#like Adam’s little white blaze on his face

[nsfwitchy2]

damn your cats are gorgeous, sending some good vibes your way

Awwww thank you anon!!! I need all the good vibes I can get rn lol

My kitties say thank you too uwu (even if Nessie looks really bitchy in that picture lol)

Ngl hearing them called gorgeous is so wild because like. I guess I see them every day so it never crossed my mind? Especially since I work in pet grooming so I’ve seen some truly drop dead gorgeous coat colors. I always just kinda thought they looked like regular cats.

It’s nice hearing they’re gorgeous though. Tbh, they are and they deserve to know it <3

[thevelvetvampyre]

Late Night Ride - Neil Lewis x Reader / Brothers Best Friend

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Reader / Brothers Best Friend

Summary: after a long day at the beach, you sit on Neil’s lap in the car ride home and takes advantage of your position

Warnings: Loss of virginity, age gap (unspecified), slightly noncon, pervert Neil (yummy), smut with little plot, cockwarming, public sex, unprotected

—————————————

“So who’s coming today?” You asked your brother in the front seat as the pair of you drove to the beach. The clock read 2pm and the sun was blazing down though the window screens onto your skin, already causing you to build up a sweat.

“You know. The guys from work” Your brother said not giving you any notice, barely even huffing out his response.

“Yeah- really helpful Jon” You said glaring into him.

Before huffing another sigh he responded “Lucien, Neil”. His eyes stayed focus on the road as you remained unsatisfied with his answer, slightly turning up the radio.

“Just those two? I thought more people were coming” You were slightly disappointed, but excited nonetheless because you could spend more personalised time with Neil.

Ever since you turned 18 his eyes were progressively undressing you as time went on. Of course, you had a little crush on him ever since he first came round when he was in high school to watch some obscure French flick with your brother but you were so young, barely even a teenager. He was always kinder to you than he was with most people, not that he was a mean person but he’d always seem so arrogant. You were the only one he treated as if he didn’t have a stick up his ass, treated you as his own sister. But now, starting specifically on your 18th birthday party once you had too much to drink and spoke your mouth off to him, he couldn’t help but feel some kind of sexual pull towards you. You purposely started to wear shorter skirts and lower shirts when he came around, pleased at his reaction as he stared at your skin and gulped his Adam apple down before turning red and shifting uncomfortably in his seat. It was exciting, he wasn’t too much older but he was your brothers best friend and you knew both of you would be found dead if your brother found out how you felt towards him. More importantly, how he felt towards you. It didn’t help that he started watching “best friend’s sister” and “girl next door” porn. God, he felt filthy in his skin after shooting white ropes into tissues wishing it was the inside of your pussy. He had known you since before you even knew was sex was, so seeing you grow up and find your body was exhilarating for him. He knew you were a virgin as well, knowing you had only kissed a couple of guys at parties after a few drinks. He knew how innocent and inexperienced you were. Unfortunately, this only happened to turn him on more to a point where it was torturous, filling his mind with fantasies of ruining your innocence as he fisted his cock for the second time that evening imagining your pretty mouth around it.

“Yeah well, I’m thinking Neil might invite a couple girls once we get there” your chest dropped at your brothers comment.

“Oh…” your eyes trailed out the window.

“Don’t worry though, I’m sure they’ll be nice” Your brother shot you a sincere smile and leant over to rub your thigh.

The rest of the drive was filled with silence as your mind raced with thoughts over who Neil would invite, if he would invite any girls and if so what did they mean to him. As your stomach filled with anxiety, the roads seemed to elongate and each meter had turned into miles, making the rest of the drive a painful one.

——————

“There they are!” Neil screamed across the parking lot as you and your brother exited the car. Instantly, your face heated up as you looked down and couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face. Lucien and Neil stood alone with Neil already shirtless, much to your liking, and Lucien carrying the big beach bag. Neil hadn’t looked at you yet, high-fiving your brother and greeting him in their usual loser bro fashion. Lucien looked at you and smiled as he nodded his head as you squeaked a “hi” and left it at that. Your eyes looked over at Neil expecting him to greet you but all you saw was a cocked eyebrow as his eyes scanned your half naked body. Cursing yourself for showing up in just a bikini and see through skirt cover up, you wanted to curl into the ground, anything, just to stop his laser beam gaze over your skin. Finally, his eyes met yours and he huffed a big inhale, only slightly turning his lips into a smile before turning around and walking away.

“Jesus, it’s hot today” Your brother claimed, following just behind Neil with Lucien to his left as you trailed behind.

“I know… I can’t wait to get into the ocean” Lucien said, turning around to look at you. “Come on!” He started waving his hands for you to walk next to him.

Finally, Neil had chosen the spot on the beach with a simple “here” and Lucien dropped the bag and got the towels out. Feeling the tingle of sun over your skin, you unwrapped your skirt and bent over to tuck it into the bag and grabbing some sun lotion. Standing back up you turned around to see Neil already standing behind you, eyes glued to your ass as he stared wide and mouth open a jar. His eyebrow still managed to be cocked as he cleared his throat before his eyes flickered to your face and briefly past the rest of your body. He stood frozen glaring over you, as if it was physically impossible to remove his gaze from your body, constantly having to clear his throat in an attempt to break the obviousness to the tent growing in his trunks.

“You alright there Neil?” Lucien asked as his coughing had become apparent.

“I-uhm- yeah, just something stuck in my throat… sand maybe” he said as he rubbed his chest and gave a half assed smile.

Giving yourself a small smirk before opening the bottle of cream, you turned back around and started squirting the tube over your chest and shoulders, using your hands to rub the cream into your skin and up your neck. Neil had moved significantly closer to you now, close enough that you could hear his slight grunt as he watched you rub the white substance over your exposed areas. After covering what you could by yourself, you innocently looked around to see where your brother was to help you with your back. Much to your dismay, him and Lucien had began running down the beach to the ocean.

“See you losers!” He said as the pair laughed and made their way closer to the water. You awkwardly looked up and saw Neil standing close to you with one hand itching the back of his head, a look of discomfort on his face knowing what you were about to ask.

“Can you help me with my back please?” You said, reaching your arm out to pass him the tube.

“Uh, yeah-yeah of course. Cool” He took the cream as you turned around and moved your hair out of his way. You heard the bottle squirt and a few moments later felt his warm, large hand start at your neck, massaging slowly into your mid back. After only rubbing briefly for a few seconds, he removed his hand and you heard the bottle squirt again. Only this time, the tube had been thrown onto the floor next to your feet as he rubbed his hands together. He placed a strong grip on either sides of your neck and circled small circles at the perfect pressure, following the shape of your body as his hands fell to your shoulders, mid back, waist and lower back. It felt good, and your eyes were slowly shutting. His touch was skilled, much to your surprise, and deliberate on your flesh. His hands squeezed your waist and he stepped closer, you could feel the heat of his skin radiating onto your behind. A small groan fell from his lips as his hands then fell to the lowest of your back he could go, filling the dips above your ass with his thumbs as he rubbed harder, pulling you back slightly onto his crotch. After rubbing your lower back for a couple of seconds with a few groans leaving his lips at whisper level, his thumbs ran up your spine again to the top of your neck.

“There you go” he barely whispered into your ear. A chill ran up your spine as you slowly turned around to create space between you.

“Uhm-thanks” you watched his face as it fell into a slight smirk and he chuckled and walked away, making his way to the ocean to meet your brother and Lucien.

————————

The day had gone on, the boys played a few games on the beach and shared a couple of beers. Neil had reacted insulted when your brother suggested to invite girls, extremely opposed to the idea to bring other people into the hangout. This of course, was amazing news for you. At some point throughout the day, closer to evening time, a group of 2 guys and a girl who you learned to be dating one of the men came over and joined the group. Neil had recognised them as customers that came only the day before and rented out one of his favourite films, exciting asking them how they found the tape. The conversation lasted about an hour and the sun began to fall into the sea as the moon took its place. Disappointingly, the most conversation you had with Neil was when he put sunscreen on you, only giving you prolonged glances throughout the day as he and your brother made friends with the strangers from the day before. Finally, it was time to go home and the sun had completely worn you out, leaving you with a pink tint on your high points and the smell of the sea in your hair. Your brother had invited the pair of guys and the girl to your house for dinner and the afters, promising them there would be enough comfortable space in the car to fit all of you. This of course was not true.

“How will we all fit?” You asked, a couple of the others nodding in agreement.

“I can sit on my boyfriends lap” The girl said kindly.

“Good idea…uhm” Your brother looked around. “Considering I’m the only one who knows how to drive, I need you to sit on someone’s lap” He said looking at you.

“Me?” Your heart thumped a little harder. “Who’s?”

Your brother looked around the group and pointed at Neil, who was equally as surprised as you were. “Considering you’re practically her brother and I can’t trust any of you other pervs, you’ll have to make do with her on your lap for the ride”

Neil took a gulp and slowly looked at you for your reaction. There wasn’t really another choice in this scenario, so you bit the bullet and reluctantly agreed to sit on Neils lap for the car ride home.

——————

“Right, are we all comfortable?” Your brother grinned as he turned around and looked at everyone in the car. You were sat on Neils lap on the left, Lucien in the middle and the guy with his girlfriend on the right, their friend in the front seat and of course your brother driving.

“What do you think?” Neil said, shifting uncomfortably in the seat. “Can we just drive please” he commanded.

“Sure thing” Your brother turned back around and switched the radio on to a deafening volume, everyone having to scream over each other in order to be heard. Which they all did, the car was so loud you couldn’t even hear yourself think. The car started and pulled out the driveway, immediately being hit with bumpy roads and uneven driving ground.

You felt Neil shift again, your head shooting back in an attempt to see what all the discomfort was about. You looked at him as his face was slightly red, faced out the window with almost a pained look on his face. His eyes shifted without moving his head and looked at you, he tutted and grabbed your head and turned it around to face the front. You couldn’t understand why he was acting like this. Were you just too heavy? A wave of insecurity passed through you as you suddenly got extremely conscious over the weight you were putting on him. Wiggling on his lap trying to find a new balance, you felt his fingers instantly dig into your sides as you heard him take a sharp inhale of breath. You snapped your head back again to see him looking at your ass, where you connected to his crotch. His hips twitched up and it caused you to sit further back on him, finally feeling the answer to your question. Neil was incredibly hard. You could feel his cock poking just under your swimsuit and practically a thin layer of material away from touching you. His hands moved to your hips as he pressed you down further, eyes still glued onto your ass and eyebrows furrowed. His chest moved up and down at an aggressive pace as his eyes blinked rapidly. You were in shock, he surprisingly felt big for the size of him. Big and warm, whether it was the sun, the beer or the closeness of you two he was so warm. You pressed your legs together in an attempt to control the pulsing you were feeling yourself in your thong bottoms but this only seemed to pleasure him more as he slowly dropped his head back onto the seat’s headrest. After a couple of moments, he brought his head up and you turned to face the front in almost embarrassment to looking at him get a hard-on just from you sitting on his lap. You felt him come up to your ear and push your hips down simultaneously, even circling you a bit to give him a little bit more friction.

“I need you- need you to be so,so still for me” He whispered into your ear, his lips pressed on your neck as shivers went up your spine. All you could muster was slightly looking at him, a look of confusion on your face. His cock was throbbing by this point, his breathing was so heavy and you’d for sure have marks on your sides the next morning. Luckily the music was as loud as it was and it was dark as it was nighttime, making what he was doing not obvious to the people around you. He lent back onto the back of the seat and pressed himself harder into your mound.

“Sorry guys, the road looks a little bumpy coming up” your brother screamed over the radio.

Just as soon as he said that, you were bouncing incredibly aggressively onto Neil’s lap, feeling yourself grinding unintentionally onto his erection and feeling your walls pulsate around nothing at the rough contact you were receiving. The action of this caused Neil to whimper at a much louder volume, coughing over the sound he made to not bring attention to his pleasure.

“Jesus Neil… you’ve had an awful cough all day, are you alright?” Lucien asked to your right. He tightened his grip on your hips and pushed his hips up in frustration.

“I-Uh-yeah… like I said- the sand” He said breathlessly as he looked out the window.

The roads continued to bounce you forcibly onto his clothed boner as his hands massaged your hips, his head twitching in pleasure. After a couple of minutes he was in agony, you could feel his cock pulsate underneath you at the slightest touch and his groans becoming more and more obvious. He brought his chest to your back and placed his lips against your ear before slowly sucking at your lobe and using his tongue down your neck. You moaned slightly under your breath at the sensation which only encouraged him to go further. With his lips still against your ear, you heard him gulp before he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry, I-I have to do this” He whined. “I need you so bad” His voice practically cried and purred into your ear.

In shock you turned around as his fingers slipped under your skirt cover up, shifting your thong to the side as you felt your bare pussy pound against his clothed erection. You were soaking and he could feel it through his swimsuit, twitching his hips up in desperation to feel more of you. In one swift movement, his cock was freed from the restraint of his swimsuit and laying on his stomach, your lips bouncing on the underside of his shaft. He used one hand to harshly grab your hips, harder than before to raise you to a higher level, trying his damndest to be as discrete as possible. Lucien was too busy lent over the middle of the car talking to your brother and the guy in the front seat, perfectly covering what Neil was doing with his body to the couple on the right. Not that it would make much difference considering they were too busy twirling tongues with each other. Just as his tip had breached your entrance, your brother warned of a speed bump upcoming which he so clearly didn’t bother to slow down for.

“Speed bump guys!” Your brother said, continuing to speed over the road, causing you to aggressively land your pussy onto Neils cock. The stretch of him was blinding, his tip pounding straight into the back of your cervix with no warning and the stretch of him painful. Though he found little restraint due to how wet you had become, you were still a virgin and his entrance was greeted by the tightest walls he’d ever entered. Your back fell onto his chest as you covered your mouth with your hand in an attempt to cover up the scream your stomach had built up, Neil not doing the same as a loud whimper had left his mouth as his back arched. You felt his chest breath heavily against your back as his whimpers and groans turned into calm cries as the road still bumped and vibrated you around his shaft. Laying on him, he grabbed the side of your face and placed his lips against your ear.

“Oh fuck- fuck- you’re so tight-mmm” He had completely lost composure, losing his dignity to your walls that clenched around his throbbing cock. “I need you to st-stay- fuck oh my god- still” he was choking embarrassingly on his words and you felt your walls clench around him in response to his patheticness. You did as you were told, scared to move as the size of him was still foreign inside you, even slightly moving your hips for comfort caused him to groan and harshly grab you further down onto him.

“Mmm- so-so warm around me. Your pussy’s taking me so well” His hand had left your waist and grabbed the side of the door in an attempt to use it as an outlet for his already growing orgasm.

“You guys alright back there?” You’re brother screamed over the radio which caused you to snap up and quickly move forward, causing an intense heat to shoot up your insides and making Neil whimper again.

“Ye-yeah” You said much too quietly for anyone hear.

The road had seemingly become more bumpy, being able to feel every crack, risen rock and dip on the highway. Neil was practically shaking underneath you, the lack of movement causing his back to arch and brows to furrow as he tried his best to move his hips the most he could. Your back had found it’s way back onto Neils chest again, his hand sneaking underneath your swim suit in a risky attempt to grab your boob. You grabbed his hand and shook your head no in fear you’d get caught, which in turn only made him grab you more aggressively as he flexed his jaw. In retaliation, you tightened your walls around him and clenched him in a rhythmic pattern in desperation to have any slight form of movement or friction. Your ass was wet, not from sweat or sea water but your own arousal. You were piping hot, leaking around his cock and drenching his whole crotch area. Feeling you tighten around him he began to breath heavily again, twitching his hips up to push his already attached tip to your cervix even deeper. The mixture of his slight twitching and the vibration of the car moving was hypnotic, bringing him close to an orgasm.

“I-I’m gonna cum” he whispered in defeat, almost sounding embarrassed. You shot him a look as your eyes widened and your head shook in panic. All he did was chuckle and close his eyes and place his forehead on the side of yours.

“M’gonna cum so deep inside you. Ha-have you leak-“ is all he could say before you felt his cock twitch violently inside you, feeling your walls sprayed in his cum as the already hot area seemed to get boiling. A deep groan had interrupted his sentence as his eyes screwed shut and he grabbed onto you aggressively, hearing his desperate whimpers and groans right next to your ear. You began to clench around him again, although worried and shocked that he had cum inside of you, turned on by how much he seemed to get off by fucking you without moving. His pathetic whimpers were fast paced and he slurred out a mixture of swear words into your face, holding you as close as possible as you continued to feel his seed coat your insides. Hearing his heavy breath slow down and his grip loosen around your waist, you heard him gulp again and sigh out in relief as his eyes stayed shut.

“Fuck” is all he could say. Your breathing too was out of sync and although you felt slightly used, you were still incredibly turned on and disappointed you didn’t get to finish. With his softening cock still inside you he now delicately rubbed your sides, placing small wet kisses on your neck.

“Just wait till we get back” is all he whispered in your ear. “I’ll give you what you deserve”

[sashiavi]

✧˚·.SashiAvi's Kinktober Day Six.·˚✧

#6|Skinny Dipping|#6

Sebastian x Reader - Word Count - 2.3k

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There was something serene about the mountain lake at night. White moon beaming down its gaze, the dazzly lights of the stars freckled over the water’s clear surface, rippling against the bank. Frogs croak in the distance, their chests beating out with each ribbit, a sing-along with the chorus of crickets chirping their way through the night.

Sebastian can barely hear it though. 

Ears cotton stuffed, deaf to the rest of the world, his eyes hyper-focused on you; The way you look up at him, skin naked and wet, hidden away under the water’s surface save for the supple skin of your collarbones and shoulders. Careful droplets caress over your form, rolling down your wet skin, going home to the pool below.

“Hi..” It’s all he can muster, running a palm down each side of your waist, holding the divet from your ribs to hips, letting his fingers sink into the soft curve of your body.

If he knew this was how a simple night smoke would have gone then Yoba, he would gladly become a chain smoker, blowing through pack after pack to have you just like this. To have a chance of catching you walking his way. To keep you from going home in a timely manner to selfishly drink up your company. You weren’t new to each other. Finding that sweet dance of playful sex, fooling around during your shared moments of downtime, exploring your bodies through rough bites and hard, snapping rolls of hips.

This was something else. Something all-new and different.

It started with a quip, some stupid thing that had managed to catch your attention, striking up a conversation full of sarcasm, dry and witty, bordering on something self-deprecating. You fed into it, spurring the conversation along, even accepting the butt of his cigarette when he offered it up to you. Oh, how your lips wrapped around the filter as you take in a drag, blowing that spicy smoke out from your lungs, up into the air before it wafts away.

Closer and closer you came together, leaned up against the thick bark of a cedar tree by the bank of the lake, shaded by the soft shaking leaves, hidden from the moonlight, faces lit up by the soft orange glow of the cigarette with each pulling drag. Sebastian’s lazy, squinted eyes flick between your own, watching the glint of moisture spark with the flickering burn of the minuscule blaze. His teeth sink into the pierced flesh of his bottom lip, Adam’s apple bobbing with his dry attempt at a swallow.

Tensions. Oh, tensions.

Rising up and up until they boil over.

You breathe out slow, letting the thick smoke escape your lungs, leaning close, blowing the spiced air gently into his face, chin tilted up as if you were going to press your lips into his own. Of course you pull away, holding the dying cigarette to his lips, watching the ash burn bright with a final pulling drag before the poor butt is flicked away. Sebastian holds his breath in his lungs, letting his palm cup your jaw, long fingers spreading to hold your face, thumb brushing once over with a caress.

You part your lips for him, breathing in his smoke, taking the shotgun with a little quirk of a grin cracking at the corner of your mouth. Honest to Yoba, Sebastian nearly lets himself hum out a sound of need, aching to get his lips on a newfound craving, to hell with his smokes, you were worse than nicotine, wanting to taste you on his lips and never get rid of everything you could give him. Before he can even get a kiss in, your finger stops him, pressed into the plump swell in a shushing motion, a light chuckle huffing from your throat.

You pull away and he chases, pitifully leaning forward into the newfound empty space, awing at the effect you have on the otherwise stoic man. You throw him a look over your shoulder, easily slipping off your top, throwing the fabric his way, shielding his view of your stripping form before he hears the wavering wave of the lake, moulding around your body as you get in. You were something spontaneous, ripping him from his comfort zone, somehow urging him to remove his own clothes with a cheeky beckon of your finger and a light, sing-song call of his name.

You were a siren, he was sure, pulling him against his own judgements as if he were hogtied, making his heart beat hard on his ribs, getting his mind to follow your call.

“Water’s nice, Sebby~” It's really all it takes for him to chase you like a lost kitten.

Of course you tease and run, splashing him with water, flicking droplets with a kick of your legs when you try to avoid him, play-fighting under the beam of the moon, disrupting the flat surface of the water. Push and pull, cat and mouse- Except Sebastian isn’t entirely sure who exactly the mouse was in this situation.

But you’re ever so gracious, aren't you? Wrapping your arms around his neck, legs hooking on to him as if you were a koala, lifted effortlessly thanks to the gravity defying properties the water blessed you with. He greets you, and you breathe back.

“Hi yourself..” Twinkly, sparkly eyes kissed by the moonlight. It's all he can think about. Your gorgeous face all damp, ends of your hair lapped at by the water, lightly moistened thanks to all the play teasing.

Words are useless.

Especially when his lips are on your own, moulding to your sweet mouth, deep and spit filled with tongues swirling over each other, noses huffing in search of air, and yet refusing to properly pull away. It's all silent sighs against each other's lips, clicky spit-filled swallows as you try to catch your breath, arms tightening around his neck in a desperate lock, fingers threading through the hair on the back of his head. Sebastian’s hands wander, down your waist, squeezing your hips, curving over your ass for leverage, carefully grinding you into the swelling pudge of his cock, making himself at home between your warm folds. That's what this was; Warm. So, so warm on his skin, shivering goosebumps down his back at the juxtaposition of the cool, lapping water.

He moans, and so do you. Swallowing down each other’s sounds with feverish kisses, lips moving harder and faster, slipping from the slow tandem you had roped yourself into, more teeth, clattering and clipping with little care - Hands racking through his hair, grabbing healthy fistfuls with a squeezing a tug, palms squishing the fat of your ass in a groping massage. 

“Fuck me-” You chirp between hot kisses, squeezing your legs around him tighter, pushing the swell of your tits into his chest. Sebastian groans, clumsily moving you to the bank of the lake, pressing you into the slope of sandy, pebbly dirt, bodies still mingled within the lapping water. Your hair is not spared from being drenched and sand-filled, cool water kissing your skin, washing over the hot press of your bodies. Sebasian’s hands dig into the ground, fingers scratching lines into the surface with a pebbly drag, taking desperate fistfuls as his lips continue to devour your own. 

His chest huffs, eyes glued shut as his kisses move, biting down your neck, letting himself suckle deep bruises and teeth-filled nibbles into all the sensitive spots of your skin. You cry out, breathing his name with a hiccup in your throat, fingers twisting a tug against his hair, thighs squishing him harder against you. The sound makes his cock bob, that call out into the open air, right by his own home, crying out for his attention seemingly uncaring of any prying ears that could be nearby. 

He couldn't hold back, not like this, Yoba- He needed you, needed to sink his cock into your cunt, feel the warmth wrap all snug around his veiny length, save himself from the bite of the night air and the lap of shallow water licking at your bodies. His own tongue dares to lap up those droplets on your skin, licking the rough of his taste buds up your soft neck, finishing with a spitty kiss to your ear before he growls out.

“Put me in, Princess.. That's it- cmon..” He urges, nuzzling his temple against your own, coaxing you through the process of sinking him into your heat. “Hold me like that- fuck.. Tugging on me so sweetly.. Getting me nice and hard f’you? Yeahahh?” He can’t help but babble a little, spurred on by his own desperation, something he brought upon himself- Nothing kills a man faster than his own head.

“Promise- promise you’ll fuck me- please.. Pleaseplease-” You slip his head between your folds, sticky-wet even through the wash of water between your laps.

“Promise, Baby- Gonna fuck you s’good, s’okay- I gotcha.. I gotcha..hahh-” He nods, rolling his hips while he speaks his promises, sliding through the fat of your pussy, knocking on your clit.

Sometimes to stay alive you've got to kill your mind. And it dies. Any legible thoughts killed away with the warm sink of his cock into your supple, velvety cunt, pulsing hard with a thick, veiny throb when the pudge of his head kisses a press into your cervix.

Sebastian muffles a groan, huffed with an ‘oomph’ from his teeth-bitten lips, already starting a steady rhythm, humping into your cunt, letting your legs pull him in over and over. God, you mewl, chin tilted up to the night sky, hands clawing into his hair, fingers squeezing at the swell of his shoulder, doing your very best to pull him closer. It's impossible and yet? He craves it, needs to be pressed into you in every way possible, lapping at your tongue, fucking snappy thrusts into your creamy cunt.

He pulls back to see you, shining in that bath of moonlight, dark and lathered in sweet mystery at the luna’s kiss, the lake water pooling around your hips shining bright with those twinkles of light, lapping at your skin with each rolling thrust of his hips.

“Fuck..” More, More- Needs to see more.

His gritty sand groaned dirt covered hands pry at your legs, pressing rough grains into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, pressing you down into the water- The sweetest mating press one ever could muster - Legs spread nice and wide for him, pinned and stinging with the grit of dirt, knees rocking in tandem with each snap of his hips. Don’t get him started on the noises. Mewly moans and chanting babbles of his name dribbling from your lips, the squelchy sweetness of your cunt paired with the repetitive ripple of water following his every thrust. Skin splashes together, sprays of dribbling droplets coming off of the connection, bodies clapping together with a vulgar ‘plap, plap, plap.’

“Ahh.. hmmn~ S-Seb-!” You writhe and moan, squirming against the sandy bank, one hand gripped desperately at one of his wrists holding pressure into your spread legs, grounding yourself with him. The other messes with your clit, rolling the bud between your fingers, circling the sweet thing with the flat of your fingertips all while his hips smush into your knuckles with every grinding roll.

Sebastian’s palms slide up, hooking under your knees, into the soft underside connecting the joint, grinding your poor skin into the pebbly lake floor. He mounts himself on you, fucking feverishly into your cunt, hips moving down with obnoxious claps, splashy water perpetuating the noise- He stuffs his face into your neck, lips and teeth back on your skin, sinking down into the supple flesh while his cock dares to throb. 

Closer and closer- Feeling a build up in the depths of his gut, veins gushing warm blood into the tip of his cock with a hot flex, threatening to spill and burst-

“Cumming-! S..Sebastian! Ohhh Baby please- please!” You beat him to it, crying out for him so sweetly like that, sobby sounds cutting through the splash of water rippling with his fucks, fingers tightening on his wrist, speeding up against the bead of your cunt.

“That's it- Cum f’me.. Gonna be right there, Princess- Fuckk take me there-” His throat growls out a deep groan, teeth grit while he keeps up those praises, sweet talking you through the brunt of your orgasm, laughing a huffy, arousal tainted chuckle all light from his chest when you cream. Sweet and squeezy, velvety walls massaging the length of his cock as you cum, pussy suckling him in, inviting the hot pulse of his own orgasm with a loving hug.

