For a moment, Y/N was too stunned to speak. All this time, she had convinced herself that he only saw her as a co-star, a friend at best. But here he was, standing in front of her, confessing the very thing she had been too afraid to admit to herself. The realization hit her like a wave, washing away all the doubts and fears she had been holding onto.

“I… I do feel the same way.” she finally managed to say, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve liked you for so long, but I didn’t think you felt the same.”

Thomas’s face lit up with that familiar grin, but this time, there was a softness to it, a vulnerability that made her heart swell with affection. Without another word, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was as tender as it was passionate.

The world seemed to disappear as Y/N melted into him, her hands finding their way to the back of his neck as she pulled him closer. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her as if he never wanted to let go. The kiss was everything she had imagined and more, filled with all the unspoken feelings they had both been holding back for so long. It was soft and sweet, but there was an intensity to it a deep, burning need that made her toes curl.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Thomas rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed as if savoring the moment. His smile never faded, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile back, her heart overflowing with happiness.

“Guess we don’t have to pretend anymore, aye?” he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of relief and joy.

Y/N laughed softly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw as she looked up at him, her eyes shining with affection. “No, we don’t.”

Thomas leaned in to kiss her again, this time slower, savoring every second as if they had all the time in the world. Y/N felt like she was floating, her heart so full she thought it might burst. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, and now that it was real, it was even better than she could have ever imagined.

As they walked back to the party, hand in hand, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like she was living in a dream, one where the pirate with the hook had stolen her heart for good. The night air was cool around them, but she felt warm from head to toe, the warmth of his hand in hers grounding her in the reality of it all.

When they reached the door, Thomas paused, turning to face her once more. “Y/N, I meant every word I said. This isn’t just a set romance for me. I want to be with you off-screen, in the real world. Whatever that looks like, wherever it takes us, I want it to be with you.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, and she nodded, her heart swelling with a love she could no longer deny. “I want that too, Thomas. More than anything.”

With one last lingering kiss, they rejoined the party, their hands still entwined, their hearts forever bound. And as they laughed and danced the night away with their friends, Y/N couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. This was just the beginning of their story, a story that was real, that was theirs. And as they looked into each other’s eyes, she knew that this was a love that would last far beyond the final cut.

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