#like his clothes and his voice (“cold music”) <- LIKE WHO SAYS THAT????? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reilemon · 1 month ago

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Beneath the Collar

♡︎ synopsis: What do you tell yourself when you develop a crush on a hot priest? 'It'll pass.' But what if it doesn't?

♡︎ pairing: priest!Zayne x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: personal sacrilege, mutual masturbation

♡︎ word count: 13k

♡︎ a/n: the fifth story for kinktober 2024. i know i wrote something else as a prompt for this story, but it kinda didn't fit into the vibe. I hope you'll still like it.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @cafekitsune

You’d been absentmindedly wiping down the counter, eyes flicking to the clock every couple of minutes. You were anticipating the weekend as if it was your lifeline. The shop was nearly empty, just a couple pastries left. You could already taste the freedom that awaited once you locked up. Saturday nights were your escape. You’d head out of town and finally let loose with your old friends. You couldn’t wait to slip into a tight dress, feel the beat of music thrumming through your veins, and drown the stress of your quiet life with a few too many drinks.

You loved the buzz, the way you could disappear into the crowd. It was so different from the slow, predictable pace of this town—so different from the way you had to be here, composed, calm, responsible. You could already imagine the way your friends would greet you with shrieks and hugs, the taste of sweet cocktails on your lips, the feel of someone’s hands on your waist as you danced the night away.

You hadn’t realized how tightly wound you’d become until you started thinking about it. The endless days of baking, of small talk with customers who didn’t really know you, of going home to an empty apartment. This wasn’t the life you’d imagined.

The chime above the door rings, pulling you back from your thoughts. You straighten instinctively, slipping back into your practiced routine, eyes flicking up with a tired smile ready—until you see him.

The man who steps in isn’t like any customer you’ve seen before. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark, understated clothes. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the stark white collar around his neck—the unmistakable sign of a priest. Yet you can’t help but stare at his features - his sharp jawline, the raven-black hair falling slightly across his forehead, and those intense green eyes. He looks cold, distant, his gaze hard and unreadable as it sweeps the room before landing squarely on you.

You can feel your heart pound as your breath catches. You aren’t supposed to feel this way. He’s a priest, for God’s sake. Yet here you are, rooted in place, unable to tear your eyes away from him. You shouldn’t be thinking about how strong his hands look, or how his lips might feel if they ever touched yours. Guilt twists in your gut, making you flush with shame.

You swallow hard, the professional smile faltering for a second as your thoughts race. What is a man like him doing here? He doesn’t look like the type to indulge in something sweet.

He steps forward, approaching the counter, and the closer he gets, the more you can feel your façade slipping. You force yourself to break eye contact, focusing instead on the pastries.

You need to say something, anything to break the tension. “Good evening,” you finally manage.

“I’m sorry for coming in so late,” he says, his voice deep and smooth, instantly making you feel butterflies. “I was hoping to grab something before you closed.”

You nod, trying to keep the conversation professional, though your mind is anything but. “Of course,” you reply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

His eyes flick over the display case before returning to you, making your heart flutter. “Macarons,” he says after a moment. “Do you have any left?”

You blink, thrown off by the unexpected request, by how he knows exactly what he wants. “Ah—no,” you stammer, shaking your head. “Sorry, they sold out earlier today.”

He nods once, but doesn’t seem disappointed. You half-expect him to say something more, maybe ask about the next batch or try one of the remaining pastries. But he doesn’t. His eyes flick to the empty spot where the macarons should’ve been, then back to you.

"Thank you," He doesn’t smile, just offers a polite nod before he turns and walks toward the door. The air feels lighter the moment he steps out, but your heart is still racing, your mind still tangled in thoughts you shouldn’t have.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what just happened, your hand still resting on the counter as if anchoring you back to reality. Slowly, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

‘What the hell was that?’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Later that evening, you stand in front of your mirror, smoothing your dress down over your hips, but your thoughts are miles away. You’ve been looking forward to this night all week— but now, you can’t stop thinking about him.

As you spray the perfume on your neck, your mind drifts back to the way those cold green eyes had fixed on you with such unnerving intensity. You replay the interaction over and over in your head as you fix your lipstick, each swipe of color across your lips bringing back the memory of his deep, steady voice.

You grab your heels and slide them on, trying to push the image of him away. It’s your night - you should be thinking about the friends you’ll be laughing with, the strangers you might flirt with, but your mind keeps drifting back to him. And that damn collar, the way it stood out against his sharp jaw, mocking you.

You sigh, frustrated with yourself as you grab your clutch and head for the door. Tonight is about fun, freedom. As you step outside, you convince yourself that by the end of the night you will forget all about him.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stand just outside the church, a box of macarons clutched in your hands. The crisp autumn air hits your face, cooling the remnants of your hangover. You wince slightly as the last pulse of your headache throbs behind your eyes. But it’s nothing compared to the nervous energy swirling in your stomach. The night before is a blur of music, laughter, and drinks—too many drinks—and yet, through it all, he was still there. No matter how hard you tried your mind kept circling back to the priest.

You woke up early this morning, despite the dull ache in your head, the need to see him again pulling you out of bed far earlier than your body wanted. You spent more time than usual getting ready, trying to make yourself look presentable. Like you hadn’t spent half the night dancing under neon lights, sweat mingling with perfume. Like you were fresh and composed, not some hungover mess delivering macarons to a man who probably didn’t even remember you.

Now, as you stand outside the church, watching as the last of the congregation trickles out from Sunday mass, you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous. ‘What the hell am I doing?’ You glance down at the box in your hands. Last night, you’d come home and found the extra macarons sitting in your fridge—fresh, untouched. And somehow, in your alcohol-soaked brain, you’d convinced yourself that bringing them to him would make sense. That maybe, just maybe, seeing him again would clear your thoughts.