His hips snap in sharp staccatos, throat stuck in a perpetual growl with each lingering fuck as he spurts. He creams into you, hot and ropey filling up the depths of your sweetness, milked off by your squeezing. His eyes dare to roll, jaw going slack with sloppy, hasteful kisses, voice box betraying him with shameless praises and confessions, accidental “I fuckin love you’s” gasped into the skin of your neck.

He gifts you a final grind, rocking his hips in small motions, working you through the comedown, handsy palms opting to pet and soothe at your thighs, tickling the skin from the inner depths of your bikini line all the way up to the knee. He helps your poor legs wrap back around him, nice and comfy while he comes down to knock his forehead into your own, resting his weight on his forearms, trapping you into your own little bubble. Away from the moon, hot breaths huffing in the space, crickets entering Sebastian’s ears once more, the surrounding atmosphere gracing its presence in his mind once again. 

He swallows thick, breathing hard, nuzzling his nose before pulling away just enough to see you.

“Hi..” It's all soft giggles of disbelief from there.

→ Kinktober Masterlist & Taglist ←

some soft Sebby today <3

Thank you so much for reading! If you have any thoughts please let me know! I'd love to hear them <3 your words spur my heart on!

Property of : SashiAvi

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[darkeralmond]

Bathing Suit

Luca Fantilli x Reader

synopsis: you bought a new bathing suit before your spring break trip and luca can’t keep his eyes off you

warnings: fluff, maybe suggestive idk

word count: 1.1k

a/n: this is based off a shifting scenario i had for one of my drs and i thought it was a cute lil idea ALSO SPEAK NOW TV AHHH

The afternoon sun blazed against your body, causing you to sizzle under the rays of light. Mixing that heat with the cool ocean breeze created the perfect spring temperature.

You laid on your stomach on top of your rainbow beach towel, resting the side of your head on your folded arms. You were at Panama City Beach for spring break with your friends. It was the first day of vacation and you honestly felt like just relaxing after the long flight.

You were focused on getting a tan while the rest of your friends played volleyball on the sand. Your friend group consisted of Adam, Seamus, Johnny, Luca, and one of your roommate/friend.

You were close with everyone in the group, but not as much as you were with the Fantilli brothers. You and Adam have been inseparable since the beginning of freshman year. Being the media team for the hockey team really had its perks.

You found yourself falling head over heels for his older brother, Luca. He was very well aware of that. Matter of fact, he predicted it. It was at a party where he introduced you two making sure to say, “You two are going to love each other… Like you’re going to fall in love.”

Adam rested on his back, soaking up the sun just like you were. Even though he had his sunglasses over his eyes, you could tell they were closed. “Did you hear that Janelle from the softball team is pregnant?” Adam the sentence flowed out of Adam’s mouth. If we weren’t laying out relaxing on the beach, he would’ve been more animated.

You didn’t react the same way though. Your head perked up as your mouth hung open with shock. “Janelle Reid?!” you gasped. She was always so against sex before marriage, it was like her whole personality trait. “Who’s the baby daddy?”

He sat up and took a sip of his Corona which was wedged into the sand. “Well, no one really knows, but people have their theories.” He took another long sip burying the can back in the sand. “Some people say it’s Weston… but some people think it’s her cousin.”

“No fucking way!” you yelled out loud while laughing. “Holy shit!” You grabbed your White Claw from out of the sand and took a sip as well.

Luca’s eyes pulled away from the game at the loud sound of your laughing. It sounded sweet and beautiful, how could he focus at a time like this? He looked over at you, completely ignoring the ball in his presence.

“Luca, dude!” Seamus yelled, causing you to look back at the group playing. “You’re selling the game!” You made eye contact with Luca for a split second before he looked back at Seamus.

He laughed it off and said, “My bad, bro!” He then grabbed the volleyball from the sand next to him and set the ball, hitting it over the net to your friend and Johnny.

You flipped onto your back so you could watch Luca play volleyball while he glistened with both sweat and sunscreen. His sun-kissed abs along with his little happy trail made your head feel dizzy. You were stuck in a trance staring at his beautiful smile. Thank God for your sunglasses to hide the fact you were staring directly at his body.

“Luca was checking you out,” Adam spoke up. You snapped your attention away from him and focused it onto his brother. He had a playful grin on his face, his head cocked to the side as he looked at you.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “Shut up, no he wasn’t.” Even when denying the fact, your cheeks couldn’t help but turn bright red at the comment. Maybe you could pass it off as a simple sunburn.

Adam always doubted that you wanted him to shut up when it came to his brother, and in any instance, he was right. You wanted to know more about why he thought that. Maybe he was feeding into your delusions, but he knows his brother best. There were the whole wavelength things with where they know how they’re feeling.

“You know what I think it is?” Adam took another sip of his Corona, leaving you on the edge of your seat curiosity. “I think it’s that new bathing suit you got.”

You lifted your sunglasses and placed them on the top of your head. “What do you mean?” You knew exactly what he meant, it’s why you bought the damn thing.

A week before you all left for Florida, you and your roommate went to get some things for the beach. “Maybe you should get a new bathing suit,” they suggested as you strolled through the mall.

“What? Why?” you asked while chewing on the plastic straw of your drink.

They rolled their eyes with a playful smile on their face. “Because bathing suits are a guy’s weakness.” You knew who they were talking about, so you agreed.

You went inside PINK and found the perfect bathing suit. It was your favorite color and it fit your body type perfectly. Plus it exposed your body enough to still feel comfortable.

Adam rolled his eyes since you obviously knew what he meant, but he didn’t hesitate to lay it out for you. “The bathing suit is hot, Y/N,” he said. “You look hot. You know it, Luca knows it. You might as well act on it.”

His blunt statement caught you off guard causing you to stare at him bug-eyed. The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. You looked back at Luca again, feeling his eyes sinking into your body.

When you made eye contact with him again, Luca’s face instantly flushed red. He was embarrassed that you caught him staring at you. “Luca, your head is not in the game!” Seamus complained again.

“Yeah, yeah! I’m sorry!” he apologized, attempting to keep his eyes off you, but you were irresistible to him. “Uh, Y/N! Could you get me a beer?”

“Dude the last thing you need is beer,” Seamus muttered.

“Shut up,” he whispered back, nudging the guy.

“Yeah, of course!” You got up from your spot and walked over to him with his beer. He nodded his head and smiled, his eyes sneaking a peak at your glistening body again.

“Thanks,” he said, cracking it open and pulling his eyes away. He cleared his throat, his cheeks super red.

“Of course!” You walked back over to Adam where he was already staring at you with his eyebrows raised and a smug smirk on his face. “Holy shit,” you whispered to him. It finally sunk into your mind that he was actually checking you out.

“Mhm.” Adam nodded his head slowly. “Like I said, act on it.”

[rainforestakiie]

Hi!! I know you’re busy and please ignore this if you want. But I wanted to bring up the idea before I forgot. from Be Lonely With Me, we see how Adam enjoys the unique changes about Lucifer. Slowly bringing up his confidence in himself. I was wondering, only if you want too, but if there was a scene that Adam, ever the farmer, is helping Lucifer clean his little hooves. And is being so gentle about them. Lucifer’s a little shy about it and Adam tries distracting him with talk. And inevitably, they talk about Lucifer’s out changes, like the horns, his wings, but especially the tail. Adam is surprised Lucifer doesn’t have it too, but Lucifer assumes, like his wings, the tail was part of his powers. And Adam just goes. “Awww. That’s a shame. I wonder if it’s just as soft too” emphasis on Lucifer’s legs and hands, like an absent minded flirting and open admittance that Adam likes touching them.

hi!!!!

nooo, i'm never too busy for your requests! i hope you like this! a scene that should have been in Be Lonely with Me! with a little bonus added to the end!

Lucifer’s face bloomed into a radiant shade of crimson, so vibrant and intense that sweet, innocent Adam couldn’t help but compare it to the bright, sun-kissed tomatoes he had gathered earlier. He didn’t care much for the taste of tomatoes, but oh, how he adored that deep, fiery red!

Another exciting discovery! Adam had recently started naming things after colours, thrilled by his own blossoming sense of creativity. Still, with wide, curious eyes, he stared up at the Archangel, his face a perfect portrait of childlike innocence.

“Why?”

“Um...” Lucifer stammered, his usual composure unravelling. A delicate puff of steam seemed to rise from his golden curls as he hurriedly removed his top hat, lest the heat of his fluster leave embarrassing stains on it. “It... it’s just the way things are.”

“But why?” Adam pouted, his confusion only deepening as he scratched his head. “If it’s so important, why don’t I have them?”

Lucifer blinked in surprise, his sapphire eyes sweeping over Adam’s perfect form. His siblings had brought up the idea of dressing Adam a few times, offering him clothing like the angels wore, but Lucifer had always managed to steer the conversation away from it. In truth, he adored seeing Adam roam the paradise of Eden freely unburdened, unspoiled. Not that he’d ever confess that to his brothers and sisters! Michael would surely banish him from the garden for such thoughts.

But how could anyone not admire Adam’s beauty? His wild hair, a mix of earthy browns and sunlit reds, fell messily around his face. His pale skin, now kissed by Eden’s endless sunshine, was beginning to take on a golden glow. And his eyes—those eyes! Lucifer’s favourite feature of all. They were the colour of Eden itself, a blazing emerald green, unique and dazzling, unlike anything he or his siblings had ever seen.

“You don’t need them,” Lucifer finally murmured, though his voice trembled, his blush now spreading down his neck. “I... need them.”

Adam’s brow furrowed, his confusion growing. His emerald eyes drifted to the crisp, snowy-white robes that draped elegantly over Lucifer’s form. He crawled closer, his innocent fingers gently tugging at the soft blue edges, lifting them ever so slightly. A startled yelp escaped Lucifer’s lips as he quickly smoothed the fabric back down, his blush deepening to an almost impossible shade. Adam only giggled in response, finding the angel’s reaction amusing.

“What are these called?” Adam asked, his voice full of wonder as he continued to play with the hem of Lucifer’s robes. “And why do you wear so many?”

Lucifer swallowed nervously, offering a shy, trembling smile. “Um... they’re called robes. Heavenly clothing, made from divine light. And I wear layers because... b-because it’s sacred. As an angel, I’m not supposed to show my skin.”

“None of it?” Adam asked, his gaze shifting to Lucifer’s hands. Without thinking, his fingers lightly traced over the exposed skin there, curious and soft.

Lucifer’s breath hitched as he wrapped his slender fingers around Adam’s hand, his heart fluttering at the warmth of the touch.

“That’s... different,” he whispered bashfully.

Adam, always so curious, reached out with his other hand, his touch feather light as he trailed his fingers along Lucifer’s arm, up to his neck, and then to his flushed cheek. “Your neck... and face? Your skin is bare here too.”

Lucifer trembled under the gentle caress, his voice a mere squeak. “T-That’s different as well.”

Adam shifted even closer; his innocent eyes wide with curiosity. “But why is it different?”

“It just is!” Lucifer squeaked, his voice high-pitched as he quickly took hold of Adam’s wandering hand, gently guiding it down to his lap. His heart was racing, and he let out a soft, shaky breath. But as he gazed at Adam, he couldn’t help but smile. He adored how endlessly inquisitive the first human was.

Sighing, Adam slumped his shoulders in frustration. “Everything is ‘just the way it is.’ It’s so confusing.”

Lucifer chuckled softly, his voice tender. “It’ll get easier, Addie. You’re still learning. You’ll understand more as time goes on.”

Adam nodded slowly, trusting his guardian Archangel completely. He always believed what Lucifer said, for his angel never steered him wrong. But still, his gaze lingered on the shimmering robes that flowed around Lucifer like a celestial waterfall.

“Why don’t I have these... ‘clothes’?” he asked.

Lucifer clicked his tongue playfully. “You don’t need them.”

“Why not?” Adam pressed.

“You just don’t,” Lucifer grinned, his sapphire eyes twinkling as they met Adam’s vibrant green ones.

Shifting closer to Adam, his six wings fluttered softly behind him, creating a delicate breeze that ruffled the grass beneath them. Lucifer leaned in with a mischievous smile, his voice dropping to a secretive whisper.

“Can you keep a secret, Addie?”

Adam’s face lit up immediately, his emerald eyes sparkling with excitement. He straightened up like a curious little meerkat, his whole body buzzing with anticipation. “A secret? I can keep a secret! What’s a secret, Luci?”

Lucifer chuckled warmly, leaning in even closer until his nose brushed against Adam’s cheek. He grinned when he saw Adam blush, a rosy hue spreading across his face. “A secret is something shared between just the two of us. If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else—not even the other angels.”

Adam gasped; his eyes wide in shock.

“Not even the animals?” he whispered, as if the birds and creatures of Eden were listening in on their private conversation.

“Not even the animals,” Lucifer nodded with a playful glint in his eye. “Do you think you can keep it, Addie? Can I trust you with my secret?”

Without hesitation, Adam eagerly nodded, his fingers tightening around Lucifer’s hands. “Yes! I promise! I’ll keep it safe!”

“You mustn’t tell my brothers or sisters~” Lucifer sang teasingly, letting go of Adam’s hands. He wiggled closer to the edge of the soft grassy hill they were sitting on, the pond below shimmering in the sunlight like a bed of diamonds. With a sly grin, Lucifer gently tugged at the bottom of his robes, lifting them just enough to reveal his bare feet.

Adam’s eyes grew wide with wonder, his breath catching in his throat. He watched in awe as Lucifer slipped off his pristine white shoes and raised his robes higher, allowing them to rest just above his knees. The sight of Lucifer’s feet, glistening like stardust under the warm light, left Adam speechless.

Lucifer, clearly enjoying Adam’s reaction, leaned over and planted a soft, teasing kiss on his cheek. Adam’s blush deepened, his whole face turning the same shade of red that had colored Lucifer’s earlier.

“Just this once, I’ll show you my feet,” Lucifer whispered with a playful wink before dipping them into the cool, crystal-clear waters of the pond. “Now, come sit with me, Addie~”

Adam, shy but eager, scooted closer and slipped his own feet into the water beside Lucifer’s. His heart fluttered as he watched the angel’s feet sparkle in the water, the cool sensation sending delightful tingles up his legs. He gasped when Lucifer’s foot brushed gently against his, the touch soft and teasing.

“Remember, Addie,” Lucifer murmured, his voice as soft as the breeze, “Uou mustn’t tell anyone about this.”

Adam’s breath hitched, and he nodded fervently, his gaze locked on the spot where their feet touched beneath the water.

“I-I won’t tell anyone, “He whispered, his voice barely audible.

Lucifer smiled sweetly, his sapphire eyes twinkling with affection.

“Good boy~” he purred, gently stroking his foot against Adam’s once more.

Adam’s heart raced, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the sun. He felt safe, cherished, and loved. With Lucifer by his side, everything in Eden seemed perfect—even if the world was full of confusing mysteries, if they had their little secrets, Adam knew he’d always have something special that was just for them.

~#~

Adam blinked hard, pulling himself out of a memory that felt both sweet and distant, like a faded photograph. He didn’t know why it resurfaced now, but the ache in his heart told him how deeply those moments had mattered. How close he and Lucifer once were—before Lilith entered their world. Before everything changed.

Lucifer had shown him his feet. Something so sacred and forbidden for angels to reveal. And yet, Lucifer had done it for him, swearing Adam to secrecy. It was such a tender gesture, and as Adam remembered, his own bare feet tingled, as if they could still feel Lucifer’s delicate touch. The way he had gently brushed their feet together, his expression always innocent, though Adam sensed something more behind those sparkling sapphire eyes. Lucifer’s feet had shimmered like the stars themselves, and Adam had often wondered if all of the Archangel’s skin sparkled in that celestial way, or if it was something uniquely Lucifer. Either way, the memory made Adam’s heart race all over again.

“Addie~” a familiar, joyful voice called from the bushes. Lucifer’s lean, graceful form emerged from the lush greenery, his body wrapped in a playful tangle of woven leaves, petals, and vines. His golden hair shimmered like spun sunlight, framing his cherry-red cheeks, making him look impossibly adorable. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Adam’s lips curled into a smile as he watched Lucifer approach, his fingers sinking into the soft golden sand along the riverbank. “Sorry, I guess I got lost in my thoughts.”

His eyes lingered on the fallen angel. Lucifer still looked breathtakingly beautiful, even after the fall. His once flawless white skin now carried a peppering of black along his arms, which had morphed into long, sharp claws. His legs were coated in soft midnight fur that ended in hooves. His face had become slightly more angular, his eyelashes long and dramatic, while his once sapphire eyes had melted into molten gold, flecked with crimson. The blue tint of his cheeks had deepened into a rich, blood-red hue, but Adam still saw the same beauty beneath it all.

“What’re you thinking about?” Lucifer cooed, dropping to his knees beside Adam and practically shoving himself into Adam’s space, preening for affection like a cat seeking warmth. "Anything nice about me?"

A small laugh escaped Adam, and with a burst of boldness, he leaned in to kiss the sensitive red markings on Lucifer’s cheeks, the Archangel's weak spot. A thrill of satisfaction ran through him as Lucifer shuddered and moaned softly, flushing even deeper.

“Of course,” Adam teased, his voice gentle. “I’m always thinking sweet things about you.”

Lucifer smirked at that; his eyes gleaming mischievously. “Damn right you are.” He stretched his legs out, his claws grazing over his thigh as he relaxed beside Adam.

Adam’s gaze flickered to the white scar that marred Lucifer’s thigh—a reminder of the time Lucifer had scaled the Tree of Knowledge and faced off with the fierce Cherubim guarding it. He’d gotten hurt because of Adam’s curiosity, because he couldn’t resist helping him, despite the risks.

“You can touch it, if you want,” Lucifer said softly, catching Adam’s gaze. “I’ve seen you looking.”

Adam flushed, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. “It’s just... you got hurt because of me, and—”

“I don’t regret it. Not for a second,” Lucifer interrupted, his tone firm and resolute. He reached out and took Adam’s hand, his claws curling gently around it, guiding Adam’s palm to his scarred leg. “You don’t think it’s ugly, do you?”

Adam’s heart clenched. He had noticed this more and more lately—Lucifer, despite all his power and beauty, constantly seeking reassurance. No matter how often Adam told him he was stunning, it never seemed to fully sink in. Lucifer, the radiant, fallen star, still didn’t believe he was worthy of love.

“Luci,” Adam whispered, his fingers tracing the scar as if to soothe it. “There’s nothing ugly about you. Nothing. You’re beautiful to me—always have been, always will be.”

Lucifer’s golden eyes softened, but Adam could see the flicker of doubt that still lingered behind them, a shadow that refused to let go. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against Lucifer’s.

"I mean it," Adam whispered against Lucifer's skin, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "To me, you're perfect—scars and all."

Lucifer’s lips curled into a small, tender smile. He didn’t say anything, but the way he leaned into Adam’s touch, the way his body relaxed just a little more, spoke volumes. Even if he couldn’t fully believe the words, in that moment, he wanted to.

Adam's fingers traced the jagged, yet oddly mesmerizing, scar on Lucifer's leg. It zigzagged across his thigh but had a faint star-like shape to it, just like all of Lucifer’s scars. Adam couldn’t help but wonder why every deep wound Lucifer bore healed into a star. Even the scar on his own chest had the same celestial pattern. His touch lingered on the soft, velvety fur that framed the scar, the gentle texture of Lucifer’s goat-like legs always surprising him. Despite their sharp appearance, they were tender, warm, and inviting beneath Adam’s fingers.

“That feels nice,” Lucifer murmured, his voice a mix of contentment and playfulness as he rested his head against Adam’s shoulder. His breath was soft against Adam’s skin, the moment intimate and peaceful. “I love it when you give me attention.”

A light laugh escaped Adam’s lips, his chest vibrating from the sound. “Of course you do.”

Lucifer chuckled, his voice taking on a teasing, sing-song tone. “Because I’m selfish~”

Before Adam could respond, Lucifer leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the curve of Adam’s throat. He felt the way Adam shivered beneath his lips, and it delighted him to no end. He pulled back just enough to see the flush creeping up Adam’s neck, his own grin widening with satisfaction.

“I also like to return the attention, Addie~” Lucifer whispered, his voice a seductive purr as his golden eyes glimmered with mischief. His fingers trailed gently along Adam’s arm, his touch as light as the breeze, drawing a shudder from the human beneath him.

Adam's heart fluttered, a mix of warmth and nerves coursing through him. He couldn't help but smile, despite the heat rising in his cheeks. "You’re incorrigible, you know that?"

Lucifer grinned wider, his eyes sparkling like molten gold. "And you love it."

Adam sighed, rolling his eyes playfully, but his smile never faded. He did love it—the attention, the way Lucifer knew exactly how to make him feel special. And in these quiet moments, with the gentle rhythm of the river in the background and Lucifer’s presence wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, Adam felt at peace.

He leaned down and pressed his forehead softly against Lucifer’s, their breath mingling in the small space between them.

“Maybe I do,” Adam whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with affection.

Lucifer’s grin softened into something more tender, his hands gently cupping Adam’s face as he nuzzled closer. “Good. Because I’m never letting you forget it, Addie.”

Adam’s emerald eyes wandered down the length of Lucifer’s legs, trailing over the soft, velvety fur and coming to rest on his hooves. His heart clenched when he saw them—sore, unkempt, and clearly neglected. A distressed sound escaped his throat before he could stop it, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Lucifer!" Adam scolded softly, his voice filled with a mixture of worry and affection.

"I thought we agreed you’d take better care of these." He gestured toward the poor state of Lucifer’s hooves, shaking his head in disappointment.

Lucifer blinked, caught off guard by Adam’s sudden shift in tone. For a moment, he tried to brush it off, shrugging with a playful smile.

"Oh, it’s nothing, Addie. I’ve just… gotten caught up in the freedom of not having to wear those pinching boots all the time. You have no idea how much those things hurt! They’ve been forcing me into them for so long, and now, being barefoot is such a luxury," he said, trying to make light of it.

Adam’s frown deepened, though his expression softened as he listened. He did feel for Lucifer—the thought of him being forced into uncomfortable boots, no doubt by Heaven’s expectations, made his heart ache. But still, he couldn’t ignore how sore Lucifer’s hooves looked.

"I get that, really," Adam murmured, his tone gentle as his fingers grazed the fur near Lucifer’s legs.

"But look at them, Luci… They look so sore." His voice dropped to a near whisper as he asked, "Are you still in pain?"

Lucifer hesitated, his bravado faltering. His cheeks flushed a soft pink, and for the first time in a long while, he seemed bashful, almost shy. He glanced away, his golden eyes flickering with embarrassment.

"I… I don’t really know how to take care of them properly," he admitted, his voice much quieter now. "It was easier when I could just wrap them up and give them a quick rinse in the shower. I guess I’ve never really given them much thought."

Adam hummed in response, his mind already shifting to a solution. Without another word, he patted his lap and gestured for Lucifer to rest his hooves there. "Come on, put them here. Let me help."

Lucifer’s heart skipped a beat at the offer. He stared at Adam for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. Something about the gesture—so simple, so kind—made his chest tighten with a feeling he didn’t quite know how to express. His love for Adam swelled in that instant, but instead of saying anything, he blushed a deeper shade of red and awkwardly shifted to lay his hooves across Adam’s lap.

The tenderness in Adam’s eyes as he carefully took Lucifer’s hooves into his hands was almost overwhelming. His touch was gentle, his fingers soft as they caressed the fur framing the hooves, brushing away any dirt or stray bits of Eden’s soil. Adam moved with such care, as if he was handling something precious, and Lucifer couldn’t help but blush harder, his heart racing with every delicate movement.

"You're always so gentle," Lucifer whispered, almost to himself, as Adam continued to attend to him.

Adam smiled softly, his focus never wavering as he carefully began cleaning the hooves, using the edge of his sleeve to wipe away the grime.

 "You deserve it," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I hate seeing you in pain."

Lucifer’s chest tightened again, a warmth spreading through him as he watched Adam work. The human’s fingers moved with such care, cradling each hoof as if they were something sacred. Adam’s thumb lightly grazed over the tender edges of Lucifer’s hoof, smoothing over the ridges with a touch that sent shivers up Lucifer’s spine.

He didn’t know what to say, his usual playful confidence slipping away in the face of Adam’s kindness. All he could do was watch, his golden eyes softening, his body relaxing into Adam’s touch.

"Does that hurt?" Adam asked, glancing up at him with concern as he gently brushed more dirt from the hoof.

Lucifer shook his head, feeling oddly shy again. "No… It feels nice, actually."

Adam’s smile deepened; his gaze warm as he returned his focus to cleaning. He worked slowly, methodically, making sure to tend to every detail. The way he handled Lucifer’s hooves was nothing short of reverent, like he was tending to something far more delicate than the fallen Archangel’s battered feet.

Lucifer’s heart swelled even more, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. He wanted to say something—to tell Adam how much this meant to him, how much he loved him for this—but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he just watched in quiet admiration, feeling the love deepen in his chest as Adam’s fingers worked their magic.

For the first time in a long time, Lucifer felt vulnerable in a way that didn’t scare him. Adam’s touch made everything feel okay, made him feel cherished in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

When Adam finished, he looked up at Lucifer, his eyes soft and filled with care.

"Better?" he asked, his voice quiet and soothing.

Lucifer smiled, his cheeks still a little pink as he nodded. "Much better, Addie… Thank you."

Adam leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Lucifer’s knee, right above the scar. "Anytime, Luci. You just have to ask."

Lucifer’s heart fluttered again, and though he didn’t say it, in that moment, he was sure of one thing—he was hopelessly, completely in love with Adam.

Adam’s fingers continued to glide gently over Lucifer’s hooves, the warmth of his touch soothing the fallen angel. After a few moments, Adam finally broke the comfortable silence, his voice soft but curious. “Why do you think your hooves are so ugly, Luci?”

Lucifer shrugged, his golden eyes flicking away in that familiar, dismissive way.

“Because they are ugly, Addie,” he muttered, as if it were an obvious fact.

Adam pouted, his heart aching at how casually Lucifer put himself down. Shaking his head, he caressed the arch of one hoof with deliberate care, his thumb brushing over the tender fur surrounding it.

“I don’t think they’re ugly at all,” Adam said quietly, his gaze unwavering. “They’re beautiful.”

Lucifer scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him.

“Beautiful? You must be joking.” He frowned, his voice growing harsher as he insulted himself. “I mean, look at me. What kind of archangel has hooves for feet? I look like some cheap knock-off, a twisted version of what I used to be.”

Adam fell silent for a few seconds, his emerald eyes glancing down at Lucifer’s hooves as he absorbed the angel’s words. Then, quietly but firmly, he spoke. “Probably the kindest one.”

Lucifer blinked, caught off guard. His gaze snapped to Adam’s face, searching for any sign that he was teasing or being sarcastic.

“You… really think I’m kind?” he asked, his voice softening in disbelief.

Adam chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully before nodding. “Yeah, I do. I think you’re the kindest one, Luci. Sure, you’ve made mistakes—we all have—but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re kind.”

He paused, his cheeks flushing slightly as he continued, “And honestly… I think you’re even more beautiful now than when you were an Archangel.”

Lucifer stared at Adam as if he’d just heard something impossible, his eyebrows raising in shock.

“Are you serious?” he stammered. “You can’t mean that. I was the most beautiful when I was an Archangel of the Lord. Look at me now—I’m just a step down. A cheap imitation of what I once was.”

Adam felt his face heat up, shy and a little embarrassed to admit what he’d been thinking for so long. He glanced away for a moment, before finally looking back at Lucifer with sincerity in his eyes.

“I… actually prefer you like this,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper. “I find you… very attractive. More so now than when you were an Archangel.”

Lucifer gaped at him, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“You—what?” He blinked several times, gawking at Adam as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re not lying?”

Adam met Lucifer’s gaze head-on, his emerald eyes filled with honesty. “Why would I lie about that?”

Lucifer sucked in a sharp breath, his face flushing a brilliant shade of red as he struggled to process Adam’s words. Slowly, he nodded, his heart racing. He knew Adam wouldn’t lie to him about something like this.

But the compliment felt strange, foreign. Lucifer’s golden eyes grew distant, misted over as he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

“I… hate myself, you know,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hate how I look now. When I fell, and I woke up like this…”

He gestured vaguely to his changed form, his claws, his hooves. “It was hard. Maybe I could’ve gotten used to the hooves if that was all, but it wasn’t. I woke up with claws, horns, and then there’s the fucking tail…”

At the mention of a tail, Adam perked up, his eyes dropping to Lucifer’s hips as if expecting to see it. “Wait… you really have a tail?”

Lucifer pouted, folding his arms across his chest in frustration. “That’s all you’ve got to say?” he grumbled. “Yeah, I have a tail. It’s just as ugly as the rest of me.”

Adam shook his head in disagreement, his expression softening as he thought back. “I always wondered about that… I remember thinking I saw it back in Hell, before my second death, but I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe I’d imagined it.”

He smiled, his gaze warm as he added, “I don’t believe for a second that it’s ugly, though.”

Lucifer snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen it up close. Trust me, it’s not something you’d call cute.”

Adam tilted his head, his curiosity piqued.

“I wish I could see it up close,” he said, his voice soft and thoughtful. “Why don’t you have it here, in Eden?”

Lucifer blinked, surprised by the question. He looked down at his lap, then back up at Adam. “I assume, like my wings, the tail was part of my powers. It must be tied to them, so I don’t have it here. Same with my horns, I guess.”

Adam’s pout returned, his lips curling into a small frown.

“Aww, that’s a shame. I wonder if it’s just as soft, too,” he mused absentmindedly, his hands trailing over Lucifer’s legs and fingers, as if his touch alone could bring that softness back.

Lucifer’s heart raced at the subtle, almost flirtatious way Adam caressed him. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, all he could do was stare, his breath catching in his throat. Adam’s casual admittance—his gentle, open fondness for Lucifer’s body—was almost too much for him to handle. It sent a thrill through him, a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something more dangerous.

But for once, Lucifer didn’t mind. He leaned into Adam’s touch, his heart pounding in his chest, and wondered—maybe, just maybe, he could start believing Adam’s words.

“I wonder what kinds of things you could’ve done if you still had it,” Adam mused aloud, a light-hearted laugh slipping from his lips before he could stop himself.

Lucifer paused, blinking slowly at Adam as his smile turned sly, lips curling in a crooked, playful grin. A flicker of something dangerous and mischievous danced across his features. What kinds of things could he have done? The thought made his heart quicken, and suddenly, his mouth watered at the possibilities. His gaze darkened, molten gold swirling in his eyes as he reached out, fingertips—claws—skimming up Adam’s throat, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He leaned in close, his breath hot against Adam’s ear.

“Oh?” Lucifer’s voice was a low, sinful purr that sent shivers racing down Adam’s spine. “And what, exactly, were you imagining, my sweet Addie?”

Adam’s emerald eyes flew wide, the realization of what he might have suggested hitting him all at once. Heat flushed through him, turning his skin warm and prickly as his pulse hammered in his throat. His face darkened, every inch of him suddenly feeling much too warm under Lucifer’s intense, hungry gaze.

“L-Lucifer, whatever you’re thinking… that’s not what I meant,” Adam stammered, his voice shaky as he tried to backtrack, but it was too late. Lucifer's lips twisted into a wicked grin as he pounced, a blur of mischievous laughter and quick movement.

They tumbled together, rolling across Eden’s soft, golden soil in a whirl of laughter and heat, the earth warm beneath them. Before Adam could even catch his breath, Lucifer’s lips found his, pressing in with fervour and playfulness. The kiss was intoxicating, sweet and teasing all at once, and Adam felt himself melt into it, swept up in the rush of the moment.

Adam barely had time to register what was happening before Lucifer's body was pressing against his, the force of the fallen angel’s playful pounce knocking them both onto Eden’s warm, fragrant soil. The heat of the moment washed over Adam like a wave, his breath catching as their lips collided, unexpected yet electric.

Lucifer’s claws gently grazed Adam’s jawline, sending shivers down his spine as their lips brushed together in a teasing kiss. It wasn’t hurried, but deliberate—like Lucifer wanted to savour every second, every reaction from Adam. His breath was hot against Adam’s skin, the proximity overwhelming, his presence a mixture of danger and comfort all at once.

"Not what you meant, huh?" Lucifer teased, his voice low and sultry as he hovered just above Adam, their faces mere inches apart. His golden and red eyes glinted with a mischievous glimmer, darkened by desire.

"Then what did you mean, Addie?" His voice was a velvet purr, laced with temptation.

Adam’s heart raced in his chest, each beat loud and insistent, as if it wanted to escape the intensity of Lucifer’s gaze. His face was flushed, heat rising to his cheeks and neck, and suddenly every inch of him felt hypersensitive to the fallen angel’s touch. His emerald eyes darted away for a second, unable to withstand the fire in Lucifer’s gaze.

“I-I wasn’t thinking,” Adam stammered, trying to gather his thoughts, but Lucifer’s weight on top of him, the press of his body, made it nearly impossible to form a coherent sentence. His voice faltered, softer now, “Luci… I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, but I think you did,” Lucifer breathed, leaning in closer, his lips brushing the shell of Adam’s ear. “Or at least… I’m hoping you did.”

There was a teasing lilt in his tone, but underneath it, a raw vulnerability that Adam recognized.

Adam’s breath hitched, and he felt a wild heat surge through him as Lucifer's words sank in. His body felt like it was on fire, caught between the pull of desire and the soft pang of affection for the angel above him.

 “Lucifer…” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as he tried to speak through the haze of emotions.

Lucifer's gaze softened for just a moment, his sharp grin faltering as he studied Adam's flushed face. There was a tenderness in his touch now, claws easing off, and he leaned down, pressing a much gentler kiss to Adam’s lips, softer this time, with the kind of care that only someone truly in love could give.

Adam kissed him back, slow and deliberate, his fingers tangling in Lucifer’s midnight fur as he pulled him closer. Despite the teasing and the heat of the moment, this was what it came down to—their connection, the way they fit together like pieces of the same whole. Adam felt the warmth of Lucifer’s body envelop him, the world around them falling away as they lay together in the heart of Eden.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless and flushed, Adam couldn't help but laugh softly.

"You’re impossible, Luci."

Lucifer’s smirk returned, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Only for you, Addie.”

But as they settled into the quiet of the moment, the heat simmering down, Adam found himself tracing the edges of Lucifer’s hooves again, marvelling at how natural it all felt—like they had always been like this, tangled together in love, teasing words and soft touches. His heart swelled with affection, and despite the teasing, he knew one thing for sure: there was no one else he’d rather be with.

~#~

Hell was a mesmerizing blend of deep blues, purples, and reds, stitched together in a tapestry of shadows and infernal light. The sky was a dusky purple, shrouding the realm in a twilight gloom, with the distant glow of Heaven shimmering far above like an unreachable moon. Wisps of steam curled lazily through the darkened streets, mingling with the acrid scent of sin and chaos. Sinners hurried past, some rushing to their shadowy homes, while others clashed in fiery disputes under the ever-watchful eyes of the city.

In the Ring of Pride, everything pulsed with the raw energy of its sovereigns. Power hummed through the streets like a living heartbeat, the presence of the King and Princess tangible in every corner. Purple and crimson eyes, set deep within the cracked stone of the city, watched intently, surveying all that transpired within their domain. There was an undeniable majesty to the place, a sense of grandeur woven into the very fabric of Hell.

The Hazbin Hotel towered above Pentagram City, a structure of haunting elegance. Its height was dizzying, with countless windows glowing in hues of violet and scarlet, echoing the colors of the Pride Ring itself. Every light beckoned, drawing the gaze of anyone who dared look. The wrought iron gates shimmered like stars against the dark backdrop, while a pristine, dusty white stone pathway wound its way up to the towering golden statue of a goat-dragon—a symbol both curious and awe-inspiring, throbbing with otherworldly energy yet oddly inviting.

Two towers rose from the hotel like sentinels, their designs both strange and familiar. From afar, they might resemble a colossal golden apple and an old-fashioned radio, but up close, it was clear that they embodied the two powerful forces that ruled this domain—rivals in both strength and influence. Their presence crackled in the air, a constant reminder of the duality of Pride.

Adam couldn’t shake the growing sense of regret. The moment he had stepped foot into the Hazbin Hotel, his heart had raced with unease, knowing deep down that Lucifer’s sugary words and honeyed promises were merely a trap. He had spent fifteen long years with Lucifer, trapped in Eden's paradise, and he should’ve recognized the gleam in Lucifer’s eyes—the one that always meant mischief was at hand.

If only he had listened to his instincts, if only he had trusted his gut… he might not be in this precarious position now. Yet here he was, ensnared once more, wondering what fate awaited him in this unnervingly beautiful and treacherous place.

“Aw, come on Addie~” Lucifer purred, running his long tongue along Adam’s throat. “Don’t keep those cute sounds locked away~ I want to hear them~”

He should have known…

Adam flushed brightly from embarrassment. He was pinned upon a queen-sized bed, his wrists held down by Lucifer’s claws. A shudder of heat ran through his vein, tingling through his gut and making his hips arch.

“Don’t you remember what you said in Eden?” Lucifer cooed, leaning back to peer down Adam’s delicious face hungrily. “How you wished I still had it? You wondered what type of things I could have done if I did~”

“I-I didn’t mean this – ohhh~” Adam clenched his eyes shut, waves of pleasure running through him. He crushed his lips together, clanking his teeth together and trying to stifle his moans.

Lucifer whined, nipping at Adam’s lips again. His hips were arched upward, his backside stuck up with his long silk black tail buried between Adam’s thick thighs. The sound of wetness echoed through the room as he purposely moved his arrow-tipped tail against Adam’s wet cunt, rolling it with desire.

“Addie~” he sang, pressing his naked body down upon Adam’s. “Come on baby~”

“Let me hear your adorable song, it’s been so long since I’ve last heard it~”

Adam's eyes sprung open, growing wide with a cry erupting from his throat. Lucifer grinned widely, so wickedly and mean as he began to push the tip of his tail into Adam's dripping wet cunt.

"Is it good? Is it better then you thought it would have been?" Lucifer teased, running his sharp teeth up Adam's exposed throat. He dug them into the bite claim he had immeidately returned to the skin. "Is it everything you fantasied about in Eden?"

"S-So much better!"

Lucifer laughed with victory, beginning to fuck Adam with his tail.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: all those words hidden in the silence

pairing: kitt azer x (first person reader)

synopsis: you break into the castle for a mission where you may have to assassinate the king but you fancy teasing him a little first… given your history

warnings: swearing, intense-ness

a/n: don’t ask me how or why this idea came to me but it was super fun to write :)) btw the crossed out parts are to represent her ‘forbidden’ thoughts

taglist: @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @whatsamongus @zaraaaabear @lovethornes @emelia07 @sweetreveriee @userxs-blog @anintellectualintellectual @off-to-the-r4ces @hermesenthusiast

“Pretty night for a murder don’t you think,” I grin, swinging my dagger between my fingers nonchalantly.

The king turns around. The look of shock on his face leaves me satisfied but like any addiction, a part of me craves more. I watch as he slowly pales when he meets my eyes. I wasn’t sure he could pale any more, he looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. The king is weak. Perfect.

“Very pretty,” he muses, keeping on the diplomatic mask he’s crafted for himself, “the blood will match your new outfit.”

“Taking notes about what I wear now?” I raise an eyebrow, approaching him slowly. My steps long and swift, almost a glide. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his neck as he swallows and wonder if he’s nervous.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he sighs with a blank stare, “it’s just a change from seeing you in rags, did that little seamstress friend of our silver saviour sew it for you?”

He hits a nerve and he knows it as the corner of his mouth turn up to form malicious smirk. I want to rip it off of his cruelly beautiful face and tear each part into a million pieces of nothingness. So he can finally be the nothing he made her.

“You murdered Adena,” I growl, not bothering to hide my burning rage. Unlike the king, I’m not a fan of wearing a mask. I don’t play pretend, I don’t mess about, I’m real.

He dares to take a step closer to me, “she was collateral damage.”

“Why don’t I make you collateral damage?” I snarl, gripping tighter to my dagger. My knuckles turn white.

“It’s my talent sweetheart,” he tells me, “I’d be careful if I were you.”

His green eyes blaze with a synthetic fierceness. I laugh, throwing my head back and holding my stomach. He’s taken off guard and stares at me in bewilderment.

“Oh sorry,” I snort, trying to pull myself together, “it’s just hilarious to me that you think you’ll be doing the killing tonight.”

“I wouldn’t get so giggly sweetheart,” he murmurs, getting closer still, looming over me to cast his cowardly shadow, “you know I could if I wanted to.”

“No I don’t actually, you’ve had countless opportunities to do it,” I scoff, “so tell me, brave king, noble king, why haven’t you killed me yet?”

He paralyses for a second and I have the golden opportunity to end him right there. Lunge forwards and impale him with my handmade dagger. Watch the blood leak from his lifeless body. See as the last flicker of light leaves those hypnotising emerald eyes. But I don’t. I don’t do it and I don’t know why.

“You know why,” he whispered, sending a shiver down my spine. It’s like he’s answering both the question in my head and the one I had said aloud.

I quirk my eyebrow upwards and fold my arms, I won’t let him do this to me, he can’t play the vulnerable card before I do, “do I?” I ask.

“Are you going to make me say it?” he murmurs so quietly I can hear my heart thumping my chest, “is that what you want from me?”

So it’s true. He still loves me like I love him. And he won’t kill me because of it. Good. I have an advantage.

“Are you brave enough to say it?” I mumbled, tilting my face upwards to really look at him.

He’s still my Kitt. I can see past his pretence, far past it. I always have been able to. And even with his tired eyes and hollowed cheeks, colder gaze and harsher tone, beneath all of that he’s the boy I used to know. The boy I fell for in too many ways. The boy who was vulnerable with me. The boy who I was vulnerable with.

“I have guards posted on every door,” he diverts the conversation, “how did you get past them?”

I get the answer to my previous question. He is not brave enough to admit it. He’s still a coward then.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” my lips draw into a thin smile.

“You know I could have you killed in an instant,” he muses, “my guards will obey my every wish, it wouldn’t be me to do it.”

He won’t call them. I already know it. But I’ll play his game, as tedious as manipulation is it serves well in the end.

“Too bad you won’t be able to reach them,” I shrug softly.

His face hardens, “what did you do?”

I don’t reply, staring at my nails to prove my disinterest. He tries calling for them, for help, for anyone. I yawn and roll my eyes. They won’t come. They don’t come. I see a flicker of rage in his eyes, a furious spark ignites somewhere inside of him. At least he looks less like a dead man walking when angry, at least now he had passion about something.

“What did you do!” he yells, his booming voice remaining me of his father, making me feel a little queasy.

“Demanding me isn’t going to make me tell you,” I say fiercely, “I’m not one of your subject Kitty.”

He flinches at the nickname. It’s like a reflex he has no control over. The mask cracks slightly. Whoops.

He glares at me, regaining his pathetic royal composure, the facade that is everything but him, “where’s my brother?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Yes you do,” he insists.

“No I don’t,” I exclaimed.

“TELL ME!” he screams, madly clawing at my arms, pinning me to the wall behind us.

My back hits it with an awkward thump. Pain rolls across my body and I bite my lip. He has me at the wrists, forcing me to drop my beloved dagger. Our faces are so close they nearly touch. I wonder if he can see the scar on my left eyebrow, the one he gave me. I don’t tear my gaze from his and for what feels like hours he stare at each other panting like exhausted dogs. His hands slowly drop my wrists and trail gently down my face. I’ve missed his touch. They reach my neck and in a sudden jerky movement he clasps his hands around it. I gasp, he smiles something blazing in his eyes. He’s hungry to witness my pain. Shame he’ll have to starve tonight.

“Go on,” I murmur, “strangle me, do it, I dare you.”

He breathes heavily, looking into my eyes like he used to after all those times we’d kissed. A mix of emotions rise into my chest, a bittersweet mixture of all I want to forgot. Part of me thinks it might be worth dying, if it’s at his hands.

“You can’t,” I whisper, “can you?”

“What do you want?” he asks hoarsely, dropping his arms and taking a step back. Disappointment hits my stomach. I didn’t want him to let go.

“Oh honey,” I say, strutting past him, “there’s a long list.”

“Tell me what you want,” he walks infront of me, stopping my tracks, “and I will let you walk out of here alive.”

“You won’t kill me either away,” I say, “what good is that promise?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Kitt says, “I might not do it myself but there are others who will. So what do you want?”

“At this current moment,” I ask, taking a step closer to him so I can feel him breathe.

He nods, “name it.”

“I want your blood,” I whisper, pushing him down harshly onto a chair, “on my dagger, your cold lifeless body in my arms,” I say, your lips on my lips I don’t.

A ghost of a smile haunts his empty features, as he grabs my chin, “you’re a pretty liar, but not a good enough one.”

“Do you want to test me?” I ask, straddling him so I’m sat on his lap. For the plan to work I need to be a distraction, that’s all this is, I reassure myself. I ignore the fact that I want to be in this position.

“Tell me this makes you feel nothing,” he says in a low voice, running his soft hands up my thighs and then up to the small of my back where he holds me like I’m weightless, like I’m a dancer.

I gasp sharply. All my oxygen stolen by a thief with emerald eyes. The same theif who stole my heart.

“Look me in the eye and tell me this makes you feel nothing,” he repeats again.

I can’t do it. And he knows it. This makes me feel more than I’ve felt in a long time. I open my mouth to reply but two rough unfamiliar sets of hands grab my arms. I look behind to see two guards on me.

Kitt grins, something cruel in his smirk make my heart ache, “two can play at the manipulation game sweetheart,” he says.

Sweetheart. My toes curl at the thought of being his sweetheart. I want to kick myself and then sob in a heap. I’d let my guard down again. I’d been vulnerable again. I’d let myself take it all as one big joke again. He wasn’t my Kitt anymore and I was naive to think he could be. I’d failed the mission, I’d failed to kill him, I’d failed to manipulate him, I’d failed to play it smart.

He just stands there, over me, crown looking too heavy for his head. I hate that look he’s giving me. I attempt to lunge at him but the guards’ grip is too strong and I’m held back. He’s still smirking at me. I spit in his face.

“Aren’t you beautiful when you’re angry,” he taunts, unbothered by my undignified behaviour.

I’d been so cocky before. How stupid did I look now?

“Fuck you Kitt,” I shout, a rawness in my voice that I didn’t recognise.

He chuckles, “not so sarcastic now are we?”

“I’m going to kill you,” I look at him, a dead seriousness set in my expression.

“That’s what you came here to do though and as it happens I’m not dead,” he shrugs at me. I wish his eyes weren’t so pretty to stare at.

“They’ll end you Kitt,” I tell him, “they’re planning to end you.”

Am I threatening him or am I warning him? I can’t tell anymore. My mind is too conflicted to decide.

“And I will destroy every last one until there’s just you and I,” he murmurs, before standing up and issuing his kingly orders, “take her to a holding cell boys.”

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍 I promise more of my req fic will be posted soon

powerless masterlist

[3minsover]

One Night Love Affair

inspired by the bryan adams song. steddie au, imagine your own happy ending. sometimes one night is all two people are allowed.

Steve doesn’t usually come to parties alone, especially when he knows a grand total of 3 people out of the dozens that will be there. But he’s a charmer, a people person - he’ll make it work. he jokes and laughs his way around the room for a while, before slipping away for a smoke in the front yard. The gravel crunches satisfyingly under his sneakers, and he twists his foot just to feel the tiny stones scrape and grate over each other while pulling a cigarette from the carton.

“Need a light?” a voice asks from behind Steve, soft and open and not a little unexpected. Steve turns as he pinches the cigarette between his lips, and sees a dark haired man with eyes like blistering coals and lips like rose petals. The man pushes up from where he’d been leaning against the wall and pulls a box of matches from the pocket of his jacket. It’s black and leather and supple, shining satin against the porch light.

“Yeah, thanks.” Steve inclines his head towards the new-struck match, eyes flicking up to meet those of this stranger, and the blaze illuminates a rim of black kohl around those dark, warm eyes. Steve’s heart lurches, suddenly unable to look away. He forgets to suck on the smoke, leaving it trapped between loosely pursed lips, and only foggily remembers when the man’s eyebrows disappear up behind the waves of his bangs.

“Y’gotta suck on it,” the guy says with just a hint of amusement undercut by something richer, and steve gasps, lungs filling with smoke unexpectedly. He splutters, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth.

Steve has seldom felt such an immediate attraction to anyone, never been blindsided by all that’s promised in the newness of a stranger. He doesn’t even know this man’s name, and yet he is overcome, sudden and sure, and all at once the party means nothing. It’s too loud, too many people he doesn’t know, Steve’s not even sure why he still goes to these things.

Within a few more choking breaths, Steve manages to even out his breathing, before pulling in a lungful of smoke intentionally this time.

“Thanks, uh, again. I’m Steve.”

“Eddie. You know Tommy?” the man, Eddie, asks, only shifting a half-step back away from Steve.

Instinct is a funny thing. In no other circumstance would Steve’s body tell him to grab the hand of a stranger and run, away from people, from safety. He knows better than that, has only just learned the man’s name for god’s sake. but a new kind of instinct emerges, something altogether more powerful.

“Yeah, but I’d rather know you,” Steve states, bold and surprising even to himself. Eddie, taken a little aback by steve’s forwardness, blinks hard. But then his face splits into a hungry smile, his own cigarette trapped between two rows of straight white teeth.

“Why don’t you take me somewhere private, and you can get to know me all you want.” And there’s a little innuendo in it, Steve knows that, more than a little flirting in Eddie’s smooth, sure voice. He welcomes it, twitches his eye in a wink.

With easy comfort that should not be, they round the hood of Steve’s car and clamber in. Steve drives them out towards the quarry, tries not to break the speed limit, but the balmy night and the fizzle of possibility has him pushing his beemer hard down open road.

Conversation comes easily, exhilarating with each new morsel uncovered, and by the time they’re pulling up to the edge of the woods a hundred yards from the quarry’s edge, Steve’s certain that he will never have another night like this.

Eddie leads the way towards the craggy edge and crouches before throwing his legs out in front of him and letting them dangle. Steve follows suit, letting some story about the first time he came up here fall from his lips like the overflow of a bath.

As Steve talks, Eddie lights a cigarette, and Steve pulls one of his own from the carton. This time, however, the matches are forgotten. Eddie pinches Steve’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, turns his face toward him and leans forward, hollowing his cheeks as the cherry of Eddie’s cigarette nudges up against the unlit end of Steve’s.

Steve steadies his smoke between the first knuckles of his fingers, keeping it in place as Eddie is him. When plumes of smoke spill up into the air between their faces, Steve drops his hand, skating his palm mock-accidentally over the side of Eddie’s hand. Eddie’s eyes meet Steve’s, thrilling and unfamiliar but known in such a way as Steve has never felt.

They sit on the edge of the cliff, smoking and talking about nothing in particular. Each topic comes and goes, dissipating into the night with their breath. The words they speak are only for tonight, only for now, they will disappear before the morning light.

It’s probably around 3am when the bravery that had been teasing at his thoughts finally sinks into Steve’s skin under the twinkling of the stars, and moves his lips for him.

“Y’know you caught me by surprise.”

“Oh yeah? Surprise how?”

Steve considers for a moment, finds he can’t look directly at Eddie under the violet light of the dark. Eddie’s doe eyes and expectant gaze, his full lips and quick tongue had had something curling and twisting Steve’s insides into wriggling knots, and he knows exactly why.

“Y’know the jacket and the eyeliner and all. Didn’t think you’d exactly be my type…of person,” Steve adds quickly, skin prickling at having given himself away so easily. Eddie makes a little indignant noise, and Steve anxiously whips to look at him, sees the curl of Eddie’s lips into a smirk.

“Thought the same about you, big boy. usually I’m not one for uh…” Eddie reaches out to flick one of the buttons that sits over his sternum, “polo shirts.”

Steve dips his chin and chuckles, then takes a final drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the chalky ground beside him.

“You think you…could be?” Steve asks, chin still lowered, looking up through his lashes at the pale plains of Eddie’s moonlit face.

It’s closer now than it had been, where Eddie’s now leaning forward on his palm, bringing their faces only a few inches from each other’s.

“Think I already am, Stevie.”

The kiss comes slow, gentle, and Steve’s skin sparkles. Then the press of a tongue tip against the center of Steve’s lower lip, asking permission.

It’s granted with a gasp and a flutter of fingertips at the back of Steve’s neck, and then hands are in hair and under shirts and somehow they make it to the car, stumbling and intertwined.

They fog the windows with secret words, feelings too big to hold, too sudden to contain, too delicate to keep.

The deepest night hours slip away in a slow exchange of sensation, and too soon the sun begins to peek between the trunks of distant trees. the softness of touch becomes more urgent, now apprised of its deadline. Steve thinks that Eddie, too, knows that whatever this is will only exist in the dark, in the quiet hours.

The night ends too early. The light of day creeps peach and primrose over the horizon, and the ending of things begins. Steve drops Eddie back at his van, still parked in the driveway of some house that belongs to someone whose name is no longer important.

They part ways with a kiss as wistful as it is sweet: Eddie’s hands cupping Steve’s cheeks like he’s something delicate, Steve’s fingers curling around the lapels of Eddie’s jacket and tugging him closer, just for a moment longer.

Just a moment more, and maybe it’ll never end.

Steve watches Eddie drive away, and knows in each beat of his heart that all they had shared under the moon-bright sky is all they ever would. Life will get in the way, paths will run parallel without overlap, years will crumble between them until this is but a distant echo of a memory of a kiss.

Sometimes, one night is all two people are allowed.

[obsidiancreates]

Gray Area (Remastered 4 years later)

(I originally wrote Gray Area in June of 2019 when I was but a little 15 year old, and figured well, why not remaster it for Good Omens Season 2? If you're unfamiliar with the original fic, it's an AU where the two never swapped places at the end of Season 1 and their punishments result in the discovery that they're truly On Their Own Side. Figured it'd be a nice little Balm on the fandom right now, heh.)

———————————————————————————————————–

It should be a happy occasion.

The Earth is safe. Adam renounced his powers, his no-longer-father, his role in the Apocalypse. The Plan was halted. The humans were all free to go about their lives, continuing on as if nothing happened, because as far as most of them knew nothing had. As a good, selfless, caring angel, Aziraphale should be happy.

Instead, he's using all of his self-control to keep from falling apart.

He knew there'd be punishment. They both knew. But somehow, it had escaped his realization that their punishments would part himself and Crowley. It's not as if he's unused to them being parted, but...

But he has a feeling that this time, they may not return to each other. For the first time in six thousand years, he truly feels... their last moments together have come and gone.

Even as these feelings twist and gnaw inside of him, he keeps his head held high. He won't allow Gabriel and the others to have the satisfaction of seeing him fall apart. He has no regrets about saving the earth, and he will make that clear to them.

He's sure Crowley is doing the same- in his own way, of course. But the sentiment is probably the same, or at least quite similar.

He does hope they haven't tied Crowley to the same kind of chair, though. His own is terribly uncomfortable. The chairs in Heaven always are. It's plain, it's stark-white, it's all angles, and just from sitting on it he can tell it's some kind of hollow design made to make him feel unsupported. Alone. Abandoned.

All it makes him feel is an aching wish for his bookshop and it's comfortable seats.

The room is much like the chair. White, empty, uncomfortable. Heaven is consistent, if not pleasant. Perhaps it should bother him, how the bright light of the empty room sears into his eyes, too bright, too blazing. The light of Heaven, of the Almighty herself, causing an Angel discomfort to gaze upon.

But he's never liked this light, not since he discovered other forms of it. He prefers warm, soft lighting, filtered in through dusty windows or cast by a flickering candle.

Maybe he's not a proper angel, then. The thought twists him up inside even more, scraping away in his chest. Why isn't he? Aren't angels meant to care, to heal, to spread good wherever they go? Aren't they meant to protect, to watch over, to love?

If doing so make him an improper angel... well, perhaps that's for the best. Even if the idea still feels wrong.

... A proper angel probably wouldn't care so deeply for a demon, either.

Crowley. Aziraphale is sure he himself it to be killed for his actions. He knows Crowley was sure he'd be facing the same. How is still a mystery. These are to be their last moments, their final thoughts, their final sights.

With this realization, the light becomes upsetting for a new reason.

He's facing his final moments, and instead of his beloved bookshop or dearest friend, companion, the one being who truly knew and understood him-

Instead of anything Aziraphale was fond of, the final thing he'll see is some overexposed angels smirking at him.

———————————————————————————————————–

It was never going to be a truly happy occasion.

He'd known it from the moment he'd been given the baby. That even if he and Aziraphale stopped The Apocalypse, someone would be held responsible. And then things got more complicated, and they had to become more direct, and many humans got involved-

And now Crowley stands in a dark, dingy room, the sound of flickering half-dead fluorescents mixing with the sound of Beelzebub's flies, the murmur of hundreds of demons pressed into the small viewing space behind a window as Crowley stands before the demons just waiting for his demise.

He ignores the smell, the damp moldy musk mixing with rot of all kinds both earthly and not. If he's to die, truly and completely, he'll at least try to ruin the moment for the rest of them.

He hopes Aziraphale is doing the same, up above. He must be. He's enough of a bastard to, deep down, and if there's ever a moment to allow that to shine through it's now.

And so Crowley smirks, just a bit, just enough to see Hastur's mouth twitch into a scowl (well, a deeper scowl).

"Nice place here. Bit bare, though." Crowley looks around. "And Angel said I was minimalist."

"We built this place for you specially," Beelzebub says. "It shall be your of trial, and it shall be your place of destruction."

"Not much of a trial," Crowley mutters. Not that he's surprised. "What'll it be, then? An eternity in the deepest pit?"

He knows it won't be. They're all far too excited for it to be as simple as that.

Hastur all but confirms it with the cruelly gleeful grin that makes it's way onto his face. He's relishing in this, the sheer enjoyment just oozing from him. It's so potent that Crowley finds himself leaning away a bit, trying to physically escape the way it seems to seep from Hastur's very being.

"No, no. We're going to do something even worse. Letting the punishment fit the crime."

What the hell is that supposed to mean? What kind of punishment fits his crime? They didn't plan for someone stopping the Apocalypse, and even if they did they couldn't have planned for how it was stopped.

And then Crowley hears footsteps.

They're coming from the single tight hallway he'd been lead down mere moments ago. They're quick, purposeful, and the shoes sound far too nice to be in Hell. For all the purpose in the sound of the stride, though, there's something that can't be hidden. The steps are quick not just in a way that says Efficiency, but in a way that screams discomfort.

It's almost intriguing, really. Crowley turns to look at the entrance to his trial room.

And watches Archangel Micheal step through.

"Well, that's unlikely." The words spring forth from his mouth before he even knows they're coming.

And his eyes flick down to something in Micheal's hands.

A pitcher.

Holy water. So that's what Hastur means. It must've been his idea.

Crowley is to die by holy water, his transgression so great not only in Hell's eyes, but Heaven's as well. It's unsurprising, truly, but as he watches Micheal step closer to the bathtub he'd really thought was just a sign they'd hastily redecorated a bathroom something dawns on him.

Heaven and Hell are working together on his punishment. Which means it's possible that they're working together for...

“What have you done with Aziraphale?” The words are seethed, but desperate. He knows, and yet he can't help himself.

And he hears Beelzebub laugh. “You two seemed so desperate not to live without each other-”

“-That we decided to do you both a favor and ensure you don't have to,” Micheal interrupts. They look at Crowley with a cruel glint in their eye. "Call it mercy."

“And we thought it would kill you to know your little lover boy was going to die because of you,” Beelzebub adds. Honesty, more honest than the angel, but not because it's right, because it's painful.

Crowley watches Micheal fill the tub with holy water, and only one thought runs through his mind.

Aziraphale is up there, alone, and going to die.

Aziraphale is going to die.

———————————————————————————————————-

“Ah, Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice booms out from behind. He strides into Aziraphale's eyeline, taking his place between and slightly in front of Uriel and Sandalphon. Aziraphale does his best not to glare, because if he's going to die then he's going to die with dignity. These angel think him wrong for finding Earth, humans, and so much more worth saving. They think him a bad angel for it.

He won't allow them the pleasure of anything they may take as evidence they're right.

... Of course, pointing out some ineffective choices in their retrieval of him is only... right, to do. Helpful, even. As a good angel is.

So Aziraphale looks Gabriel in the eye and says, “You could have just sent a message. A kidnapping, in broad daylight?”

He can almost feel Crowley's approval, hear the proud insistence that Aziraphale is a bastard deep down. Perhaps, if he keeps this up, he'll be able to visualize Crowley again before he's executed.

But Gabriel doesn't react. He just turns to Uriel and asks, "Have we heard from our new associate?"

"He's on his way."

Gabriel grins, a bright souless grin that fits all too perfectly with the room around them. "He's on his way." He looks at Aziraphale, even crouches a bit, getting close. "I bet you're going to like this. I really do! And I bet, you didn't see this one coming."

If he hadn't before, he does now. The glee, the bragging, the sheer arrogant nature of it all.

Hellfire. They've gotten ahold of hellfire.

And if they've gotten ahold of hellfire...

Micheal is absent from this.

Aziraphale's heart drops. Crowley.

An exchange. He and Crowley worked together to save the world, angel and demon on the same team. Now Heaven and Hell copy them, angels and demons, to kill them both.

“You don’t get this view down in the basement!” a voice calls out. A demon walks, walks over. Simply steps on the grounds of Heaven, unharmed, given special privileges. A demon allowed into Heaven to kill and angel just for love.

The demon throws his hands out. Hellfire shoots out from them, hitting a small circle on the floor and bursting into a great blaze! The fire shoots up and twists, curls, forming a tornado of demonic flames in the middle of Heaven itself. Aziraphale can feel the heat from where he sits, so close he could swear his hair begins to singe.

Gabriel stands a safe distance away. "So, with one act of treason, you avoided the war. You ruined our entire plan, everything we've worked for, for six thousand years."

Gabriel is doing a much poorer job of keeping his anger in check than Aziraphale is his own emotions. Perhaps he's just less used to them. Perhaps he just doesn't care.

Aziraphale knows what he says next could push Gabriel over the edge. But he's about to die anyway, and it needs to be said. "Well, I think the greater good-"

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good sunshine, I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel!” 

“We’re meant to be the good guys, for heaven’s sake!” Aziraphale lets his desperation, his disgust, his disappointment pour out with the words.

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, we’re meant to make examples out of traitors. So, into the flame.”

The ropes tying him to the chair fall.

Aziraphale stands.

He'd never be ale to make a run for it, and they know it. He'd be caught, brought back, and they'd get a little laugh, a bit of spectacle. They won't be getting it from him.

He straightens his bowtie. He tries not to think about Crowley, down in the dank, dark puts of Hell, likely facing down an execution by holy water, mocked and tormented as he's pushed or prodded into a deadly vat of something meant to be pure, to be clarifying, renewing.

Humans are so hopeful. They believe in such beautiful things. Aziraphale envys them for the countless, and perhaps final, time.

He swallows. "Well... lovely knowing you all. May we... meet on a better occasion." He gives them a slight smile.

"Shut your stupid mouth, and die already." Gabriel return the smile with no remorse, no reflection. Just emptiness for show.

Aziraphale's smile falls away.

He looks into the fire.

May we meet on a better occasion, Crowley.

He closes his eyes and steps into the flames.

———————————————————————————————————-

Micheal could have simply Miracle'd the bathtub full. But they're here for the spectacle of it, he's sure. The Snake Of The Garden OF Eden, the one who caused the Original Sin and Hell's greatest disappointment, and now the reason an angel is allowed into Hell just for an execution.

He's not sure who they've sent up to hell. He wants to grab Micheal, to demand they take him there, to snatch Aziraphale away (if he's even still in the universe) and take them both as far away as possible.

But he can't. Instead, he stands, watching the tub slowly fill, hearing Micheal assure the water is the holiest it can be, watching Hastur test the claim for the whole crowd to see with a demon who stood in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Micheal leaves. Crowley imagines whoever went up to Heaven will want to stay and watch. Maybe Micheal wants to stay and watch as well, but can't stand the sight and smell of Hell anymore. It's a cruel thing to subject anyone too, and crueler still to make someone have their final moments in.

Cruelty is Hell's specialty, after all. But Crowley thinks Micheal would fit right in if it weren't for that blindingly white outfit. That's all that separates them from the demons watching Crowley now, really.

Beelzebub looks almost bored as they lean on their shoddy throne. "Demon Crowley, I sentence you to extinction by holy water. Have you anything to say?"

He has a lot to say. Most of it cussing them out, some of it shaming, some of it just insults he's held back for thousands of years just to keep himself off their radar. But none of that will be satisfying now.

None of it matters.

His Angel is up there, facing down the same thing he is. Putting on a brave, probably irritatingly polite face, if he's feeling the same sense of Meaninglessness that Crowley is now.

So he takes a deep breath. He thinks of Aziraphale, so he can enjoy his last moments. He hopes his Angel is giving Heaven a rough time, at least somewhat.

"This is a new jacket," Crowley ends up saying, really just to have something to say. "And I'd hate to ruin it."

They let him take it off, and his pants, and his shoes. He keeps on his undergarments and his socks, and stares down into the water. After a moment, he takes off his glasses too.

This is it.

This is the end.

He's heard humans have their loves flash before their eyes. He wouldn't mind if he experienced that now. As long as it's mostly the times he spent with his Angel.

"Go on already," Beelzebub says, still sounding bored. "Or I'll have Hastur push you in."

You were more than enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, Crowley thinks.

And he gets in.

———————————————————————————————————-

Agony.

Agony, burning, excruciating pain. The feeling of every atom of one's being, burning, being destroyed, destroyed so totally and so completely that barely even a memory remains.

Aziraphale had expected stepping into Hellfire to be all of that and worse.

... Yet, instead, it feels rather like... a sauna.

A badly managed sauna, one that's a bit too hot to be truly relaxing and instead tips into unpleasant, but nonetheless no more than a sauna. It's so close to being nice, in fact, that he cracks his neck and allows himself to imagine that's what it is for a moment, sighing.

When it's more than a couple of seconds, he opens his eyes, a bit surprised to find he still has eyes to open. He can't complain about it, though. They open to the wickedly amusing sight of Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon all staring, and gaping.

And all quite a bit further away than when he'd initially stepped in.

He smiles at them. They step back further.

Gabriel holds up a shaking hand, pointing in disbelief. "It... may be worse than we thought."

Aziraphale shifts his shoulders, his wings feeling especially warm, even stinging now. He shifts them again, trying to stretch them, bringing them in so he can get a look at the damage-

Damaged, perhaps.

But not ruined.

His wings smolder at the tips, the feathers smoking yet remaining whole. The Hellfire licks at his feathers, singeing them, burning, and yet seemingly unable to consume them. The smoke seems to almost stain them, and yet staining is the worst he can see.

In fact, it's not even that bad. The white of his wings is gone. The outermost tips continue to smolder and darken, yet never growing darker than the smoke itself, never fully blackening. Higher up the feathers are a soft, delicate gray, the kind of gray he might chose for a pillow to put in Crowley's favorite chair in the bookshop. And between the two it's a gradient, a gradual shift from one to the other.

He stares for a long, long moment. They're so different now. So un- angelic.

And yet... he rather likes them.

And as it dawns on him that he's not dying, not in the least, and that he might even be able to stand in this hellfire for hours and continue to live, well-

Well, if he's okay-

Aziraphale looks up, and beams. "It seems that The Almighty has other ideas for me." Perhaps untrue, perhaps truer than he believes, and he'll truly never know, but that doesn't matter. The angels staring at him in horror likely believe it, and that's good enough. "I was feeling a bit chilly in here, it's much colder than I remembered it being, so thank you. For the fire."

The only sound is that of the roaring, raging fire he still stands in the center of.

"May I... take my leave now?"

Gabriel nods, slowly, mouth parted just slightly, just enough to show his universe-rattling shock. "I think that would be best."

Aziraphale smiles at him once more and steps out of the fire, his smoke-stained wings flared around him.

"Thank you."

———————————————————————————————————-

After what he'd seen in his apartment, Crowley had expected it to be quick. Painful, searing, an agony unlike anything he'd ever felt. But still, quick.

Now he sits in the tub, all eyes on him in horror, and he can't help the way it brings him a sort of glee. He raised his arm from the water and flicks it at the window separating him from the populous of Hell, their screams of alarm and the sizzling of the unholy glass drowned out by his sharp laugh.

He's fine.

His skin is a bit red, irritated, like a sunburn or a heat-rash. But those are minor, minor, as he sits in the tub of holy water and all of Hell watches him swish it around like it's nothing.

He looks over at his executioners. "I don't suppose anyone here has a rubber duck?"

Hastur is practically cowering behind Beelzebub's throne, eyes wide, mouth agape in complete disbelief. Beelzebub and Dagon aren't much better off, keeping a great distance between themselves and Crowley's almost carefree splashing and flicking. Crowley is not as cruel as the other demons, not by a long shot, but that doesn't mean he's not enjoying the show as he flicks water at the window once more.

"He's not one of us, anymore." Beelzebub can't hide the tremor in their voice.

Crowley lifts his wings out of the tub in the grandest splash yet, making the demons in the room with him shout out and back up as far as possible! He allows himself a little smile, a little smirk, bringing his wings back down to cradle him so they can fit in the tub-

And as they come into view, his smile drops. Not out of fear, but surprise.

His wings are different.

The deepest black of Hell is gone. He holds the tip of one wing closer to examine it. It's hard to tell the exact shade in the dim lighting of the room, but he knows, without a doubt, that his feathers are now gray.

A dark gray, a gray like a stormcloud rolling in from the seaside, but gray all the same. And there the holy water gathers and rolls down, droplets of it making their way off of his wings and back into the tub, they leave behind streaks of even lighter grays in their wake. Some streaks are only slightly lighter in color, while others are nearly white (but not white, not truly), and more than that are streaks of an almost silver shade, glistening and glimmering, perhaps from the water, perhaps from something else.

Hastur makes a sound like he's choking on a scream. Beelzebub seizes the moment of Crowley's distraction to rush to the window.

"What are you looking at! Nothing to see here, nothing to see!"

They shoo the crowd of demons away, keeping one eye on Crowley at all times. He's done splashing, now. He looking into the water, still as clear as ever. Not a drop of discoloration, as though he wasn't even sitting within it.

A demon sitting in holy water, unharmed. Though perhaps, not a demon. Not anymore.

And if a demon can survive a bath of holy water and come out as the same, yet something else...

Perhaps an angel can survive a bath of Hellfire in the very same way.

"I've come for the- oh, Lord." Micheal freezes in the mouth of the hallway.

Crowley turns to look at them, grinning, newly washed wings sloshing the water out of the tub and making Beelzebub scream and scramble further away. "Micheal! Miracle me up a bath towel, would you?"

"I-I don't- how are you-"

"Oh, it's been a wonderful bath," Crowley says, grinning in a way that's sharp, satisfied, the last word nearly a hiss. "But I think I'm done now."

Micheal, still in shock, does hand over a bath towel. It's pure white, fluffed in the way only a brand-new bath towel can be. As Crowley reaches out to grab it and splashes even more water onto the now ever-sizzling ground, she instinctively jumps away.

He still manages to grab the towel.

"I think," he says, standing, letting the water run harmlessly off of him, "That it would be best if I was left alone for a while."

All who remain, demon and angel alike, nod silently.

Crowley gets out, dries off, and tosses his towel towards the cluster of demons huddled at the farthest back corner of the room, and saunters out with his clothes and a quick sharp smile at Micheal.

And as soon as he's far enough away, he rushes back to Earth.

———————————————————————————————————- 

Aziraphale takes a moment to lean against the door of his shop once he's inside. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, sliding down to the floor.

With a quick miracle (how he's still capable of them, who is allowing them, he as no idea anymore) the door locks and the window curtains shut.

Alone, in the privacy of his shop, his home, he brings out his wings to look at in light he knows.

They're...

They're beautiful. Truly, beautiful. The darkened edges, the smoothness of the gradient, the lightest feathers at the highest point being so pale but still so clearly gray, not a bit of white to be seen yet not a bit of black either, so blended. They gleam as light hits them, shining almost like silver, but without direct light they look soft, simple, and they seem to match his bookshop now in a way they hadn't before.

They are also not, the wings of an angel.

But they aren't the winds of a demon, either.

They're something Different entirely, and... he quite likes that about them. More than he expected to.

And if he's right...

He stands and quickly moves to the phone, still shaking ever so slightly as he picks up the handset of his phone and begins to dial Crowley's number, and shaking worse with each number added.

If he's wrong, if Crowley hadn't-

If he's alone now-

He takes another steadying breath. He can't allow himself to think like that, not yet.

He's just one number away from making the call when the door opens, the bell ringing. Only a miracle could unlock it, and Aziraphale's heart soars as a familiar, cherished voice calls out.

"Angel!"

He drops the phone and runs, runs back into the main room. "Crowley!"

And before he knows it, he has the demon- or perhaps not demon- in a hug.

They don't really do this. And Crowley is stiff in the hug at first, frozen, unresponsive.

But after a moment, he hugs back. He's a bit boney, but doesn't matter because he's here. And though they don't really do this, they do now, just holding each other in the entrance of the bookshop for a long, long time.

When they finally pull apart, it's gentle, and they still hold onto each other's arms.

"Angel," Crowley breathes. He reaches up with one hand to remove his glasses, looking Aziraphale in the eyes as he lowers his hand right back to be held and to hold. "I um, I'm... I'm glad you're okay."

"Oh, my dear." Aziraphale's smile is soft, but joyful, and so full of relief and care and love-

"I'm glad you are, too."

They hold each other's stares for another long moment, until Crowley's eyes flick to behind Aziraphale, and the latter realizes he still has his wings out to see. Suddenly Aziraphale feels a panic, almost a shame, as Crowley's expression is unreadable as he takes in Aziraphale's changed wings.

"Ah, yes!" Aziraphale quickly pulls his wings in close to his body. "It ah, it seems the Hellfire had a bit of a... side, effect?" He still can't quite read Crowley's expression. It's relief, shock, perhaps... perhaps a bit sad? No, not sad, but something... something. Something he's not used to seeing. He clears his throat. "I-I quite like them, truthfully." Though the longer this goes on, the less he's sure he does.

Until Crowley nods. "I do too, actually." He meets Aziraphale's eyes again, and one of those small, almost withheld smiles makes it's way onto his face. "And what do you think of mine?"

Crowley's wings unfurl, and Aziraphale gasps. Softly, with awe. If his won wings are beautiful, than Crowley's are gorgeous. They're a dark stunning and almost glimmering dark gray, not unliek the scarf Crowley likes to wear, with streaks of varying shades of lighter gray all throughout. And yet, as the shades vary within his wings, Aziraphale realizes with a bit of something... unknowable, but enjoyable, that the shades in Crowley's wings match the shades in Aziraphale's exactly.

"They're... amazing," he breathes. He looks back into Crowley's eyes, knowing he's probably making the most ridiculus face in his elation, but he doesn't care. "Do you think- well, do you think this is because we're on our own side now? And-and perhaps, She may have had something to do with this?"

"Who knows, Angel? Who care? We're not apart of all that anymore. We can do anything we want now, anything in the world, without worrying about anyone watching us!"

Aziraphale takes in the look on Crowley's face, the freedom, the excitement, and he feels the same feelings in his own heart. "Anything," he repeats. "How about we start... with lunch? At the Ritz?"

And Crowley smiles back, putting his sunglasses back on. "Lunch it is."

[unlockthestars]

Darker vibes // Accepting

@slaughtermachine asked: ❛ i would gladly let you drag me to hell. ❜ oh god they just keep coming, adam is getting mad angry wolf vibes tonight

Adam paces back and forth, mask off, hand on sword hilt, fury blazing through him. How dare that human presume to command him, presume to command the faunus? It was exactly that sort of thing that he was working against; humans couldn't just waltz into his camp and expect his men to die for them, for their cause. But that was exactly what Cinder and her ilk had done.

And he had turned them down, told them to get out, that he wasn't going to risk his men for humans.

But she had come back, had slaughtered most of the faunus in camp…., and if he wanted those who were left to have a fighting chance, he had to agree. He hated it, hated being used like this…., but he was going to use them right back. With the money and Dust they'd given him, the White Fang was going to be able to escape in the middle of the chaos from the Fall of Beacon.

He hears the flap of his tent shift, and he grabs for his mask, prepared to round on whoever had dared to disturb him, to snarl at them to get out, to leave him, but before he can replace his mask on his face, he hears the one person who can withstand his wrath.

"I would gladly let you drag me to hell," his lieutenant says, and Adam turns, mask still in hand, fury still radiating through him, but his other hand falls away from the hilt of his sword, his scowl relaxing somewhat.

It was good to know his lieutenant was still with him; he knew his latest instructions hadn't been what anyone had been anticipating, and they were likely not that popular. They just had to get through this, scatter and lay low for a little while before they all regrouped in another kingdom. Then they'd be able to join another faction of the White Fang, to keep fighting.

The two of them would stick together, no matter what else happened.

He drops his mask on a chair and crosses to his lieutenant, reaching for the other man's mask; he needs to see him, needs to touch him. Once he can see his lieutenant's face, he meets his lieutenant's golden gaze, allowing the sight to reassure him, to calm him somewhat. In this moment, at the very least.

"If we burn, we'll burn together," he responds, stepping closer to the taller man. He didn't know what was going to happen, how many they were going to lose, and though that did matter to him…., he can't lose his lieutenant. So they were just going to have to make it through this, both of them. They were going to have the hardest time getting out unnoticed…., but they'd dealt with worse odds.

[moni26]

Chapter 1: Enemies

The invocation was still being spoken, the blood on the pentagram just recently spilled and fresh, the flames keeping him at bay only soothing enough to see beyond, when Magnus's figure towered over the fire and his demonic eyes lifted with a wicked flicker. Whenever the place wasn't lit, his vision unveiled every corner, he could see in the dark in ways mortals observed in the light of the sun.

The sun painted everything one way, spiced and seasoned it into something quite unlike the original. Magnus didn't miss it now that it had set. He only preferred to be summoned at times like these. When the dark was unpretentious while bathing the nooks and angles not licked by the pentagram blaze.

The stained glass attracted him first, deities presenting themselves in their finest and their glory, in colours that were once richer than now, dulled slightly by time and poor conditions. Blood had been cleaned from the floors more than once, but the ordinary people frequent to this type of place were surely ignorant of it. Couldn't sense it, couldn't feel it.

No. Such people would come for the altar, the stand next to the freshly drawn pentagram where the Bible was read, the adjacent space further from Magnus where the priests delivered their sermons. People wouldn't care what has happened here over the decades, they wouldn't want to know. There were angel sigils spread over the pale walls, some that mortals may confuse with aesthetic, and some that couldn't be seen by those regulars even in the light of the day. Hidden from them but meant to protect.

This place was one of those then, the startling realisation reached Magnus about where he was. Where he had been summoned from. This church was one of those. An old relic where gifted half-breeds would hunt down demons. His observations ran cold and his eyes followed the scent of the blood used for the summoning ritual, having gotten a sense of the voice during the end of the invocation as well.

Clues were leading to the unlit hole where the mortal in the room foolishly thought Magnus's eyes wouldn't reach. ''Lovely,'' Magnus's words tarried on displeasure and animosity, ''To be invited here of all places.''

The human clutched the bandage over the cut on his palm, but the corner he had been keeping to was located already, so he found it in himself to step away from it. Taking hesitant footsteps towards the pentagram and Magnus. And surprise, surprise, he was none other than the head of the congregation this place housed, the Church Father, judging from the way he was dressed. In a traditional black apparel, with the piece of amice- a white linen and rectangular cloth placed over the shoulders- evident under the Adam's apple.

Magnus's impeccable sight catalogued his light and fluffy looking dark hair, falling over the light skin of his forehead, the little scarring on one of his eyebrows, the straight nose and the well-kept stubble framing his face. His bottom lip was quivering and from noticing that, Magnus was back to the small white piece against his throat, covering all the rest of the skin from how it was attached to the clothing. Such clothing revealing only the face and the hands. But the Father's frame and body underneath all that gave the impression of being more muscle than first bets would suggest. And it all started with the amice tucked by the Adam’s apple, which was quivering too.

Because the Father had been crying, tears dried on one cheek, some new ones quietly gathering at the corner of his unwiped eye, some forced to stay unshed. That took Magnus out of it, as it was strange. The man didn't seem to want to be crying either, leaning towards resignation.

Mortals had bawled their eyes out in front of Magnus in exceedingly overdone fashion before. But never held themselves in such a personal and resigned way.

Mortals had screamed their uncanny feelings in his face with all the grace of a pig running from the slaughter. But never these half-breeds, they had never so much as shed a tear when they wanted something. When they thought they were still due something.

This one looked somewhere in his 30s, old enough to feel shame and embarrassment at this vulnerable display. That's what his kind would believe, at least. An opinion Magnus could neither support nor disregard. It was too far removed from him to do so. Demons couldn't cry, so such displays, as well as the shame humanity associated with them, remained more outlandish than not. Was the Father as unsettled by those tears as any other half-breed would be? Maybe, maybe not. Despite his tears, he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve.

He drew his shoulders back with renewed determination, his gaze locked onto the challenge ahead with intense focus, his features quite nice to look at. He was one of the pretty ones, so Magnus waited for the bite behind the beauty and comeliness. After pushing back the whim of the tears, the Father found his voice. ''I don't wish to verbally threaten you,'' he got the reassurances gushing first, ''or challenge you. I only hope you consider a deal. I've been told you make,'' he swallowed, ''this type of deals.''

Magnus pulled his head back, looking down on him. ''Let's deal then. We should get more comfortable for that. Be a good boy and pull the rest of those flames away, so you can see me as well as I see you.''

''And let you walk out of the pentagram? I'm sorry, but not yet on a suicide mission.''

They can remedy that, Magnus considered, rather maliciously. From the moment the Father talked, he was again one of those. One of those assuming the privilege of summoning Magnus Bane, in front of all his deities, unsubtle in forcing them down Magnus's throat. In the Church, of all places. Not outside, no, calling Magnus up here. As far as the demon was concerned, that was enough provocation, and his dark thoughts were only a downward spiral from there.

''Could you not try to fool me?'' the Father requested, ''I told you I'm not threatening or challenging you.''

Of course he wouldn't challenge him. This one was another human, descendant of the half-breeds trying to kick Magnus's kind into submission, but nothing more. He may have some gifts, but he was more mortal than those warriors Magnus had faced in the past. Those warriors were in Heaven, but their grandchildren, the grandchildren of Magnus's rivals, they were still roaming the earth.

By the scent, the feel of the air, Magnus knew he could squash this one easily if freed.

Yes, the Father expectedly wouldn't free him, being told enough about the events before his time and his lineage not to make that particular mistake. Instead letting the bounds of the pentagram preserve his life. But dealing with Magnus- that was its own gamble. ''And what is it that I can do for you?''

The Father struggled with the tension in his jaw, Magnus cataloging the red and green from the dominant brown in his multi-colored eyes, ''Tonight is the anniversary of my brother's death.''

''Tonight are many such anniversaries. Hundreds. Thousands.''

''His name was Jace,'' the Father disclosed, narrowing the circle of endless possibilities, ''Jace Herondale.''

''And you are?''

''I,'' he swept a hand down his face, ''Alec, my name is Alec.''

''Just Alec? Alaric? Aleksandr with a k? Alexander with an x?''

''Yes.''

''Yes, which one?''

''Last one,'' he replied, looking worried about how many other possibilities there were.

''Alexander Herondale, you do know we're entering a very precarious line.'' One Magnus very much wanted him to cross.

The Father braced himself, ''I was told you can bring mortals back.''

Resurrection.

How desperate of this man to ask. Just desperate enough for Magnus to enjoy it, ''You think me capable of plucking whoever you've handpicked from the see of the dead and deliver them to your door? You flatter me beyond belief.''

''Him you can bring back,'' the mortal insisted with heart-clenching certainty. ''Him you can give me.''

''Because you want it so badly, your sweet little human heart would manifest it into happening?''

''No,'' he shook his head, ''You can do it, because Jace died as a demon. There's a good chance his soul is in Hell, and you can bring him back from there.''

Stalling for a heartbeat, Magnus took a good course towards examining this. ''How?'' he asked under a breath of surprise.

''Demon possession and a spell. He fought it for as long as he could, but the Demon, the Owl by calling, prevailed.'' Alexander stood to get his bearings, ''We were, um, we were here. I was telling him he shouldn't harm himself, because I could save him. But I failed at keeping him restrained, the demon overpowered our friends who were trying to stop him, and the Owl sucked the Jace I knew out of him. It was, it was months of him being out there and hurting others before my father put him down to end it. I haven't spoken to my father since, I just can't. I know why he did it, but I can't.''

''Are you aware that if I bring your Jace back, that demon may be back as well. A fifty-fifty chance.''

The Father ducked his head, ''I am.''

''But you're asking anyway.'' Fuck the whole belief system if the result wasn't up to these people's taste. Then why uphold the belief system at all? For nothing, to feel better about themselves. Oh well, Magnus would not regret tearing into this one. ''Nothing like this comes free. Tell me you understand the price you'll pay.''

''You'll ask,'' he cleared his throat, ''you'll ask for my soul.''

''It's only fair. You want me to attempt getting Jace's soul back, I want yours. A soul for a soul, very simple trade really.''

''Is there not a chance of anything else? Anything.'' The Father tried to negotiate. ''A bargain, an arrangement we can make. I would pull people back from your tracks so you don't have to deal with the likes of me. I'm the last time that happens to you, I can burn the books that mention you, I can burn the books that say how to kill you.''

A growl left Magnus's lips, ''There are no ways to kill me, I'm not the Owl.''

''True, you're a Greater Demon and beyond. But anything can be killed.''

The man truly wanted to play that game.

''Prove it,'' the demon called his bluff, ''Take your best shot.''

''I said I wanted Jace, not your head.''

''Tell you what, you show me those fatal books that can bring my undoing, and I'll consider taking someone else's soul instead of yours.''

''No!'' the Father objected hotly. ''This is just about me, nobody else. You don't doom anyone, promise me that you don't. No one else.''

Interesting. Magnus had expected him to agree. And cower a bit more.

But he wouldn't. Magnus stored that information in the back of his mind, and made sure it didn't show in his response. ''Alright, the deal is only with you. But I'm still yet to see any books that can doom me. Don't waste my time.''

''You really want me to threaten you.''

Magnus waved a hand nonchalantly, ''Please, threaten and challenge away.''

''Really?''

He smiled, ''As I said, take your best shot. Outdo me.''

The tightness in the other's posture was the only company the charged silence received.

Magnus threw his head back in glee, ''So I thought. Empty. Ultimatums. Can't say I'm impressed. Seeing as you have nothing to offer me, I think this was one provocative but futile exercise.''

''Wait,'' the Father said lowly.

''For what exactly? You narrowed the deal to yourself, but won't give me anything. You claimed your soul was not on the table. I mean, you need your brother back, but not that bad. ''

''Wait.''

His mouth curved, ''For what?''

''If I... do this, how much time do I get before I go. 10 years? Five?''

''None.''

The Father jerked back further as the words worked heavily through him. ''I don't understand.''

''Let me make it simple for you. You get your brother back on his feet, that's all you get.''

''You offer a few years to everyone else.''

''You're not everyone else,'' the demon insisted, decision firm and unwavering. ''Because of the history my kind has with yours, I can't give you the terms I give my usual clients.''

The mortal's heart was speeding up, ''You, you can, of course you can.''

''I don't want to.'' Magnus wanted his soul. As of now. ''At most, I may give you a few days with your brother.''

''Enough to hurt what I'm giving up. Suffer more because I know what I'm leaving behind.''

''Perhaps.''

The Father's fate was dawning on his face, ''How does it even... how do you give me a few days?''

''I can arrange it through the assistance of some lower-ranking demons in Hell, or I could tie your soul to me as part of the deal and take you when its time.''

''No other demons.'' The insistence was just as determined as it was alarmed. ''If my family gets Jace back, he would be vulnerable. Last thing they need is your servants involved in more details about the deal.''

''That leaves you with me then,'' the demon concluded diabolically. He had been hoping for the second variant. If the mortal signs a deal like that, his soul tied to Magnus, then the demon could easily take possession of his body. The vessel whose soul he owned. For a few days, before the man's soul gets sent to the pits of Hell, Magnus could be finally taking a vacation from Hell. More free to walk the mortal's world. He could be Father Alexander. Dedicated priest, directing people towards absolution, satisfying the calls for help and preaching his ways and religion.

Magnus could be having a trip in his shoes, meet those friends the man had briefly mentioned, the odds-on other grandchildren from the lineage of his adversary. Having his work of wiping them out and burying them half-done. The next time blood was dripping down those floors, demons could be spilling it. All that with one little deal. These commitments were Magnus's favourite. With somebody initially expecting to treat his services like buying a trinket. Use him for the deal and have their hands clean after.

No. In lieu of that , mortals got into a vicious spin to their graves. Sometimes, when Magnus came to collect the soul, he would do the honors of killing them personally. Not often, but sometimes. He could get in the mood occasionally. Like an itch to scratch when needed. The life had to be taken one way or another for the soul to be sent to Hell. Why not have it be taken Magnus's way.

It could be what he does this time. Extinguishing the light from Alexander Herondale's eyes himself, when their time together in the same vessel ended.

The easiest would be slitting the throat while he still had control over the body. But that was too boring.

There was something else too. Magnus found himself partially curious, about the other's life. Being so quick to refuse throwing the people in it under the bus. Insisting he be the only one confronted with the sacrifice for his brother. Why have it all on him? Martyr complex or people around him were honestly that valuable.

The matter of that drove Magnus to set their arrangement in motion. He watched the Father, overturned by his grief, give up on his soul. Ducking his head in slow painful agreement, thinking he'll have his last days for himself. But in reality signing away all that he had and all that he was.

Soon, echoes of the sinister contract reverberated through the walls, and Magnus Bane waited to claim it all. The ink was set, Alexander Herondale's soul in exchange for Jace Herondale, the enriching specifics added to it. The paper and pen were summoned with the demon's magic, whisking through the air to the mortal's unsteady hand.

Alexander wrote the fateful stroke of it, binding them with his signature.

The inevitable was committed, the glimmer of Magnus's eyes losing the blackness at that instant, a vivid and intense shade shifted instead, between hues of deep gold and molten amber. His pupils slit, accentuating his real countenance underneath the pure demonic nature of his gaze, when he stood rigid.

The air crackled with energy, an arcane force beginning to take hold. The ancient incantations echoed around the room.

A twist unknown, a shattered path.

For in the deal, a trap was spun,

The demon now, the mortal’s one.

In chains of flesh, his fire fades.

No soul to claim, no victory won,

The demon’s reign undone, unspun.

There was no Alexander Herondale to harvest the soul of. It was void, nonexistent, no man carrying that name. The Father's signature couldn't give the demon something unfound, imaginary. The Father was cloaked in a name that was not his own.

''Who?'' Magnus spoke in a barely audible susurration.

''Alec, like I told you. Alexander. I never said Herondale, you guessed because of my brother. I never lied to you, you created your delusion on your own.''

There was no Herondale. But there was the demon's extra terms binding Magnus to the deal, there were the elaborative nuances to assist him possessing the man's body. There was the mortal's sign on the paper, linking them and bringing them together.

The demon's core and spirit in the mortal's body, without the demon owning the Father's soul, that would be prison. Magnus Bane's own prison.

The demon’s eyes widened with a mixture of shock and fury. ''Every word you spoke, about your Jace, about the ache of his absence, about the desperate longing to restore him. Your grief over him.''

''It's all true,'' the Father replied. ''I attempted to keep my emotions in check, I tried not to cry, but- I lost him. I feel his absence, I miss his company. I feel the gap left by him. I wish for nothing more than to see him again." His expression hardened into one of resolute purpose. ''But we can't always have what we want, can we.''

He said it so simply. Knowing. Resigned.

We can't always have what we want.

He never intended to raise Jace back, wouldn't have gone through with it.

Alexander resumed, '' You told me to bring you down. I asked if that is really what you're inviting me to do. You were clear in your confirmation, asked me to give you my best shot. This is it.''

Then came the worst. It descended upon Magnus as his once-imposing presence began to flicker and wane. A violent, almost tangible force seemed to tear at the demon, at the very fabric of his being.

Magnus's essence- a swirling, smoky amalgam of golden shadows, darkness and amber- began to unravel from his corporeal form, being siphoned away. He expelled it in a fit of violent coughing, wrenched from his throat. It twisted and writhed in the air, a desperate dance of primal energy seeking to resist its inevitable fate. Drawn toward the mortal, where Alexander swallowed it.

The ritual concluded with a final, resounding silence and the pentagram fire going out.

He howls within the mortal’s skin,

The demon trapped, the prey to win.

A devil’s game, but tables turned,

The demon tricked, the mortal learned.

[wornoutmouse]

Bakugou Birthday Bash

Yall already know, we gon act like i aint disapear

I got 40 different things that I’m writing about right now but I got to get something out for fireball here. I KNOW I’M LATE ASSHATS CALM DOWN!

Fun Fact: Guys play with our nipples cause they think they feel the same as theirs. This isn’t true because a guy’s nipples are 3 times more sensitive than a female’s. 

Fun Fact 2: Getting your cervix hit during intercourse is only pleasurable to VERY few individuals and overall causes pain or discomfort to the majority.

Exhibitionist, 3-some, rough sex, train, consent is sexy, slight dacryphillia

You could feel your heart beating with anticipation, in your mind, you repeat the same mantra over and over again. “This is for Katsuki.” Currently, Bakugou, Kirishima, and yourself were having a movie night. You had spent the day with Katsuki dragging him throughout the city taking him to various places for his 25th birthday.

In the morning, you made him breakfast in bed consisting of smiley face porridge with the eyes being eggs, smile being bacon, with sausage eyebrows. Bakugou was not amused, to say the least. Afterwords you did his hair separating the blond hair into two braids marveling at the black streaks intertwining themselves. “Do you like it?” Bakugou sleepily grunts, burying his face into your cleavage when you finished. “I just want to go back to bed.”Shaking your head you grab your outfit and walk towards the bathroom. “No can do Kats, I go the whole day planned for you, this isn’t going to be like your last birthday.” 

After going out to the shooting range, a nearby spa, and having brunch at his parent’s place much to his distress. “Katsuki put a smile on your face for once, you know you love my Unagi!” You laugh as you watch Bakugou pout at the feeling of his mother ruffling his hair. “Shut it old hag..” His father only chuckles before resuming his conversation with you.

When you finished the reunion, you drop Bakugou off at home before going to pick up Kirishima. As you drove back, you could tell Kirishima could sense your nervousness. He placed a hand on your thigh to get your attention, “You know that you can always opt-out of this, I don’t mind we can just have a normal movie night. “This” was a plan that you had both been creating together. 

Ever since high school, you knew Bakugou had a soft spot for the redhead going far past causal friendship. And it wasn’t until last year that you accidentallt heard Bakugou mumbling his name in his sleep accompanied by soft moans. At first, you understandably felt a bit jealous despite being in a relationship with Bakugou for the last 6 years but as you thought about things more and more, a mischievous thought came to you, now leading up to the current moment.

“I’m fine Ejirou, this is just something I’m not used to.” you exhale and smile a bit more determined after saying your doubts out loud. “But I can’t back out on my own plan.” Kirishima flashes his signature shark tooth smile before facing forwards again. Now, with both of you sitting with Bakugou in between, the tension was high in the air and it was up to you to make the first move. 

“This movie is stupid, why would she even run after him after he called her stupid!” “Uh, Bakugou, you call me and Y/n stupid all the time?” Bakugou huffs leaning back on the couch. “Yeah but that’s different...you are.” You would have laughed if you hadn’t decided to make your move. You rest your arm on Bakugou’s shoulder playing with his braid that had long since frayed from your day’s activities.

He pays no mind, eyes focused on the corny romance movie he rented from Redbox. The movement of bright yellow catches Kirishima’s eyes as the TV screen flashes white from a scene change. He decided to take the more direct approach by putting his hand on Bakugou’s thighs and squeezing the skin there. Katsuki’s hair skips from your grasp as he twitches from the contact. “Hey watch your hands shity hair.”

Kirishima hums but doesn’t move his hand. You allow silence to go on for a moment as Bakugou gets back into his movie. When Bakugou relaxes enough, you snake your hand to his crotch and squeeze his dick through the pants. Bakugou’s attention lands on you almost immediately as his hand clamps down on your wrist. You ignore the tight grasp and rub your thumb over his dick, feeling it twitch with nervous interest. 

Bakugou leans towards you harshly whispering, “What are you doing idiot, Ejirou is right here.” You bite your bottom lip before whispering back your reply, “Well you better be quiet then don’t you think Katsuki?” Ruby eyes glared at you but the blond remained silent before gripping his braid nervously. He bounces his left leg as you resume your light teasing and does his best to focus again. 

You notice Kirishima’s movements and feel adrenaline run throughout your body. Kirishima does the same as you, whispering in Katsuki’s ear, lips only a breath away from touching skin. “Hey Bakugou, we should have brought some snacks don’t you think? I’m kinda hungry.” Underneath your hand, Bakugou’s breathing falters, “Ah, yeah well you should have brought your own snacks I’m not getting up from here.” Kirishima peeks at you from behind Bakugou’s head sending you a wink. 

Rubbing his wrist Kirishima pulls a hair tie from his arm and puts it between his teeth. At the same time, you unzip Bakugou’s pants and make direct contact with his cock. Kirishima focuses on how Bakugou’s adam’s apple bobs when he makes eye contact with him. Bakugou’s eyes watch as Kirishima’s muscles ripple as he ties his hair up into a bun and you resist the urge to laugh as Bakugou’s dick goes full mast making a smacking sound as it hits his stomach. 

That seems to bring him back to reality and he quickly covers himself when he catches Eijirou staring at his exposed groin. “Ah shit, what the hell Y/N!?” Bakugou jerks his head towards you accusingly, cheeks red with embarrassment and teeth bared in anger as he prepares to chew you out. Your hand, now resting behind Katsuki, motions Kirishima to Bakugou’s dick as the blond chews you out. “Are you trying to make me fucking upset-ah fuck!” 

With one hand by his face to tuck stray hair behind his ear, Kirishima uses his other hand to hold Katsuki’s shaft, hollowing his cheeks around the rest of his dick. The look of confusion was forever present as Katsuki tosses an apologetic look at you willing his eyes to focus despite the sudden onslaught of pleasure. “Sh..Shitty hair what the hell do you think you’re fucking d-doin?!” Bakugou’s hips jerk up as he rises to the top of his toes. He places his hand on top of Kirishima’s head but not to pull him away as he tried to make it seem.

Eijirou jerked his cock delicately before mouthing at Bakugou’s balls that tightened underneath his lips. “I don’t...Y-Y/n fuck, I’m sorry...ah..its....I...feels so damn good1” Remorseful moans leave Katsuki’s mouth as his eyes screw shut. You push his hair away from his face in order to see him better. The hand you had laying in his lap is grabbed and gripped tightly almost as if he was afraid to let go of you. 

With his head tossed back, you take the initiative to bite his neck softly, drinking in the whimpers that exit his mouth. “Relax and enjoy your birthday present Katsuki.” You turn on a table lamp and slide to the floor, pulling Kirishima down with you. With the lights now blazing, Bakugou could no longer chalk up the current situation as a really bizarre dream as took in the view of both of you occupying his lap. Kirishima abandons his cock for you to take care of as he slides his tongue up Bakugou’s toned stomach.

“Relax Bakugou and let us take care of you.” Katsuki helplessly grips Kirishima’s shoulder with gritted teeth. “Get your fucking mouth off my nipple asshat...it feels fucking weird.” Both you and Kirishima chuckled at the insults Bakugou attempted to use to hide his embarrassment. Kirishima moans obnoxiously as he rolls Bakugou’s nipple with his tongue before biting down. “You two planned this didn’t you?” 

Bakugou’s usual attitude came back before you could even notice and by the time you did, it was too late. The hand that was previously caressing your head tightened against your scalp and you were soon being pushed down Bakugou’s cock. Kirishima looked down at the sound of you choking, eyes going wide at your puffed cheeks and teary eyes, but it was too late for him as well. Kirishima’s man-bun was grabbed and yanked giving Katsuki access to his neck that he abused with bites. “Fucking assholes had me over here confused and shit all for your little birthday present.”

His strokes were slow and torturous to your throat, grinding slowly inside before stopping and holding your face there just to feel your mouth constrict due to limited oxygen. “And how long have you known shitty hair? Tell me the truth and I’ll give you a reward” Kirishima (the snitch) winces as his hair is pulled again. “About half a year.” Bakugou hums and kisses Kirishima. Through watering eyes, you watch as Bakugou forced his tongue inside his best friend’s mouth. “Good boy.” Looking down at you, you feel a shiver go throughout your body and you could tell you were in for a rude awakening.

“Is it safe to assume that you were the source Y/n?” Your forearm is grabbed and you are out on top of Bakugou’s lap. “Yes.” Your answer is rewarded with a slap on your covered ass. “I’m gonna make sure you regret that. Both of you, take off your clothes.” Pouting you poke Bakugou’s chest, “No, that’s not how this is going to work, we both wanted to make you feel good.” Bakugou raised an eyebrow before looking at Kiri who shakes his head innocently disagreeing in order to save his own skin.

“You are gonna make me feel good.” Bakugou slides his hands under your shirt pulling it off. “I’m going to feel so good watching you two break.” Bakugou caresses your chin placing a ginger kiss on your chin before pushing you off. “Now take these damn clothes off.” 

You and Eijirou watch him leave the living room and go elsewhere, “We really are in for it aren’t we?” You nod solemnly, “There is nothing good coming out of our bedroom. I'll tell you that Kiri.” Kirishima sat steadily, face and shoulders painted red with a warm blush, “Well at least he took it well.” you jokingly slap Kirishima’s shoulder to ease the throbbing feeling in the pit of your stomach. The male’s eyes look at the hand on his shoulder for a moment, contemplating his next move. You watch, heart rate increasing at the serious look  the normally smiling man held. Kirishima grabs your hand and places it over his chest, sliding it down his abdomen effectively bringing you closer to him.

When you were close enough, you and Eijirou lock lips passionately. His right hand held your face gently as his left pulled your lower body towards him. Your mouth consumed the moans Kirishima let out as the tip of his cock caught the rim of your belly button. When you pull away, one of Kirishima’s shark-like teeth nips into your lower lip, drawing blood. The look of you out of breath, chest swelling, and plump kiss-bitten lips turned Kirishima on more than he thought he could be. “She’s sexy without even trying huh?”

Bakugou’s gravel-like voice startles you both, Katsuki walked closer before squatting behind you. Your afro is drawn back by Bakugou and he forcefully kisses you, exploring your mouth feverishly leaving you unable to keep up. You are the one to pull away when you become out of breath and allow yourself to be manhandled against Katsuki’s chest while he leans against the couch. Scarred hands spread your legs exposing you to Kirishima who had no problem ogling you. “You see how wet she is for you shitty hair, don’t let my presence stop you.”

Eijirou scoots closer on his knees, grabbing your legs. When he brings his face closer, Katsuki spreads your pussy lips apart with his index and ring finger, stroking your clit with his middle finger. You sigh into the feeling before jumping when Kirishima slaps your cunt, “Look at that she’s quivering.” Eijirou hikes your legs over his shoulders,  burying his face in your warm cunt without a care about your juices covering his face. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking incessantly at the small nub, heightening your pleasure. 

Reaching past you, Bakugou holds Kiri’s head and presses his face down into you, “Get in there Eijirou and quit playing before I kick your ass out.” You squeeze your eyes shut as a warm muscle pushes its way inside your needy hole. Your back arches and Bakugou is forced to hold your legs open lest you close them shut on Kirishima’s head. Bakugou leaves tender kisses behind your ear, rubbing your legs tenderly. The touches sent feelings like electricity through your core and you felt your blood race as you came closer to orgasm.

Kirishima laps at your pussy once more before pulling away, leaving you on the very edge of your release making you whine. “She’s so sweet Katsuki.” Kirishima whimpers softly, before messily kissing Bakugou. Their tongues wrapped against each other as they share your taste. From the small of your back, you could feel Bakugou grind his hips against you. You reach your hand down to finish yourself off but without even looking your hand is grabbed by Kirishima who instead guides you to his throbbing cock.

 It was red, most likely from the light teased your living room carpet caused while he was eating you out.The groan that you rip from Kirishima as you stroked him, shocked both you and Katsuki. 

Kirishima stops the kiss, leaving a strand of saliva connecting the two. Kirishima’s red eyes narrowed at you as he spoke to Bakugou, “F...Forgive me Bakugou, but I need to be inside someone or someone inside me before I burst.” Bakugou smirks holding your chin so you can look at him, “What do you think princess?” You look at Kirishima who indeed looked to be on his last straw with a smirk. “It’s your birthday Katsuki, you should get first pick.”

Bakugou furrowed his brow more than your thought possible, “You sure you don’t mind?” Playfully biting his cheek you give a reassuring smile, “I planned this baby, if I mined, we wouldn’t be here.” Bakugou grunts in response, giving you time to get off of his lap before pushing Kirishima onto his knees, “Hey asshole, remember that time you painted my gauntlets purple?” Kirishima smirked, “You still mad about that? Lavender is your color Bakubro.” Katsuki glared at the redhead, slapping his ass, “Don’t call me that when I’m going to be balls deep inside you.” Looking back over at you, Bakugou gets an idea, “Stop twiddling your fingers and making me feel bad and get over here.”

You did a shit job at hiding your happiness as you cutely scooted towards the two males. “Shitty hair, you’re going to fuck her while I fuck you, and if you cum inside I’m going to blow your ass off the face of the earth.” It took until Kirishima was positioned over you and Bakugou had taken place behind him that Kirishima finally realized the reality of Bakugou’s threat. “Wait a second, how do you expect me not to cum from all the stimulation?!” You watched Bakugou shrug over Kirishima’s shoulder, “Not my problem.” A disgusting squelching sound is heard and you feel Kirishima shiver as he laid over you. “Have you done this before Katsuki?” 

Bakugou was silent and Kirishima’s eyes widened and you quickly grab his face to avoid his fear-stricken expression reaching the excited blond. “He’s got this Kiri, trust me, can’t be any different than normal anal right?!” Kirishima rested his head on your shoulder, kissing the skin there, “Is this you telling me you’ve done anal before?” You both laugh, having a moment of comfort despite the strange situation. “Mmmm.” Kirishima hums quietly, vibrating against your skin, you could feel him rocking against you and most likely against Bakugou’s fingers. “Ahh, fuck~” 

“You good Eijirou?” Bakugou rests against Kirishima’s body, biting his shoulder blade. “Y-yeah, I’m good.” Reaching in between the two of you, and you felt him lining himself against your opening. “Ah, you’re...you’re not wet anymore. I’m sorry.” Kirishima puts his fingers in his mouth, briefly stopping to whimper loudly around them, “Ah there it is.” Bakugou smirks from behind Kirishima, and judging on how much Kirishima starts to shake, he repeatedly abuses said spot. It is then your turn to feel pleasure as Kirishima takes the task to finger you open.

You raise your legs and wrap them around Kirishima’s back to get a better angle and the room is mostly silent besides the obvious noises of prep. Something that made both you and Bakugou dawn a notable smirk was how loud Kirishima was being compared to the rest of you. From Bakugou’s end, Kirishima was fucking himself back on his fingers sucking them in greedily, hips rotating just to be able to feel his prostate being stimulated again. From your end, Kirishima’s hands shook as he tried to angle himself inside of you so much so you had to help him. “I’m so damn close, fuck. Bakugou you gotta give me a moment man!” 

Both you and Kirishima moaned when Bakugou smacked the red head’s ass causing his hips to jerk forward. “You better hold it in, I haven’t even started yet dumbass.” Kirishima grunted as Bakugou penetrated him. “Y/n, I can’t, fuck I can’t!” Eijirou had his eyes clenched shut. Bakugou snapped his hips against him, making Kirishima fuck you as well, “Come on Eijirou, you can do it, you feel so good.” 

Kirishima’s cock curved right, making your toes curl from the stimulation. Bakugou held onto Kirishima’s hips hard, most likely to leave indents later on. Kirishima propped himself up on his elbows and thrust into you, simultaneously meeting Bakugou’s thrusts. “Y/n, you feel so damn good. So fucking w-warm!” You bear down on Kirishima’s cock, squeezing around him. “Why are you talking so much Eijirou, you close to cumming?” Kirishima narrowed his eyes at Bakugou’s taunt, “Fuuck, Y/n why does it feel like he’s getting harder, eveRy time.” The sound of Kirishima’s voice cracking was comical yet arousing. 

Your fingers curl on Kirishima’s back as his thrusts got sporadic occasionally thrusting so hard he grazed your cervix, causing brief discomfort. “Your so damn tight, Eijirou, damn!” Bakugou’s stomach contorted with each thrust, feeling Kirishima’s hole constrict around his cock at every drag. It was as if Kirishima was simply a doll between the two of you, that you used as a stress ball. Kirishima was loud at this point, gripping the sheet around your head hard enough for him to rip even without activating his quirk. 

Wordless babbles, left his mouths, his eyes rolled behind his head, as Bakugou speeds up. “You should see the look on his face Katsuki!” Kirishima kisses you roughly as a way to combat your teasing. His tongue lazily roams your mouth, lips vibrating at the broken moans you both let out from Bakugou’s brutal onslaught.

Kirishima quieted, your ears barely picking up on him muttering ‘fuck’ repeatedly. “B-Bakugou, stop, I’m gonna cum, let me pull out.” Kirishima tosses his hand back, brushing it against Bakugou’s abdomen in an effort to slow him down. “What nonsense are you speaking Eijirou? We aren’t stopping till I cum” Bakugou grabs Kirishima’s struggling arm, and holds it behind his back. The rest of Kirishima’s weight flops down on you creating sweet friction against your clit, and Kirishima’s modestly trimmed bush of hair. You hold Kiri closer with your legs as your orgasm builds to greater heights. “But you said-” “I know what I said dumbass, and it still stands. Now shut up and take it.”

Eijirou moans as Bakugou speeds up his thrusts. Bakugou holds him down by his shoulder no longer giving Kirishima space to even thrust into you. Bakugou relents on thrusting and instead relies on the sheer force his weight caused every time he slammed down on Kirishima’s hips. “Bakugou-” “Shut up for fuck sakes!” Bakugou clamps his hands on Kirihsima’s mouth and nose, cutting off his hair flow. You grab “Katuski’s hair and pull him towards you in a violent kiss. 

You make a sound of alarm at the feeling of warmth feeling your body. Bakugou uncovers Kirishima’s mouth feeling him tighten so hard around his dick and Bakugou cums as well after a few weak thrusts. Kirishima had tears of overstimulation flowing down his face, mouth open as he continued to pump hot cum into your hole. “Damn you really couldn’t hold on huh?” Kirishima shook his head, clearly on cloud nine, still filling you with so much cum, you contemplated on taking to brands of birth control. Bakugou looked down at you, watching as you pet Eijirou’s head reassuringly. “Did you cum?” You shook your head, kissing Eijirou’s temple. 

Bakugou nodded before jerking Kirishima’s legs pulling him out of you at the same time making you both hiss from the pinch-like pain. Bakugou turns Kirishima on his back and helps your straddle him. Staring up at you with wide eyes,  Kirishima felt like prey under the watch of hungry lions. 

“What...what’s going on guys?” Your thumb rubs over Kirishima’s hardened nipples, watching his toned belly contort from the external stimulation. “Kiri..” you pout your lips mockingly before grabbing Kirishima’s cock that laid limp against his stomach. His red eyes followed your body down to your pussy. You rubbed his dick over your cunt, hovering over him. His hips twitching when your thumb presses down underneath his girthy head.

“I haven’t came yet.”

[littlefreya]

The Devil’s Tongue

Summary: A mask of virtue hides a man riddled with lust and while his stoicism proceeds him, even he can’t withstand a begging girl. 

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Warning: 18+. Manhandling, abuse of power, MaleDom/FemSub, some thigh riding, unprotected sex, deflowering, loss of virginity, mild mentions of blood, sex in front of mirror (auto-voyeurism), profanities, bodily fluids, possessive behaviour. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: Many thanks to my muse @agniavateira for supporting me through this story and for betaing. This was inspired by a certain scene in the film. My pervy mind took it elsewhere. Sincerely, I am not sure how I feel about it, so I’ll let you be the judge while I’m having my panic attack. 

Please reblog and give feedback if you enjoyed. 🖤

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

Title: The Devil’s Tongue

The treacherous moon was already high in the midnight sky and winds of melancholia whispered through the ivy leaves that grew timidly around the window’s panes. Despite the solace of night, her blood seeped with venom, and vicious thorns grew beneath her skin.

Striding through the desolate corridors of Holmes’ estate, Vanessa fumed while listening to the sounds of the old house: the creaking of the floorboards, the glass panes rattling in the wind, and the scratching of mice that ran between the walls. A kerosene lamp hung heavy between her sweaty fingers; her knees cracked as she marched forward to face her master.

Same as every night, Sherlock hid in his library to chase adventures behind thin sheets of paper. He was not to be disturbed, though he left her no choice.

Sent her away he did, claiming that her service was no longer needed even though she was promised a home at the estate, despite Enola’s departure. The worst of it was that he didn’t even bother telling her himself, but simply sent another servant to announce that she must pack her belongings tonight.

‘Like hell, I would!’

Vanessa willed her heart to beat slowly as she tiptoed, cursing every wooden plank that grated beneath her feet. It’s been over a year since she started working for the Holmes family, and despite battling her concupiscence tooth and nail, Mr. Holmes has possessed her very existence. Sleepless nights left her yearning to drink the mead of his mouth and feel the slapping of his skin onto hers.

Wistfully, the brooding detective only stared at her with a lustre of ice. But the notion of never seeing him again felt like holding a blade pointed to her chest; the wish to confess nibbled in her gut like a pesky little fish.

‘At least I will have the chance to say farewell…’ she mused as she finally reached the open doorway of the library. It was a cosy cavern, stuffed with endless shelves of books and vases of pink roses to mellow its austerity.

Wood burnt to a crisp within the hearth, its aromatic scent bleeding into the air and a light layer of ashen mist wafted over the chamber. There sat her master, resting comfortably on his maroon leather armchair with a book in one hand and a pipe pressed between his succulent lips like a king on a throne of solitude.

Silently she stared, brow furrowing at his sight. It baffled her how a man can be so oblivious to the dangerous power he had over women. Sherlock was as divine as the coldest day of winter: eyes of crystal snow, curls darker than the night, and sharp facial features that gave a tinge of intimidating flavour. The ancient god Hades would have been jealous of his divinity. Even in these serene moments, Sherlock’s presence exhumed dominant masculinity, consuming oxygen like the fire that burnt in the mantle.

Clad in a white cotton shirt loose over his broad chest, he calmly turned a page on his book and sighed.

It was impossible not to sense her nearby. The young woman was a breeze of autumn wind: spiced yet soothing, bringing the omen of a season’s change. She tried very hard to hide her feral nature, abiding, serving, and acting polite. While she fooled everyone, including herself, he detected the brazen kiss that raged within her.

Nights were riddled by dreams of dismantling her shackles, only to bind her further to himself. And yet, every time he looked at her a loathing rage gnawed inside. To him, she was a dire trap meant to expose the thing that hid behind his mask of virtue—a reckless savage, sick with twisted desire.

It took true power to send her away. Yet, here she was, barging into his shelter to pour another drop of simmering turmoil into his already seething blood.

“Can’t sleep, Nessie?”

Vanessa jolted with a startle. His deep voice threaded tendrils of dark silk around her heart, attempting to draw it further out of her fragile ribcage. Maintaining attention on the book in his hand, Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a cold grin of respect, sensing her glare stabbing at his nape.

“You might be a mouse, but you have the stomp of an elephant.”

Forcing the book shut with a soft thud, Sherlock turned his head aside, daring to catch a glimpse of her. His pretentious smile died, and a surge of passion seized at his groin. Like the virgin Persephone, she stood before him wrapped in a sheer nightgown, the creamy fabric barely hiding her delicacies. A mystic glow of sweet honey and amber gold rimmed her flesh, kissing down her clavicles and leading his enslaved gaze to the soft heaps at her chest.

By courtesy, he should have looked away, but the wish to incinerate the silken threads that retained whatever left of her modesty whispered in his ear like a little devil that sat on his shoulder. It was cruel of her to provoke him like this.

Quirking an eyebrow with disdain, he finally battled the sight away.

“Something ails you, girl.” Sherlock’s rich baritone dropped. Touching the pipe to his maw, he took a long whiff and suckled his lip. “You seem unnecessarily emotional,” he noted dryly, pretending as if her appearance was a mystery.

Noticing the uncaring shift in his tone, she scowled and stepped carefully into the room. Placing the lamp on a nearby stand, she purposely stepped into his line of sight and looked at the frowning detective with the feral wilderness growing inside her chest.

“You’re sending me away tomorrow,” an unmistakable hint of rage seeped between the cracks in her voice. Grasping her knuckles, she began striding back and forth across the Parisian rug as if lost in her own musings, “why? What have I done to you?”

A small huff escaped his nose, and he rubbed a finger beneath his bottom lip. His patience spread thin as the young lady scurried about with hysteria. The mere idea of bending her over and teaching her some discipline caused the fabric of his trousers to stretch over his engorging desire.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, it was simply my decision.” He answered, striving to sound neutral and remorseless. “A lady’s maid without a lady is useless in a place like this. But now, Vanessa, it’s late, and I’d like to get back to my book. No reason for you to stand here in your... undergarments.”  

Lips agape and feet nearly colliding on to one another, Vanessa paused on her steps. His words crept a chill down the length of her spine, making her cheeks blaze. Passionate and irrational, she never even noticed her lack of chastity when she left her room.

“I… didn’t think much, I was upset…”

‘Of course, she didn’t think much. Irrational, savage thing.’

A string twitched in Sherlock’s cheek, and a dark errant lock fell rogue upon his pale temple as he turned his head aside, adamant to brush her away. His self-restraint was but a delicate, dying leaf, hanging by its last yellowing strand.

“I came here to ask you to…”

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.” Sherlock interrupted and swatted his hand flat on the leather binding. His stern glance floated out the window, focusing on a large spider that threaded lines of silver amidst the peeling frames. “You will find a new job in London, a better house,” he apprised and took a deep inhale, turning the book over to open it where he paused. “Now please leave before we’ll both hurt one another.”

‘Before I will pierce cavities in your soft flesh.’

Stunned by his dismissive, arctic demeanour, her stubbornness and frustration only grew to monstrous proportions. With clenched fists and water pooling at her lids, she grunted and took a courageous step closer, standing at the fore of his couch while shaking her head.

“No!”

“No!?” he scowled, eyebrows lowering with dismay. “You forget your place, woman.” He flashed her a quick warning look, his icy glare tinted midnight black as he stood at his wit’s end.

If only it didn’t make her heart shrivel with wanton. Their proximity perilously close, Sherlock’s strong scent pervaded into her lungs: a musky blend of whiskey, leather, and fine tobacco that made her thighs wobble. Before she could even register what’s happening, her knees were brushing the thick carpet, her decorum and dignity gone.

“I want to stay here. With you.”  Slender like stalking vines, her fingers crawled onto the armchair, squeezing at the smooth leather with pitiable desperation.

“Keep me, please!”

“Vanessa,” Sherlock drawled, still refusing to meet her gaze while his thumb circled deep into the coarse binding. Furious tides rose in his eyes, whisked by the rageful storm that inhabited his mind, “Do not make me regret this night.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was pretty when she begged.

“You don’t know what it is that you’re asking, I am not the gentleman you think I am.”

Ignoring his warning, she insisted. Daring, needy talons rose from the armchair to claw at his arm, clutching it with demand. Even through barriers, a surge flushed between their bodies.

“Sherlock,” she half-whispered, crystal droplets of sadness gliding down the smooth slope of her cheeks. Not caring the least as they dribbled onto the soft sleeve of his shirt, leaving tiny stains that dampened his arm.

“Guide me, teach me, make me yours!”

Nostrils flaring and breath rigid, the large man finally snapped his stare at her with the sanguine hunger of a starved vampire. The mask of his virtue fell shattering to the floor, and a harrowing silence took over the room, diffused only by the sound of crackling embers and Vanessa’s shaky breath.

“Remember this tomorrow when you’re raw and hurting; this is what your begging bought you, little Nessie.”

A strangled gasp died at her sternum as his hand suddenly grasped her throat. With a quick yank, she was up on her feet, her toes barely scraping the ground as the hulking man held her up to his face.

“Oh the things I’ll do to you..” he whispered as his thumb dug deep onto her cheek and the rest of his fingers etched at her throat.

Swinging on his boots, he swept her across the silent halls. His stride a dark ceremonial gyrate, the creamy fabric of her pristine nightgown floating mid-air like a sheer tongue of white morning mist.  

“I will make you mine as you begged,” he rasped barbarically, one hand pushing the door open while the other held her attached to his chest, “I will teach you what you asked…” his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot over her cheek, “your first lesson begins... in my bed.”

With a swift shove, she was forced into his realm. Feet stumbling upon the tepid wooden floor, her ears throbbed with shock. Her hands reached to grasp onto the engraved bed column to prevent herself from falling.

His bedroom smelled of dying roses and smoked wicks, echoing the putrid decadence that gnawed at Sherlock’s mind. A dozen melting candles burned in every secluded corner, their little orange tongues licking the reflection of a sizable mirror that stood opposite of his large bed.

A dull metallic click broke the air, followed by Vanessa’s sputtering breath as she saw him lock the door. Her faith sealed - now caged in the lair of the beast. Reduced to his own shimmering shadow, Sherlock advanced toward her, ripping his shirt off.

Fingers biting into the wooden pole, Vanessa stared, unable to determine if it was a man or a lycan god who stood before her. Every breath made his bare torso look menacing. Under the deep dusky twilight, his muscles curved and stretched, coated by a virile, dark fur.

Curious, her gaze followed the striking veins and the trail of unkempt hair that paved its way down his fine abdomen and disappeared beneath his trousers. Guiding to that which she feared and wanted at once.

Eyes of blue flame shone with absent remorse, brows arched with a pretentious demeanour as he reached a hand to seize her to him. “Your innocence dies here tonight,” he hissed in her ear, “from now on, you’ll be my little whore to plough as I please.”

The air died in her lungs as his firm chest collided with hers and his knee forced her legs apart. Bulging and muscular, his thigh rose to brush at her clit, the thin fabrics a shy barrier.

Shuddering, she swallowed hard in a dire battle to find her voice. “I will be whatever you need me to be,” she retorted as the thought of being exploited by her master released fluttering butterflies of fear and excitement in her chest.

Sherlock smirked and captured her jaw between his finger and thumb as he leaned in. Torrid lips hovered over her own, offering a phantom kiss to distract her from the greedy fingers that pushed the sleeves of the gown off her shoulders.

Like warm milk it poured down her body, exposing her delicacies to the night and to the gluttonous hands that kneaded her breasts while he flicked his tongue over her closed mouth, tasting the plumpness of her lips.

A true creature of the underworld, Sherlock’s touch was cruel like his promises; he took as he pleased, leaving his sigil seething on her skin. Her sputtering gasps served as an opportunity to invade her hot cavern. The detective’s kiss was even more ruthless, his tongue smooth as silk seized and conquered her breath.

She could feel him streaming in her blood, tasting him all the way down through her gut. Dark and intoxicating like poisonous absinthe, the promise of death swung amidst their hot, serpent-like dance.

Yet she only yearned to drink to her demise.

As if under a stupor, she swayed to his spells, bucking her hips to ground herself on the meat of his thigh, leaving the coarse fabric wet with sticky arousal. A condescending grin tugged at his lips, and his hand rushed to the back of her head, weaving through her hair and yanking her back.

“Already the wanton harlot,” he spat, swiftly turning her over and holding her against his chest. “Look at yourself,” he growled hoarsely in her ear, forcing her doe eyes to stare at their reflection. Sherlock rested his dimpled chin on the top of her head with his brows lowered like an apex predator examining his prey.

His hand disappeared behind, hastily fumbling with his trousers, “You wanted me to show you, you want to see,” he called as his trousers piled at his feet and he carefully stepped out.

Something hefty and hard nudged at the small of her back, turning her veins into thin tendrils of ice. Abysmal panic coiled at her gut at the realisation that Sherlock meant to reshape her as the vessel of his primal urge.

Hand snaking around her belly, he snatched her to fall back onto the mattress with him pillowing her fall. Her firm buttocks slid across his hairy abdomen, hands fumbling to grasp his thick thighs while her eyes flared at the sight of his hardened cock displayed in front of her in its full generous size.

It was nothing like the medical illustrations she saw in books: bulging tendons swerved across an imposing, meaty rod. Ridges rippled across its girth like soft silk, and the heart-shaped head dripped of glistening, pearly arousal.

Curious, her trembling hand wandered to feel him, stunned by the liquid-like texture that engulfed the absurd rigidness. By order of her touch, he twitched and swelled, causing the radiating heat at the apex of her groin to palpitate.

Pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, Sherlock growled, “Do you like what you see, little one?”

His taut hands reached to grasp her thighs, spreading her wide over each of his legs and holding them apart to expose her untouched sleek at the mirror. The thundering in his throat was nothing but animalistic as he glowered at her perfect sight: his little Nessie, his little untainted flower blooming fresh with dew, yearning to be plucked.

“Look at yourself,” Sherlock demanded with a whisper drenched of fervour. His coarse hand dragged to capture her chin and forced her to face the salacious spectacle reflected before them. Her breath shuddered; she saw their skin mapped onto one another, their bodies entangled and their souls unmasked.

How could something so forbidden be so beautiful?

“I dwell in the darkness, Vanessa.” Sherlock explained, his voice stroking her temple as his lips inched closer, “You must know that, you must have me as I am.”

He laved his tongue over her cheek as if he was tasting the sweetest delicacy and reached for his erection, stroking the pulsating girth between his fingers. Eyes still glued to their likeness on the glossy surface, she glanced as he pressed his pink, meaty tip between her dripping petals.

“Watch as I take something from you that can never be given back, something that will forever belong to me.”

“Sherl….”

His name died on her tongue, the moment forever lost in a loud shriek. Savagely and unceremoniously, he pried her virginal cunt open the way a predator rips at its prey’s throat. His massive shaft tore through her purity with no resistance to fight back against his brutal invasion.  

Pain rattled its way through her entire entity while the dark spectacle of the loss of her innocence played right in front of her eyes, spurring grievous tears. Lost to the bliss of her warm cavern, Sherlock chanted in loud groans, continuing to force himself all the way between her squeezing walls. Remorseless of her cries, he never stopped until every hollow inch inside her was full of his cock and his sac smacked against her stuffed opening.

“My! You feel good!” He panted with astonishment, his virility twitching within the lush sanctuary between her thighs. Noxious pride flowed in his veins at the reflection of the naked young girl, spread open with him inside her.

“Do you like having me inside you, my little harlot?”

“God!” Vanessa screamed, stunned by the sensation of him swelling at her core. His invasion seared, her legs trembled against his in a plea to be kept together. But he only stretched her wider, hooking both hands below her thighs.

“It will feel good in a little while,” he promised and slowly shifted his hips back. Inch by inch, his cock slid out of her now defiled slit, coated by blood and a sheer layer of arousal. It was something of decadent theatrics; his broad chest puffed against her spine, a blissful hum leaving his bobbing throat at the image of the crimson stain that decorated his sword.

“From this moment and beyond, this belongs to me,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and planting wicked, butterfly kisses along the tender slope, “do you understand? Your little cunny is my property, your moans, your pleasure, all belong to me.”

Her cunt clenched around nothing as she watched his full length slipping out, tainted by broken purity, the empty void leaving pure urgency to course through her tendons. Hopeless for something she couldn’t even recognise, she whined and writhed on top of him. Her eyes levitated from their sexes to meet his icy glare.

“Sherlock, please, more! Please put yourself back inside me!!!”

“Fuck!” Sherlock rasped in awe of her wanton, his control nearly lapsed. Fingers digging into her thighs, he undulated his hips and pulled her down the length of his throbbing erection. Low melodies of pleasure rolled on his tongue as her wet cunt pressed around him again.

Gawking at the mirror, she nearly fell apart in his arms, cries of daze escaped her as Sherlock's drove back into her sleek. Every bit of his flesh unfolding hers, disappearing within her body to defy the loneliness aching in her cove until his entire shaft was lost in her depth and the tip of his cock hit something lush and tender. She could have sworn she felt him waver deep in her gut.

“Sherlock!!!” she cried, shutting her eyes at the sharp twinge that shuddered through her core.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes, dove,” he warned, and the authority in his voice left her no choice but to obey. Wickedly, his fingers slithered to the little nub of flesh above her slit and ruthlessly tugged at it to expose more of her battered sex. He continued to pound into her mercilessly, quickening the rhythm with each one of his thrusts.

“Look at you, taking me so obediently. Perhaps I was wrong about you, perhaps you are easily tamed.”

The thick bones of his hips crashed into her rump vigorously, his girth violently splitting her protesting walls. He was fast, wet, and hard inside her, his cock drilling into her over and over, every plunge stripping more layers of her soul and pushing her higher toward the heavens.

Enslaved to the beguiling aphrodisiac, she squirmed on top of him, her body beginning to push down to meet every thrust. The vision of herself being brutally taken by the large, civilised beast made the blood pool at the seams of her womanhood and tingle with frustration.

A shuddering quake began to spread within her, spiralling out in a sequence of spasms sourced at the spot where they connected. Bliss and ecstasy shattered her body and a sudden flush of pleasure exploded through her body as she came all over his cock.

Engulfed in her milking cunt, Sherlock could hardly believe what beheld his eyes. His beautiful nymph, coming undone around him, ethereal and divine. Her blissful chants a song to his ears only, she was like dryad humming a hymn to call upon a lonesome hunter.

“‘My Vanessa, I wanted you for so long.” He called, fucking her wildly through her orgasm. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he choked out on his grunts, her sugary walls closing around his thickness like a predatory flower, demanding to suckle his sweet elixir.

Still riding her climax, she shook her head, hesitant of speaking such profanities. But the stern glower on Sherlock’s face instantly forced her into submission.

“I want you to come … come inside me!” She panted and then screamed as another wave of intense rapture swept her away.

Her squeezing cunt forced the thick stream to vibrated through his shaft, making him drill into her with zeal. His fingers clutched her waist as he slammed her down onto his swollen cock, burying himself the deepest he could. Vanessa yipped as something hot sprouted into her, flooding her womb like a soothing kiss that slowly began trickling between their tight flesh.

Still locked in an embrace, they shivered together. Soft maple hues glimmered over their wet skin, their bodies heaving against one another while a symphony of pants and gasps filled the silence.

Sherlock’s glaciers sought to capture her reflection, a dark, brooding look on his sweat-silken face while his lips ghosted over her shoulder. There was no question in the rough expression of his face.

Nothing spoke louder than the possessiveness that pierced through the sharp reflection.

~*~

A tender stream of sunshower kissed her lids awake. The cerulean sky winked at her through the open window while her senses gingerly regained their functions after what felt like graveyard slumber. Finding herself alone, she wondered for a moment if the night before was only a fantasy; but this bed was too soft and far too large, and the sensation of shame licking between her thighs told her otherwise.

Even in his absence, Sherlock’s presence lingered. His pungent sweat layered on her skin, and from her torn seal trickled the pearly, forbidden essence of his loins. She allowed herself a moment of coy bliss, pressing her lips upon her bare shoulder to kiss the taste of him off her flesh when the thud of inching footsteps and creaking wood made her sit up with fright as if her presence was forbidden.

Huddling the blankets around her chest, she gulped as the door flung open.

Already dressed in a clean shirt, a vest of golden brown, and a long black jacket, the hulking man offered her a small wrinkle on his brow. Fine silks were folded on his forearm, and his eyes fell upon the naked beauty in his bed. A shadow of dark desire danced upon his slanted smirk as he noticed the little inkling of dry blood on the edge of the mattress.

“Slept well, my little Nessie?” He asked, passing a finger over his neatly combed locks before gesturing for her to approach him. Obedient as ever, his little servant quickly climbed out, immediately regretting her haste as a spear split through her core. With jolting legs, she swallowed her discomfort and approached him with her head lowered to the floor.

“No, we will have none of this,” Sherlock chided, his finger stalking beneath her chin to fix her stare on his. Their gazes met for a shy second and then he stepped back, unfolding the fabrics held beneath his arm.

A waterfall of black and crimson flowed down, hanging from his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes rounded with wonder; being a woman of lower status, she never owned anything as beautiful and expensive as the dress he held before her.

“Lift your arms, dove,” Sherlock commanded and she did as he bid.

The soft fabrics felt like warm liquid washing over her skin as Sherlock carefully slipped the dress over her head. His hands smoothly roamed her body, tugging at the delicate fabric to fit over her figure. The tall detective stepped to stand at her back and began working the laces of the corset embedded into the gown.

One by one, he tightened the silk binds as he pulled at the laces. Vanessa slightly hissed when her breasts squished against the generous cleavage.

“Forgive me,” Sherlock mumbled as he heard her distress, “I am not used to such… arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” she asked naively, though it quickly dawned on her that her dear master never had a wife or a mistress, which didn’t come much as a surprise after witnessing his bohemian desires the night before. And yet, no regret touched her heart as Sherlock pressed his hand over her torso and perched his chin atop her head once again.

“Look at us.” His lustrous eyes carried to the mirror, guiding hers to follow as he stroked his hand lower to flatten the folds of her dress and pushed her hair over her shoulders with the other.

“Don’t we make a pair?”

Glancing forward, Vanessa took a deep inhale. Crimson and black were unusually beautiful as they graced her figure. The rim of the cleavage was beaded with fine black jewels that gave her appearance an elegant, yet erotic flavour.

Taken by her new design, she allowed herself to be swallowed into Sherlock’s beautiful darkness.

She wouldn’t have him without it.

___________________________________

Additional notes: I don’t own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes franchise. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming  @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and @sapphirescrolls for moral support. 

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 20, Story #2 is by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: Dittany Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Neville/Hannah Prompt: Bravery Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Discussion of maternal death, mentions of violence. 

Hannah's mother had been a muggleborn, and that had been her death sentence. 

Or rather, she had been a muggleborn with the audacity and bravery to be proud about it. 

Most muggleborns ended up slipping entirely into wizarding society, and as much as they might say that they would keep in touch with their roots, the magic took over. Jeans became robes, electronics didn’t work in their homes so their pop culture references grew stale, the effort involved in keeping the statute of secrecy for extended family and old friends was too exhausting to sustain, so they saw them less and less and eventually… 

This had not happened for Mum, even though the Abbotts were a very old family, well rooted in the magical community. She had agreed with Dad to live in Godric’s Hollow, because the Abbotts had lived there for many generations, but she had insisted on Hannah attending the local primary school, where she could make muggle friends. She was adamant that they make regular trips to Liverpool, to visit her side of the family, who believed that she worked in HR (which she did, but for a potion manufacturer, not for a haulage company as they believed) and that Hannah had received a scholarship to an exclusive boarding school, and that Dad owned a pub (which he did, but they neglected to mention that it was frequented by witches, wizards, goblins, the occasional hag and a half giant). And when the Stephens side of the family came to visit, they would have a flurry of activity where they would hide away anything magical-looking, and from the loft they would bring down the big television, and they would speed read some muggle newspapers so they could give their opinions on Tony Blair or Men Behaving Badly or Charles and Diana’s divorce or whatever else they thought might come up.  

That was life as Hannah knew it, and it never felt complicated or brave or shocking or daring or any of the things she later found out it was. 

She remembered certain details from the day very clearly. She’d been easing sneezewort plants out of their pots, the last repotting before winter, her fingers shaking at the long, pale roots, creating a rain of soil. The last of the cream coloured petals, curled and brown at the edges, fell onto the potting bench. There was a sudden shock of cold air, a breeze from the door opening that hit their faces and whipped through their hair.  

‘Professor Dumbledore’s here,’ said Susan with surprise, and Hannah had glanced up to see him closing the door to the humid greenhouse, his long white beard tucked into his belt, Professor Sprout hurrying over to him. 

Hannah looked back down at her plant. The roots were all tangled together. Professor Dumbledore was probably here for Harry Potter, there were all sorts of rumours flying around about secret meetings between the two of them. 

The plant needed a much bigger pot, but the roots were strong, there was no rot there. 

‘Hannah.’ 

There was no hiding the bewilderment on her face. She had never had a direct conversation with the Headmaster before, and here he was, speaking kindly, gently, softly, one hand touching her shoulder and the other, black looking, gesturing to the door. 

‘I need to-’ she started saying, as he led her out. Everyone was staring. 

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Professor Sprout, and her voice sounded so strange, ‘I’ll finish up here for you.’ 

Perhaps part of her had known then. She knew it was something terrible. She was too afraid to ask. No one was ever pulled out of class for a good reason. She walked up to the castle alongside him as though in a dream, her heart beating up through her throat and into her mouth.

She was not sure how it happened, but suddenly she was in the warmth of his office, staring at Professor Dumbledore’s grave face, his lips moving, without really hearing, except for that first, terrible, world destroying little phrase. 

‘I’m so very sorry to tell you that your mother has been found dead.’ 

There would be no worse event, no greater loss, no stronger pain in her entire life. 

There was still dirt under her nails and in the creases of her palms, she noticed, as she reached into the silver box of floo powder. 

It had been so long since she had seen Godric’s Hollow like this, golden and red in its autumn. Fallen leaves tumbled and floated down the river that rushed through the village, or collected in the gutters along the cobbled roads, damp and heavy. The sun stayed a little lower each day, casting long shadows across the beer garden of The Lost Owl, and the wind ruffled the sign on the door which read ‘Closed due to family bereavement.’ 

During the days, she wondered what to do with herself, stuck between boredom and terrible, overwhelming grief. When she could cry no more, she wondered if there was something wrong with her for wanting to find something interesting or fun to do, but when she tried to read, she could not focus. When she tried to listen to the radio, she would fall asleep. She could not bring herself to ask her weeping father to play cards or chess or anything with her. She thought of going back into school, but how could she see other people? Now that the world had ended? She wanted to tell people about it, wanted to say the words enough until they made sense to her, or until someone found the right words to say back that would make it OK, but she did not want to do this to her friends. 

At nights, she would cry herself to sleep, and her whispers, please come back please Mummy please come back, would grow and grow and grow into sobs, begging into her pillow as the agony of it tore at her, the desperation, the feverish thought that there had to be something, that this couldn’t be it, there had to be a way, a special way, just for them, just for her, because it was her mother and there was no way she could live without her. Mum wouldn’t leave her like this, there was no way Mum would allow it, she would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that Hannah was happy, she had always said so, she had always promised… 

But Death was something parents could not protect their children from, it seemed. The more Hannah thought on it, the more she became crushingly devastated, horrified to realise that each and every human on Earth had to endure this at some point. In different ways, at different times, with different feelings, but the mere act of bringing a child into the world was to condemn that child, one day, to the unbearable pain of loss. Every person she passed, she wondered, have you suffered as I have? Or is it yet to come for you? She wished she could spare them from it.

The aurors said she was probably targeted because she loudly and openly discussed her muggle heritage in the pub, and it must have been heard by the wrong people. That was what passed for bravery these days. 

In the church of St Jerome, the stained glass window pattered with rain, and Hannah looked up at the colours of red and yellow and green rather than looking at the coffin with the splay of lilies, and she wondered when this nightmare would end, when Mum would come back, and tell her that everything would be all right. 

***

Months passed in unbearable agony, worse than she could have imagined. But there were glimmers of light there too. 

Here, at the school she thought she would never return to, in the place that was filled with unimaginable horror and oppression, she had purpose again. More purpose, in fact, than she had ever had in her life. And with it, new friendships that ran deeper than she had ever expected. 

‘This way,’ Neville whispered, and they ran low across the lawn of the grounds. Some of the windows in the castle behind them blazed with light, so that she thought for a terrible moment that they must be visible from the Great Hall, but, of course, the windows would be black with night to anyone who looked out from them. 

It was the summer term now, but the air was still cold as they panted, as though Dementors were close, which, she reasoned, they might be. She could feel the dew of the grass, left to grow long since Hagrid had left, soaking the bottoms of her jeans, seeping through her ratty trainers. 

Following the dark shadow of Neville’s figure, she ran through the grounds until she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot, and, ahead, the slight shine of starlight reflecting off the greenhouses. 

‘They’re in greenhouse three,’ Neville muttered, and her stomach dropped. 

He did not notice, and continued to hurry along the garden path, past the raised beds for the hardier plants and herbs, and she followed, but at a walk now, dread gnawing at her. 

He stopped at the door, holding his hands up to the glass to peer in. ‘OK…’ he said, still breathless from the run. ‘OK, looks clear… Now, while I talk to the venomous tentacula, you grab a tray, and fill it with perlite and only a few handfuls of compost, it’s a mountain plant so it likes it nice and rocky.’ 

‘OK,’ she said, and though she thought she sounded normal, he turned to her. She could barely make out his expression in the darkness. 

‘Are you all right?’ 

‘I… I’m sorry, I just… I haven’t been in the greenhouses for a long time… especially not this one. I should have thought before I volunteered, I'm sorry.’ 

She felt immediately embarrassed for blurting it out, and she had no idea if Neville would even grasp what she was getting at. He had been in the class, yes, but did he even remember that day? What had been the worst day of her life had been a perfectly ordinary school day for the rest of her classmates, and so many terrible things had happened since then. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I can’t leave you out here.’ 

She thought he was telling her off, or saying that they had to go back, but before she had the time to feel hurt or ashamed, he was holding out his hand towards her. 

She swallowed, and then placed her trembling hand in his. She was not unaccustomed to physical touch with him, or many others. Over the past year, she had tended wounds and comforted people as they cried, she had grasped hands and arms and knees under desks to soothe people or tell them to control themselves, she had passed secret notes and morsels of food and whatever else needed smuggling, slipping it nimbly from her fingers into their palms as they passed in the corridors.  

But now his fingers pressed firm and reassuring against hers, and there was something very different about them holding hands. 

She let him lead her into the greenhouse; the humid, warm air surrounded them at once, like an odd sort of hug that sat heavy on their lungs. Tall, leafy plants towered above them, brushing the domed glass high above their heads, which magically reflected the brilliant stars above them and lit the place in glorious silver. 

Now that she was in here, she felt a little better. The dread that had stopped her ever returning here, that had caused her to drop herbology and pretend that this part of the castle no longer existed, had not come to pass. It was, after all, simply a greenhouse, and Mum could not die again. 

‘Are you all right?’ he said gently. 

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’ 

He nodded, and reached for some gloves on a nearby bench. She missed his hand around hers. ‘Let’s move quickly, and get you out of here,’ he said, donning some goggles and a thick leather apron.  

She went to the potting tables where Professor Sprout always stood, and seized a large seedling tray. As she took handfuls of compost and perlite, she could see Neville wrestling with the venomous tentacular, saying, ‘I’ll bring you doxy granules tomorrow - I’ll move you to a sunnier spot - I already checked with Professor Sprout - come on, you knew this was part of the deal, we agreed-’

Eventually, when he had tied enough of the writhing vines together with garden twine and stroked the shoots into calmness, he gave a nod to Hannah, and started to remove his protective gear as she hurried over and they squeezed behind the plant

There, on a table surrounded by blue lanterns to make up for the blocked light caused by the tentacula, were long, deep pots, stuffed with dittany. Their slender, arching stems were clustered with pleasant green leaves, with a dusty sort of whiteness, and they were dotted with pink flowers. She had never seen the plant as it was before; she had only ever remembered the little vials of dittany kept in their first aid kit, good for scraped knees and cuts from any broken glass in the pub. Mum had always said it was good to be prepared in an emergency, it had been one of her funny little things like that, along with being a bit of a hypochondriac, and so Hannah had had a vial in the bottom of her trunk when she returned to school. That, combined with her good potions knowledge, had helped her stumble into a kind of mothering role that she found had rather suited her. 

‘I just need the flowers, the book says,’ she said, as Neville started gently pulling some up by the roots. 

‘Yes, but I think it’d be good if I can grow another set somewhere, as a back up so we don’t have to keep sneaking out here. It’s just me and Seamus in the dorm, I don’t think he’d mind if I put them in the window between Harry and Ron’s beds. Here, take these, cut the flowers where the stem splits off - yeah, there - so it’ll grow back.’ 

‘It’s really pretty,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting it to be so pretty. It’s usually that the most useful plants are the ugliest.’ 

‘It is,’ said Neville absent-mindedly. ‘It’s from Crete. The healing properties were only discovered in the 17th century - people used to think it was an aphrodisiac, and it’s still used in some love potions.’ 

She looked at him, and though the light in the greenhouse was white starlight only, she could still see his cheeks burn red. 

‘It’s… it’s not, though,’ he mumbled. ‘Well… a little bit, but I… I don’t know why I said that.’

‘Because it’s interesting,’ she said quickly, as he busied himself repotting the seedlings. He nodded rapidly, and cleared his throat a little, and she cast around for something to say. ‘You… you should be careful, growing these in the dorm. If you’re caught-’

‘There’s no rule against growing plants,’ he said. ‘I’ve had plants up there loads of times. Especially my mimbulus mimbletonia, that’s had pride of place for a while.’

‘You know they don’t need an explicit rule,’ she said quietly. ‘They do what they want. If they think you’re… doing anything good, anything kind. That’s enough.’ 

He nodded, looking down at the delicate, thin roots of the dittany. There was a reason that he and Professor Sprout were growing such an innocent plant in such secrecy. ‘I know… but… it’s worth the risk.’ 

‘That’s very brave.’ 

‘Is it? Just growing a plant? Is that what passes for bravery these days?’ 

‘Yes,’ she said honestly. ‘Anything good does now. And it’s not just that.’ She paused, still cradling one of the delicate, rose pink flowers in her hand. ‘I mean… what were you thinking in muggle studies the other day? I hated seeing you screaming like that.’ 

‘Well I had to say something. It was repulsive, what she was saying about muggle children.’ 

‘No one believes her, no one really thinks-’

‘We don’t know that. Maybe some people might start believing her, because it’s easier. And anyway, it’s not just about that. Remember Umbridge?’ 

‘I try not to,’ she said dryly, and in the pale, washed out starlight she saw him grin. 

‘I know it’s stupid, but as Ginny and Luna haven’t come back, and Harry and Ron aren’t here, or Dean, or loads of other people… I’ve been-’ he sighed, as though frustrated he couldn’t find the words, ‘I’ve been trying to think about what they would do. I can’t afford to be Neville Longbottom, I’ve got to be someone braver. And Harry used to just completely go off on her, used to tell her straight in lessons that You-Know-Who was back, and, yeah, it got him more trouble than it felt like it was worth at the time, but you know what? I always found it really inspiring.’ 

‘I did too,’ she said quietly. ‘I remember thinking… well… why would he stick to a lie through all that?’ 

‘Exactly. He had principles, and if he was here he wouldn’t stand for any of that rot. There’s a lot of times over the past few months where I’ve just tried to…’ he shrugged helplessly, ‘pretend that I’m Harry. That I’m brave.’ 

‘I don’t think you’re pretending at all,’ she said. ‘You are brave. You always have been. You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you?’ 

‘Somehow.’ 

‘No somehow about it. You’re the bravest man I know, and that includes Harry.’ 

‘How on earth does it include Harry?’ he asked, and he sounded like he was on the verge of laughter. 

‘Because he’s had to be,’ she said. ‘I’ve grown up in Godric’s Hollow, you know, I’ve seen the ruined house that he lived in. He’s had to be brave all the way from when he was a baby. But I didn’t. You didn’t. You’ve chosen to be brave, you’ve chosen to channel him. You're a pureblood, you could choose, every day, to keep your head down and get on with things, but you don't. You stand up and call her a bigoted liar in class and get tortured and you never back down. I find that more inspiring than anything.’ 

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said quietly.  

‘And you were brave lots of times even before. Don’t you remember winning those points all the way back in first year?’ 

He beamed, and looked at her directly, for the first time since he had blurted out that dittany was an aphrodisiac. ‘You remember that?’ 

‘Of course I do. Dumbledore pointing out about standing up to your friends - he was so right, that does take a lot of bravery. I tried to do it next year, when Ernie was telling me that Harry was the heir of Slytherin. I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t as brave as you, but at least I tried, I suppose.’ 

‘I think you’re very brave too,’ he said. ‘Looking after everyone like this, handing out essence of dittany, running out here with me to get more… I’m sorry that you’ve had to come back in here. I didn’t think.’ 

‘I didn’t either,’ she said, and she started cutting more flowers. ‘I was just so focused on the idea of more, I didn’t really think about where I’d be getting it from… But, you know, I’m OK, actually. The thought of it was worse than the reality. It’s just a greenhouse.’ She looked around. The white starlight bleached the dark greenery into shades of silver, bounced off the watering cans, sparkled in the droplets of water from the sprinklers. ‘A very beautiful one.’ 

‘I like to think so,’ he said, a little hoarsely. ‘I always found this whole place beautiful, but now it… sometimes feels like only the greenhouses still are. They’re the only place I haven’t seen people being tortured.’ 

She paused. ‘I’m secretly thankful my mum isn’t alive to see this. Is that awful? I’m just glad she never had to worry about me being here. I feel bad enough for Dad.’ 

‘It’s not awful,’ said Neville. ‘I know what you mean.’ 

‘Do you?’ 

‘My parents don’t know anything about what’s going on, and for the first time in my life, I’m glad,’ he said, and for some reason his words seemed to surprise him. 

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, and without thinking she put down the little secateurs and touched his arm. He breathed deeply, not quite meeting her eyes, pressing down one of the seedlings quite firmly into the tray, before finally turning to her.

‘I live with my gran, because… my…’ He took another deep breath, and suddenly there was a clanging from outside. 

They froze, and heard a low voice swearing. 'Bloody wheelbarrow…' 

Hearts thudding, they ducked down and stayed silent, Neville silently mouthing for Hannah to get onto the large empty shelf under the potting table, where bags of compost were usually kept. He reached up, fumbling for the secateurs, and then started crawling along on his belly. 

'What are you doing?' she whispered, horrified. Alecto Carrow was opening the door to the greenhouse, still muttering and swearing about the wheelbarrow he had tripped over. 

He put a finger to his lips, and then pointed at the venomous tentacula, which had begun to writhe against the twine. The snip snip snip of the secateurs seemed unreasonably loud, but from the other side of the greenhouse Carrow did not appear to hear them, rifling noisily through the plants and shrubs, sending terracotta pots crashing to the floor. 

'Anyone in here?' he demanded. 'I saw your footprints in the gravel. Hello?' 

The vines of the tentacula waved threateningly, and Hannah watched with trembling fear as one of them reached out to Neville, still prone on the ground, and started to wrap itself around his throat. 

'Don't be cheeky,' she heard him mutter to it, and he calmly prodded it with the secateurs until it released him. 

It kept one tendril around his ankle, but Neville seemed to allow it as a compromise, and instead watched through the vines as Carrow upturned a table, still shouting and swearing. 

After several, agonisingly long minutes, Carrow came close to them. The venomous tentacula silently released Neville’s ankle, and raised it's spiked tendrils. 

'OW! Son of a bludger-' 

A long line of expletives followed, and the venomous tentacular shook noisily, whip-like noises echoing through the greenhouse as it reached after Carrow, now bolting from the room. 

'Grab the tray,' Neville told Hannah. 'He'll be heading straight to the hospital wing, we should have a clear path back. Quickly, before the tentacula gets over-excited and turns on us-' 

She did so at once and he held back the spiked vines as she squeezed past the plant, and hurried safely out of range. 

She stood there, holding her tray of little dittany plants and the heads of the flowers. She watched as Neville easily unentangled himself from the tentacula, patted it, said, 'thanks mate,' and grabbed a clear cover for the tray. He came close to her as he fitted it over the dittany, protecting them from the cold night air they would have to hurry back through.  

His face was inches from her own, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat a little as she looked up at him. There was a slight clunk as the lid of the tray found its place. For a moment, they were perfectly still, just their breathing in that humid place, and his eyes, shining light blue in the pale light, lifted from the tray of dittany to meet her own. 

'Do you really think I'm brave?' he whispered. 

She nodded, and he seemed to be steeling himself for something. Please, she thought, please make this place good for me again. Her hands gripped the edges of the tray.

Very gently, very slowly, he leaned closer over the tray. His hand moved as though to softly move her face to meet his, but he didn't need to, for she was already naturally tilting her head, and her heels were lifting a little off the ground without her bidding them to. 

Their lips met, soft like the petals of the dittany between them, sweet like the fragrance. His fingertips were trembling slightly as they caressed against her cheek, but then they calmed as the kiss deepened. 

The tray pressed into them as he tried to move closer, and it reminded them where they were. They broke apart, panting and gasping as though they had just finished the run down from the castle. 

She had never kissed anyone before. She was glad, unbelievably, overwhelmingly, joyfully glad, that her first kiss had been with Neville, in this place where the warm air was scented with damp soil and sweet flowers. 

'We… we should take these back,' he said, his voice slightly hoarse. ‘Let - let me take them.’ 

He took the tray from her, and in her happy daze she allowed it, and let him lead the way out of the greenhouse. Joy had returned to her again, beneath the fogged glass, amongst the green plants, bursting with life. 

[saturnsstufff]

The Empress pt.IX

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, mentions of death.

(So, sorry this is so short)

   After talking with Phil you both decided it would be best to return to the party. Although you weren't looking forward to seeing the lingering looks and stares, you were looking forward to dancing with Techno. Now that you've had a moment to ease your senses, you were able to push away the others and focus on your lover.

   When Techno saw you walk in with Phil, his lips turned into a smile. He offered his arm back to you, of course you took it without hesitation. Phil was happy to see you two having fun together, a lot of the things techno did with you, was what Phil did with his wife. So seeing you two was almost a blast from the past.

   "Feeling better?" He asked softly. His arm rested on your forearm. Wanting to clarify that you were ok. You gave him a nod and smiled.

   "Much better." He gave a reassuring nod and turned to the crowd again. You noticed the lingering eyes had fallen back to you. As much as you wanted to say the two of you looked like a casual couple. Techno was dressed beautifully in his traditional military uniform, truly looking regal and official. Like Sarah, she was also in her traditional uniform as well. Although looking around, most of the attendees were in uniform. This is what Sarah must have meant when she said that most of her friends were within her ranks. Even as Sarah's Maid of Honor, you were dressed very nicely. Purples and reds adorned the dress. Techno's favorite colors. You didn't know it, but Techno had specifically requested that you were dressed as regal as possible. Since this was the first time the public, and court would see you, he wanted to make a lasting impression with you. He knew you weren't the most ladylike, but for what your manners lacked, your personality made up for. You were kind and always willing to correct yourself. He only hoped that the court would see this as well.

   After a while Techno and you had found a comfortable seat to eat a little late dinner. Of course the meal last long as the time came for the brides to have their dance with the fathers. On Sarah's behalf this meant a dance with Techno. You had no problem offering him up to her of course. You knew she had no intention of stealing Techno or anything of the sorts. when they made their way to the ball room floor, the two contrasted greatly. Technoblade was dressed in darks well Seraphina was in whites, It was beautiful to say the least, but then again most things within this palace was.

   Well Techno and Sarah danced, you felt little hands tug at the hem of your dress. Tommy. You looked down at the little boy. Like his brother's he was dressed just as nice. You couldn't help smiling wide, taking him into your arms. When you rested him on your knee he quickly became interested with the items on the table. Of course you didn't mind though. You even offered him the roll from your plate, knowing they were his favorite. When you looked up, you saw Philza give you a gentle nod, and a smile. Acknowledging Tommy was with you.

   Well you watched your lover dance with the bride, a middle-aged man had approached you and Tommy. He was dressed well, but not in uniform. He looked loosely bemused as he offered you a drink. You gave a shy smile but politely declined. "You don't drink?" He inquired. His eyebrow lifting in question. He didn't look kind, but he also didn't look mean.

   "Not particularly, I'm sorry" you said softly. Pulling Tommy closer to you subconsciously. You were unsure of the man as he took Technoblade's chair ever so casually.

   "Oh your alright, give it time. You'll take up drinking" he said too casually, leaning into the chair. You blinked a bit, taken back by his words.

   "I... I beg your pardon?" You asked, wanting to clarify what you herd. He looked at you and raised a semi bushy brow.

   "You'll take up drinking. As long as your with that man there" He pointed to Techno "I bet you'll become an alcoholic even." His eyebrow quirked as a devious smirk formed. His eyes were lingering Technoblade, who unbeknownst to you, had a not so happy look when seeing you and the man. "Or I bet you'll mysteriously go missing, or die" your eyes glanced about, now looking for a familiar face. The longer this man was with you, the more uncomfortable you grew with his presence.

"I.. I’m doubtful that will happen.. Technoblade is a kind man to me..." you said carefully, your eyes flickering to the man well you held Tommy close. Protective of him from the rather rude man In front of you.

   The mans eyes lingered to Tommy and back to you. "We'll see..." he dropped that conversation for a new one. "Where are my manners, my name is Leon Schmidt." He held his hand out for you. Adjusting Tommy you offered your hand and shook his. To your surprise your hand was stronger than his. His hands were not worn and worked with trade, but instead soft, and made for pens and books. With this small note you felt a slight surge of confidence.

   "Nice to meet you... I'm (y/n)-" he cut you off quickly.

   You felt a warm hand rest on your shoulder. The hardened tone of the person ran through. Technoblade. "Schmidt." You could see Leon's Adams apple bob slightly as techno addressed him. "I see you have met (y/n)" Techno's tone wasn't kind, rather harsh to be frank.

   "Oh I know who you are. Your very popular among us court members." He said taking his hand back, almost looking as if he wiped it. He took his drink in his hand and took the one he brought you. "As a sign of friendship and with the hopes the Emperor takes care of you. Lets drink to your health." He offered the drink again. You took it but you were hesitant. You didn't want to drink, but what would happen if you declined? He held his glass out for a toast. You glanced your glass to his and slowly toasted. You looked down to the glass and thought back. You didn't want to disappoint Techno, and have the court pressure him about you. The liquid was rolling with pearlescent Yellow's, orange's and red's. With a glance to Techno you carefully took a sip. Setting it aside after. Having no desire to drink more. You felt the liquid drop down your throat, a slow buildup of warmth filling your body.

Alcohol.

   "That I have... How long until this one ends up bored, or dead, Blood God?" You glanced up to Techno and saw his Jaw lock.

"For your information, Leon... I intend to marry (y/n)..." his hand held firm but kind on your shoulder. Acting almost like a protector of Tommy and you. Your face went red, your heart beating much faster. He Intended to marry you? Well Tommy played with the beads of your dress, your mind raced at the idea of you and him being a official couple. Would you have a wedding like this? Would he actually want that?

   "Marriage? With her?" The man chocked out a loud laugh. This left Techno seething. However, Techno's attention was drawn from Leon's boisterous laugh to you instead. You weren't acting normal. With your hand subconsciously your throat you loosely rubbed. Your breathing began to turn ragged and strained slowly. With a slight blue tinge to your lips Technoblade knew something was horribly wrong.

   "What did you put in her drink." At his his tone was nothing but sharp and demanding. Harshly taking your glass to smell it. With nothing sticking out to the hybrids senses, he set the glass down.

   Well Leon's laughs died down, he no longer found amusement at Techno's cruel tone. Techno took Tommy off your lap, taking your hand in his. The clammy feeling of your hands and your rapid heart rate was enough to tell him the problem.

   Your body was going into shock.

   When you came around the sun was already up. You were in your own bed well Tommy was curled up beside you, peacefully asleep with his teddy bear in arms. You let your head roll as your eyes scanned the room, falling to Technoblade in the end. His back was to you well he faced out the window, you could tell he was deep in thought. He was no longer in his formal attire. Instead he was in casual wear, his hair was in a messy bun, showing whatever he was doing demanded his full attention.

"Te..chno?.." your voice was ragged but he clearly herd it, turning to face you his eyes softened fast.

   "(y/n)..." he quickly walked over and sat beside you on the bed. His hand moved your hair back before he placed a soft kiss to your forehead, happy to see you awake once more. "How do you feel?" His eyes were worried, but gentle.

   "I... think ok?" You asked uncertain. Your body felt tired, but also well rested. You were looking up at him, your eyes dancing between his for how he felt.

   "Do you remember what happened?" His tone was soft and gentle. Rather if that was because of Tommy asleep by you, or because you had gave him a scare, you wouldn't know.

   "I remember... a man, Tommy, and you... then my throat felt weird..." he nodded slowly and cupped your cheek gently.

   "You had a Reaction to your drink... Did you know you are allergic to Blaze powder?..." you nodded slowly. When you lived within your village, your mother found out about the allergy when she gave you a strength potion. Well she intended it to be helpful, instead it was harmful. He tossed a few thoughts around within his head before nodding. "That drink you had with Leon yesterday had Blaze Powder... Your body went into shock love..."

   You thought back about last night and realized. the pearlescent. Then it hit you. The wedding. Your heart sank slowly, you still had wanted a dance with Techno before the night ended. "Wha... I... I'm sorry..." You said slowly, trying to sit up. He shook his head and rested his forehead on yours, easing you back down.

   "You have nothing to be sorry for... Were just reassured your ok..." you nodded, with a little lingering silence you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him in a tight hug. He didn't hesitate to wrap his own arms around you. Keeping you close to his body.

   "We didn't even get to dance together..." your voice was soft and saddened, almost like a child that was scolded. You slowly buried your head into his neck for comfort

   "Is that what you wanted?..." you nodded slowly. Taking in his lingering cologne from the night before. He slowly pulled away and moved you. Scooping you up into his arm like you were a bride. You were unsure at first, but wrapped your arms around his neck. Your head resting on his chest. With a slow rocking motion he started to sway with you in his arms. Although you couldn't have a dance with him at the wedding, you actually preferred this. You felt safe and at ease within his arms. "You know I love you..." his voice was soft. Loving. He meant what he was saying.

   "I love you too Techno... With all of my heart..." as if those few words meant the world, techno shed a silent tear. You gave him a serious scare last night. He was glad you couldn't remember past your throat hurting either. He knew the things he said to Leon would have stuck with you a bit. Resting his head on yours, he swore from this day on, he would never let something like that happen again.

   It didn't take long for Sarah and Leon to come back around to the forge. Sarah came first of course. Techno had advised you keep easy on yourself for the day, so that's what you planned. Well you were at your work bench tending to the jewels of Phil's sword, she had wondered in. Mostly she was just worried about your health and whether you were ok. Curiously she inquired if your throat was doing better, and what had caused the reaction. The last she saw of you was when you were in techno's arms, being carried out well you struggled to breathe. Of course you reassured her that you were now fine and just taking the day easy. with a hesitant nod she parted from the forge, seeking her men out for a final training before the Honeymoon.

   When Leon came in that was a different story, unlike the night before he was quiet. His sharp features were now accompanied by a bruise on his cheek. You couldn't recall if he had that yesterday, so you quietly pushed the thought aside. With him in the room it was awkward, although he did try and strike a conversation.

   “Is your throat doing better?” You hummed, nodding. keeping to yourself to your bench, not wanting to be any closer to him then you had to be. You chewed your lip. your eyes glancing to his cheek. His eyes much have picked up on it because he had another remark to fallow. “You best watch yourself around that Blood God, girl.” You furrowed your brow at his words. You herd him mention that name last night when he was talking about Techno, but you paid it no mind.

   “Blood God?” you asked quietly, almost uncertain.

   “Yeah your Lover boy or whatever.” He said scornfully. Technoblade a ‘Blood God’? Whatever he was talking about didn't make sense. Leon must have knew because he have a rouged chuckle. “Ask him about that name. Ask him why his sword hangs heavy with Blood. Just wait. You think he’s all sunshine and shit now- But you wait girl, you wait until you piss him off, and he’s two steps away from snapping your neck-” his little rant didn't last long as he was cut off. Technoblade who towered at the door, stood tall and proud as his face was locked into disgust. His voice dripping with venom for the man.

   “I hope your not talking about me, Schmidt.” 

@justthatfangirloverthere @itscaity-c @goldensunshineshit @snobunns @olyink @lolitsellieletsgobro @jackalopedoodles @angelic-scent @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @artsimatsu @justabalroginthenet @seme1e @fangirl570 @sweeetteaa @awlawdtheycoming @idkwhatusernametohave @sugarandspicebutnonice @bambibunz @lynn-draws-blog @buzzybeebee @feathersthewinged @prefesro @astroninaaa @ravennightingaleandavatempus @lifestylesleep @straydog265 @happygalaxymilkshake @vixenfoxpup @truthdaze @alovestruck-fool @luluwinchester @thegeekisheere @ivurie-xo @chxrrymilkshake

[sundaysundaes]

Thirst

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff | 3.8k | Vampire AU

Summary: You have walked the earth for more than a hundred years but your eternity finally means something the second you meet a human boy with smiles brighter than the sun.

Warnings: Vampire!Reader X Human!Hyuck, unprotected sex, blood sucking

“Wait, ah…” 

You pull back at the sound of his voice, fingers squeezing his upper arm. “Nervous?”

Donghyuck throws his head back and runs a hand over his face. He averts his gaze, slightly hiding behind his lean fingers. “Of course, I’m nervous,” he confesses, the tip of his ears turning scarlet. “I have a cute girl sitting on my lap, about to drink blood from my neck—how could I not be nervous?”

You reach out to him, gently running your fingertips at the side of his throat, and see him swallow hard at your touch. You can hear his heartbeat soaring, which only fuels your thirst for his blood. It has been days since you last drank from him and the flame in your throat is scorching. You know that if you don’t do something about it fast, you’ll lose what’s left of your humanity.

“Hyuck…” You plead, gripping against the collar of his black shirt. “I’m… I really need to drink…”

All the anxiety on his face is replaced instantly with concern. “Shit, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, unfastening two of his top buttons to reveal more of his collarbones. The previous bite marks have begun to fade on his skin, appearing almost as faint as the little mole he has on his Adam’s apple. He’s beautiful, so beautiful, that if your mind wasn’t too clouded with the thoughts of consuming human blood, you would praise and cherish every little detail of his features with your lips.

Donghyuck closes his eyes, eyebrows adjoined in the middle in anticipation of your bite. His hand is fisting his collar, slowly tugging it down to reveal more sun-kissed skin to your glowing eyes. “H-have it your way.”

The way he’s reacting like a child curling up in fear of a syringe being plunged into their skin, makes you feel contrite but there’s no other option but to consume what he offers. Otherwise, your thirst for blood will drive you to the brink of your sanity, forcing you to do something even more terrible to him.

You try your best to divert your attention and focus more on trying to comfort him, even when your entire body nearly blazes in flame. Softly, you brush your lips against the column of his throat.

Donghyuck shivers, his breathing tatters. “Don’t—“ He curls his fingers, nails sinking into his palms when he feels your mouth move to lay wet kisses down his chest. “Don’t do that, please.”

“I’m trying to calm you down.”

“Well, you’re doing the opposite 'cause then I’ll be nervous for an entirely different reason.” Donghyuck brings the back of his hand to his mouth, murmuring the words against his skin. But despite the heat that warms his cheeks, he does seem a bit more relaxed, slightly smiling sheepishly at you over his flirtatious words. “I’m fine, just do it.”

You nod, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. Caught off guard, the blush blooms a little wider on his face but he tenderly strokes your cheek. “We’ll do that again after you’re finished,” he promises, “A lot of that.” His hooded eyes are captivated with the way your lips glisten under the slide of his thumb. “Right here.”  

You smile in return. Landing yet another soft kiss to his jaw this time, you extend your fangs and make your mark.

Donghyuck winces away from the pain of your cuspids puncturing the skin under his jaw, right between the earlobe and the collarbone. His hand immediately finds your shoulder, fingers twisting against the fabric of your dress. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes shut close as he endures the pain, but in the next few seconds, his breathing gradually becomes slower.

His head swirls as the rush of endorphin fills his system, elevating him with bliss. He slides his hand down from your shoulder to your arm, resting it on the dip of your waist. You can hear him curse under his breath but he slowly relaxes, his body reclining with you pressed tightly against his chest.

“You’re not so gentle today, are you?” He chuckles softly, slurring a little bit as his thoughts become hazy with ecstasy. “You don’t usually bite me like that.”

You can’t respond, too busy drowning in the pleasantness of his blood.

“So serious.” He quietly laughs. “Well, I guess, it has been a while since we did this so you must be very thirsty.” His free hand slips around your neck, tangling your locks around his fingers. He lets his lips brush against your strands as he murmurs, “I’m sorry… It must have been painful.”

It was painful. So painful that you were about to lose your mind, but with Donghyuck’s arms wrapped around your body protectively, his warm skin under your fingertips, and his sweet, sweet blood on your tongue, every pain, every suffering, every torture you’ve experienced vanishes into a blur.

“Calm down,” he whispers, his honeyed voice soothes you more than anything else in the world. “You don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

And as he relishes the feeling of your tongue on his skin, your teeth sinking to draw even more blood, he closes his eyes again, and witnesses a flashback behind his eyelids.

Eight years-old Lee Donghyuck stood on the frozen ground with his tiny gloves covering his trembling fingers. Smokes of warm breaths were clouding over his mouth. His teeth chattered from the cold; a weird, repetitive melody to his ears. And although his tears were no longer falling, his reddened cheeks were still lined with them. 

“Jaeminnie…” He sniffed, one arm hugging himself by the waist while the other one moved to rub his puffy eyes. “Jaeminnie, where are you…?”

His warm chocolate brown beanie was no longer covering his head—a small reminder of how he had previously tripped himself and scraped his knee on the way down. It hurt. His trousers were ripped open from the fall, enough to show the small bleeding wound on his right knee. Kissed by the cold, his ears were red to the tips, freezing. 

He was alone. And lost. And no matter how much he called out for Jaemin’s name over and over again, no one ever came to reply.

Losing strength, Donghyuck fell to his knees. His gloved covered fingers sank into the five centimeters deep white snow and he began to cry, as loudly as he could, just like how he usually did at nights when he was too scared of the monster lurking under his bed.

He cried, and he cried, and he cried, and then he stopped.

He was not alone.

Donghyuck had his gaze on you; his big, watery, round eyes blinking in surprise. Your dress was tainted with splotches of red, fresh liquid that dripped from your chin as you just feasted upon a human. Turning around to look at him, Donghyuck noticed something peculiar.

Your eyes were glowing, strikingly so. Even in the darkness, even when the moon didn’t set afoot to shine that night in the silenced forest, Donghyuck saw them shining like the stars. And they were brighter, much brighter than anything he had ever witnessed.

The little boy stopped crying and gazed back at you. But no matter how cold your eyes were as they raked in his features, Donghyuck was not as much afraid as he was curious of why you could stand in the middle of December, wearing nothing but a sleeveless knee-high summer dress. And he was still starstruck with your glowing topaz eyes.

When he reached out a hand, you took a step back by instinct. Humans made you nervous, especially after your last encounter with the hunters. The memory of one of them nearly driving a stake into your heart made you more cautious than ever, even when your opponent was only a child.

Donghyuck stood up and dared himself to take another step and this time you bared your teeth in response. Your natural human face suddenly dispersed into a form of fear the second Donghyuck saw your teeth.

They were fangs, small but sharp enough to tear skin apart. You snarled, like a beast in a corner, ready to pounce when threatened. 

But Donghyuck’s fear only lasted for a minute, while his curiosity and admiration lasted forever.

“You…” Donghyuck spoke, his voice quivered from the cold and perhaps, excitement. Blood was still dripping from the corner of your mouth and he saw a long cut, spreading from your right palm to her wrist. “Are you hurt? You’re bleeding…”

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, blinking twice before your shoulders began to loosen.

“If you’re hurt, I have band-aids,” Donghyuck said, immediately shoving his small hand inside his pocket to grab two blue band-aids with soccer balls printed on them. He showed them to you, his teeth still chattering from the cold. “See?”

You examined him more, looking for any kind of sign that he might be a threat to your existence but it was no use. Donghyuck was as harmless as he was adorable. He didn’t even have the strength to keep his little, stubby fingers steady from the cold.

“Why are you crying?” You asked instead, standing a little better in a less offensive stance. 

Donghyuck finally remembered. “Nana… Jaeminnie’s gone… He fought with his brother so we went out here to have some time for ourselves but… But we got separated and now he’s gone...”

“In the woods like this?” You wiped the blood off your mouth with the back of your hand. “What, do you want to die? It’s not safe.”

“N-no—I don’t want to die… I didn’t mean it to be like this.” The little boy shook his head. “I was just trying to help… Jaeminnie looked sad and I wanted to help…”

You fell quiet for a moment, noticing how Donghyuck’s eyes had turned watery once again. You retracted your hands, no longer had your claws out to defend yourself. “Maybe your friend’s already gone home first.” 

“Y-you think?” Donghyuck’s eyes grew hopeful and that was when you realized that the boy was not crying because he was lost in the woods late at night, nor was he crying because he thought his friend abandoned him. Donghyuck was crying because he was worried sick about him. “W-well, if he’s home then that’s great… I really hope he’s with his family again… Fighting is bad…”

So frail, you thought, humans are so frail. Leave them and they cry. Break them and they die.

You sighed. You couldn’t find the heart to leave him alone.“Come with me,” you said, “I’ll help you find your way out of the woods. You can check whether he’s home or not after that.”

And Donghyuck was not one to think twice when people offered him help. With a bright smile, he let his little feet carry him closer to your spot. “I’m Donghyuck,” he said, smiling brightly as he stood beside you. “And you are?”

You glanced at him, noticing how his bangs were fluttering from the winter breeze. His nose was red and his skin, although it was slightly tanned, was thin and easy for you to sink your teeth into if you wanted to. 

You told him your name and you had to repeat it twice until he could pronounce it correctly. He smiled even warmer. “Your name is pretty. Just like you, Noona!”

Noona? You almost snorted. When was the last time someone ever called you that?

But you kept yourself in silence and although you appeared cold, Donghyuck managed to find your charm in his own way. 

“Can I hold your hand on the way out, Noona?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, brat.”

Twenty years-old Lee Donghyuck smiles at the memory, even when he’s somewhat dazed from the chemical of your saliva. He embraces you tighter, sighing close to your ear, “It took a while before you warmed up to me. I’m just so glad you accept me the way I am.”

That’s my line. You close your eyes, fingers curling against the back of his shirt. You can faintly hear his heartbeat growing slower and during the time you begin to worry, Donghyuck caresses your cheek.  

“Can we…” He breathes heavily. “Stop for a moment?” His head swirls, always an aftereffect from having his blood sucked more than he can contain. But even then, he still smiles like always.

“Oh…” Embarrassed and startled, you pull away, immediately wiping the trace of blood on the corner of your lips with the back of your hand. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… Umm…” Donghyuck witnesses your fangs before they’re fully retracted, as you turn away, shy and ashamed, hiding the only thing that distinguishes you from a normal human. 

Donghyuck smiles wider, and wider, until he produces this little chuckle that always sends a trickle of warmth and desire through your soundless heart. “You’re adorable, come here,” he says, hugging you from behind and tugging you closer to his chest, your intertwined hands lying idly on your lap.

After years have passed by since your first encounter, Donghyuck has become stronger and taller, with broader shoulders and veiny muscles appearing along his wrists. You, in return, stay as young as always, never changing. But like this, sitting above his thighs and curling up to his chest, you look like a normal girl, perhaps even a few months younger than he is.

“Hyuck...” 

“Hmm?”

“Did it... hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?”

You don’t indulge him with his jokes. “When I bit you, did it hurt?”

“Yeah, but I like it.” He grins, placing his chin on your shoulder. "Seems like I’ve developed a kink for it.” When you don’t mirror his laugh, he embraces you tighter. “I’m fine,” he whispers to your ear, tickling you with his warm breath. “Just a little low on blood, but come on, it’s nothing new.”

You don’t say anything but Donghyuck understands how guilt is gnawing at you from the inside. “Hey,” he gently turns your body around until he has his eyes peering into yours. You’re reluctant, not sure how to face him with the look of guilt on your face. “I said I’m fine. Can’t you see?” he coos, smiling with his chocolate brown eyes turning crescents. “Don’t look like that. You know I don’t like it when you’re blaming yourself for drinking my blood.”

“But it’s…” You nibble on your lower lip. “It’s not right.”

“You’re just filling your needs,” Donghyuck corrects you. “What’s wrong with it? I do it all the time. Think about this as your late-night snack.”

“Hyuck, I’m snacking on your blood.”

“And yet you’re the one who complains about it. You see how weird that is?” You shoot him a glare but Donghyuck counters back with a pout—a habit from his childhood days that somehow only occurs more often now that he’s an adult. “Look, I volunteered to do this. I want you to drink my blood.” He swats the bangs out of your eyes, leaning close. “I’ll be pissed-off if you drink from someone else, actually. You’re supposed to be mine, just as much as I am yours.”

It’s funny how you’re superior than him in terms of experience, strength, and possibly anything else, but he shamelessly talks like he owns you. And you don’t mind, not at all, because after living behind the shadows for so long, it’s nice to have someone as bright as the sun holding you captive under his light.

You trail your fingers through the blood on his neck, painting his skin with crimson. “I’ve made a mess,” you mumble to yourself and Donghyuck stiffens, even stops breathing for a second. You dip your head into the crook of his neck, darting out your tongue to wipe the rest of his blood away, slowly and gently so you won’t scrape his skin with your fangs.

“Don’t hold back.” He holds you closer until your teeth are grazing against the supple skin. “It’s okay if you want to do it again.”

The temptation is too much, too strong, and you can’t find the will or strength to decline. “T-then... Just a little more.”

Donghyuck’s ragged breathing devolves into soft moans that ring in your ears, and you want him so desperately in every sense of the word. “Fuck, it’s so weird that it feels this good,” he sighs, the back of his head pressed against the wall behind him. “Do I taste this good to you too?”

You hum, squeezing his shoulder.

He smiles between deep sighs. “Then, I guess, we’re both each other’s drugs.”

You only take a sip of his blood and lick the rest until nothing seeps out from his wound. Donghyuck is in a haze, eyes nearly closed when he smiles softly. “Are you done?”

You nod, wiping your mouth clean. “Thank you.”

“You’re being too formal.” He titters. “But you’re welcome. Anytime you want.”

You don’t really blush, not when you’ve lived for more than a century, but Donghyuck has his way to break into your facade and knows when he’s succeeding. He says there’s just something in the way you avert your gaze, the way you lick your lips nervously, or the way you put a hand on his chest as if you were about to push him away, but at the same time, making sure that he stayed near.

Donghyuck understands all that. He knows you like the back of his hand. 

“Listen to me,” Donghyuck says, cupping your face with both hands so he can stare directly into your glowing eyes. “If you ever crave for blood, you come to me, okay? I won’t let you starve. I won’t let you die. You can drink from me, as much as you want. I want you to.”

You’re surprised at the sudden pressure on his words and Donghyuck’s hands are hot, nearly scorching compared to your icy cold skin but they’re comfortable. He reminds you of the sun, of its heat on your skin during the day, reminding you how good your life was as a human.

“But I’m not even alive, Hyuck,” you say, smiling weakly as you lean more into his touch.

“Scientifically, no.” He shifts closer to press his forehead against yours, his heat seeping through your skin. “But to me, you’re much more alive—and you make me feel more alive than anyone I’ve ever known.”

You want to meet his eyes, but his stare is directed to your lips. “Is that a compliment or a white lie?” You whisper, and his eyes grow half-lidded when he sees you moving your lips to form a sentence.

“It’s the truth.” Donghyuck swallows the soft noise you make directly with his mouth, lips slanting against yours perfectly like pieces of a puzzle. He groans from the back of his throat when he tastes a hint of his blood on your tongue, kissing you deeper with more passion.

Being with Donghyuck is suffocating and it’s funny because you don’t even need to breathe to live. It’s suffocating in the sense of how desperate his kisses are, how there is only one innocent kiss at the beginning that only lasts for a few seconds and then vanishes entirely, changing into hard, bruising, deep ones that feel possessive and dominating.

But being with him is also comforting. He gives you solace you don’t know you need. His touch, a stark contrast to his kisses, is gentle, almost silky smooth whenever his hands glide on your skin. He’s the only one who knows how to make you laugh, even when you can hardly remember how or the sound that you make when you do. His laughter is contagious, his protested whines are both annoying and endearing. He’s the fire that keeps you alive.

“Hyuck—” You circle your fingers around his wrist, feeling the heartbeat that faintly beats under the skin. “Wait, you’re losing a lot of blood—”

“I don’t care,” he gasps against your mouth, yanking his hand from your hold so he can cup your cheek. “I’m fine, so let’s just—“ You let him overpower you for once to do as he pleases and he pushes you down to the carpeted floor, crawling on top of your body. “I want you—for two weeks, I’ve been—I’ve missed you—”

Donghyuck is adorable when he wants something so desperately, like the way he furrows his eyebrows as he runs his fingers on his keyboards. The way he’s shouting a train of expletives at his computer screen before he leaps out of his chair, punching the air when he finally completes the mission. 

Donghyuck is captivating when he desires to achieve something in his life, like the way he practices dancing over and over again to earn a scholarship to college. Or the way he told you he loved you a few months ago, and no matter how many times you said no, telling how ridiculous of him to even think about being with a vampire, he never relented. 

And Donghyuck is beautiful—so out worldly beautiful—when he wants you.

It’s beautiful, the little moan that escapes his lips when you touch him back. Even the slightest touch at the right spot can make him shiver and he blushes when you notice him react that way, immediately saying, “It’s just cold here, okay? And your ice-cold skin isn’t helping.” 

It’s beautiful, the way a bead of sweat rolls down his temple as he’s sheathed deep inside you, not quite moving yet as he tries to catch his breath, his cheeks flushed. “You’re driving me insane,” he confesses, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, grazing his lips against your skin as he sighs. “Can we stay like this forever?”

It’s beautiful, the way he laughs when you answer him with, “Actually yes, we can, if you’re willing to be turned into a vampire.” The appalled look on his face only stays for a split second before he beams at you, his smile bright enough to replace the sun. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he giggles, taking your earlobe between his teeth as he whispers, “Any man would be happy to sacrifice their souls to be able to make love to you for eternity. Including me.” And as he moves back to your lips, he adds, “Especially me.”

It’s beautiful, the way he throws his head back in pleasure at the feeling of you clenching around him. The way he murmurs expletives while biting his lip as he brings his eyes down to you. His expression is erotic, his voice obscene, his lips are parted and bruised. His hands are on your knees as he spreads your legs apart, pushing himself deeper inside. “I can never get enough of you. I—“ He flinches when his thrust hits your sweet spot and you squeeze harder around him in response.

It’s beautiful, the way he rambles when the sensation becomes too much. “The way you feel around me—” He places open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hips moving frantically at a faster pace. “Y-your entire existence—” His hand heads over to your breast, his thumb sliding over your nub. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And it’s fucking beautiful, the way he says your name in a soft gasp as he comes inside you, his arms trembling when he places them on the floor on each side of your head to keep him from collapsing on top of you. His temple is pressed against your collarbone and he quivers when you kiss his hair. His lips immediately chase after yours when his name escapes your mouth, and he kisses you again, and again, as if he hasn’t been kissing you a thousand times already.

“Stay with me,” he begs, his hooded eyes nearly hidden behind the bangs that are damp from his sweat. “I’ll keep you alive—as alive as you make me feel so please just…”

Don’t leave me.

***

[thewayshedreamed]

Hii <3 love ya, could you maybe write some really angst nessian. They both say many hurtful things to each other and one of them leaves from the situation ( just for couple of hours or days or maybe even week but not for months) and then the whole time they are apart both of them just regred it so much and they are devasteded and blame themselfs. But then eventually they meet and they are sorry and then its fluff :s

Hi, anon!

Thank you for this prompt! This drabble is Part 2 of this angst prompt, "I'm Sorry I'm Not Enough for You" from @sayosdreams!

Enjoy the additional angst w/ a happy ending 💕

1,126 words  I cheated on word count for this one since I combined two prompts. And I couldn’t make this shorter in a way that I still liked it, so... oops. 

—

The shock had taken a couple of days to wear off. Nesta's leaving had disoriented him, rocked him to his core. Cassian knew she wasn't lying, but something about the suddenness of everything stalled his mind's ability to process the permanence.

When the emotions rose to the service, they came swiftly and rocked him like a punch to the ribs. Dread filled him first, but it had been benched by visceral anger within a matter of hours. Cassian had spent the rest of the day drinking any booze within arm's reach and making his peace with removing evidence of Nesta from the apartment.

Her notes on the fridge, gone. Some of their pictures together, he turned face down on the shelf. The ones that fell victim to his efforts later in the closure process met a more brutal fate; a loud crash against the wall and shards of glass splintering their happy expressions. Who knew everything had actually been so fragile?

Several more days had passed since that low point. The shame of the way he had handled things later that night creeped up, and Cassian combated it by preparing his shower. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been that drunk and woke up remembering nothing. For whatever reason, he remembered everything he'd done with vivid detail.

How his thumb had hovered over her name. How he had jammed his thumb down and brought the phone aggressively to his ear. The way the lukewarm beer had felt as thick as syrup down his throat while he waited for her to answer. The way his hope dwindled with each ring, and the rasp of sleep in her voice.

Cassian stood beneath the spray, leaning his forearms on the wall and letting the water blaze down his spine. His forehead rested against the cold tile, but the stark contrast did nothing to stop the onslaught of dialogue and emotions burned forever in his brain.

Cassian, why did you call me? You'll only make this harder.

The tightness in his chest. The way his breath hitched. How hard he clenched his eyes closed to stop the silver lining. The slur and rasp of his voice.

Why did you leave?

The deafening, loaded silence. The flush of his cheeks in his anger.

Why the fuck did you leave, Nesta? Tell me the fucking truth.

Cassian groaned against his harshness. He wished he could go back and inform the drunk version of himself that knowing the answers wouldn't bring him the peace he thought it would; quite the opposite, in fact.

The quiet of her voice, a version of it that almost no one else had heard.

I didn't want to hold you back anymore.

The way flame, white hot and blistering, roared through his blood. The sound of his bottle smashing against the opposite wall. The gruff sneer laced through his words.

That's fucking bullshit, and you know it. You—

The way his voice broke. How little shame he felt in it.

— You are everything to me. You know I would have done anything for you.

Maybe that's the problem. Goodnight, Cassian.

Cassian's closed fist thudded against the shower wall. He'd hoped the loud noise or the jarring sensation would shake him free from the aftershocks of the memory. All that happened was the return of the tightness in his chest; even the cooling the water did nothing to distract him.

The sudden opening of his bathroom door was the only thing to jolt his attention. He'd barely adjusted to living alone, and the fact that he startled at all added another pang of disappointment. As little as a week ago, it would have been totally normal to have someone walking in and out of the bathroom while he showered.

The water spots littered across the shower's glass door obscured his view of the doorway. The figure walked toward him, moving on slow and measured steps as if Cassian would bolt any second. He stood to his full height, blinking at the familiar form he would know anywhere, in any lifetime.

Nesta's blue eyes peered through the glass. The rest of her face remained veiled by the water and steam, but her gaze pierced him through the chest. Cassian blinked, not entirely convinced his grief hadn't conjured her. Maybe he was losing it.

"Cass," she murmured, her voice brittle.

The tracks of her tears got lost among the water running chaotic paths down the door. He lifted his hand is a broad sweep across the glass to needlessly verify her identity. Whether or not she was a figment of his broken imagination was another matter.

"I fucked up."

"H-how?" he stammered. "Are you alright?"

"What do you mean 'how'?" Her eyes flared. "I left— you, us, everything."

Cassian pushed the door to ease it open, checking her for any sign of turbulence. The only thing he found was a level of adamance he wouldn't have expected after her leaving less than a week ago, after the phone call that finally broke him.

"Do you mean it?" he rasped, not caring about the cold air or the water splattering over the floor.

A choked sob shook Nesta's shoulders, but she nodded intentionally despite it. It was all Cassian needed to grip her wrist and pull her against his chest, clothes and all. Before he could regret it, he felt Nesta's slender arms wrap around his waist to crush her body against him. He pulled the door closed to shield her from the chill, using his body as a shield against the ever-cooling water.

Her cheek was warm pressed against his skin. He tightened his grasp around her body, trying to absorb the aftershocks of her sobs and steady her trembling.

"Shh," he whispered, rocking them side-to-side.

"I'm sorry for showing up. I didn't know if you would answer your phone."

"It's okay. You're here. That's all that matters to me."

Nesta pulled back slightly, and he fought the urge to pull her her roughly against his chest again. Any distance was painful.

"I had a speech. I haven't even gotten to—"

The urge overtook him as he eased her head beneath his chin. "Doesn't matter."

"Just like that? You're not going to rake me over the coals?"

He hugged her tighter. "Are you staying?"

Nesta nodded, and something settled in his restless heart.

"That's all I want."

They stood there holding each other like the luxury it was until the water grew unbearable. Cassian helped Nesta strip her sodden clothes and wrapped her in a fresh towel, using his hands to rub warmth into her arms. The two of them dressed in relative silence and slipped into their bed, resolving to hold each other just a little bit longer.

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