Inside, you hear the faint echoes of voices, the last goodbyes being exchanged. Your pulse quickens, the nerves settling in deeper now. ‘What if he thinks I’m crazy?’ You glance up at the church doors as they swing open again. More people spill out, some of them familiar faces, regulars from your shop. You offer a small, polite smile to those who glance your way, though the last thing you want is to be seen here, holding this box like some desperate girl with a crush.

The crowd thins, and finally, you see him. He steps out of the church, tall and composed, his dark coat catching the cool breeze as he exchanges polite nods and handshakes with the remaining parishioners. Your heart stutters in your chest when his eyes land on you, sharp and focused, just like yesterday. His gaze flickers with confusion as he approaches. The contrast between the two of you couldn’t be more stark. He’s the picture of calm and control, while you feel like a bundle of frayed nerves.

"Good morning," he greets, his voice low and even, though there’s a hint of curiosity in it. His eyes drop to the box in your hands, and then back up to meet your gaze. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

You force a small smile, suddenly feeling foolish again for showing up like this. "I, um..." You glance down at the box before awkwardly extending it toward him. "I brought these... for you. Macarons. I had some extras, and I thought..." Your voice trails off as you realize how ridiculous you sound.

He hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the gesture, his brow furrowing slightly as he looks between you and the box. "That’s very kind of you," he says after a beat, his tone polite but still laced with confusion. He takes the box from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through you. "But I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why bring them here?"

You feel your face heat up, the embarrassment creeping in again as you try to explain. "I just... yesterday, you asked about the macarons. And I had some left at home, so I thought..." You trail off again, unsure how to finish without sounding completely absurd.

His eyes soften slightly, the confusion changing into something more like understanding. "I see," he says quietly. He looks down at the box in his hands, then back at you. "Thank you. This was... thoughtful."

There’s a long, awkward pause before you gather the nerve to ask, "Have you visited my shop before? I mean, you knew we sold macarons, but I don’t remember seeing you."

He glances away for a moment, then returns his gaze to you, his tone still measured and calm. "I have stopped by a few times, yes. But more often than not, my colleagues bring me your macarons. They speak highly of your pastries." His lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but the closest thing you’ve seen from him. "They’ve made sure I know where to find the best sweets in town."

You blink, processing that information. ‘So, he has been there.’ A strange mix of relief and disappointment washes over you—relief that he’s not a complete stranger to your shop, but disappointment that you missed those visits. Still, knowing he’s tasted your work fills you with a sense of pride.

"I see," you murmur, nodding. "I wasn’t sure, since... well, you don’t seem like the type to indulge in sweets."

He raises an eyebrow. "I do, on occasion," he says, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Especially macarons."

Another silence falls between you. The cold morning air feels sharper now, the quiet around the church almost too loud as the last of the parishioners filter away, leaving just the two of you standing there.

You feel the urge to say something, anything. "I hope you enjoy them," you say quickly, nodding toward the box in his hands.

His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than feels comfortable. "I’m sure I will," he replies, his voice softer now, though his serious demeanor never wavers. "Thank you again. This was... unexpected."

You nod, unsure what else to say, and suddenly, the weight of what you’re doing—standing outside a church, hungover, giving a priest macarons—hits you all over again. You swallow hard, feeling the need to leave before you make things even more awkward.

"I should probably go," you blurt out, taking a small step back. "I didn’t mean to interrupt your morning."

He watches you, his gaze steady, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s going to say something to stop you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he simply nods. "Take care,"

You turn and start walking away, your heart pounding in your chest, the cool air biting at your skin. You feel a little silly, a little reckless, but something about the way he looked at you, the way his eyes softened just a fraction when he accepted the macarons... it stays with you.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Sunday arrives quicker than expected, and this time, you're determined to play it cool. You still went out the night before, but you kept it light—a couple of drinks, no wild partying. The ache behind your eyes this morning is faint, nothing like last week’s pounding. You’d woken up with enough time to fix your hair and choose an outfit that’s both casual and appropriate, though you spent longer than you’d like to admit deciding on it.

As you step inside the church, the scent of old wood and candles washes over you, calming your racing heart just a little. The crowd is larger than you expected—families, couples, elderly regulars. You quietly slip into a pew near the back, hoping to blend in.

You settle in, your eyes scanning the front of the church, seeking him out. There he is, standing at the altar in his robes, his presence as commanding as ever. He’s facing the congregation, his expression stoic, speaking in that calm, steady voice that fills the room with reverence. At first, he doesn’t notice you. He’s focused on his sermon, his attention on the crowd as he guides them through the service.

And then, as if he can sense you watching him, his gaze flickers toward the back of the church—and locks onto you.

For a moment, the rest of the congregation fades into the background. It’s just you and him, his eyes lingering on you longer than they should. There’s no surprise in his expression, but his gaze isn’t the distant, detached look you remember from before. Your breath catches, and for a second, you’re not sure what to do. You glance down at your hands, trying to steady yourself, but when you look back up, his eyes are still on you. He’s quick to recover, though, returning his focus to the sermon, but the brief connection leaves your pulse racing.

The rest of the mass is a blur. You try to listen, to follow along with the prayers, but all you can think about is the way he looked at you. The quiet intensity of his gaze, the way it felt like he was seeing more than just another face in the crowd.

As the mass ends and people begin to rise from their seats, you remain seated for a moment longer. You watch as the crowd shuffles toward the exit, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, offering their thanks and farewells. For a second, you think about slipping out quietly and disappearing before he notices you again. It would be the easiest thing to do—walk away, avoid any awkward conversations.

But just as you start to stand, your eyes find his across the room. He’s still speaking with a couple of elderly women near the front, but his gaze shifts—briefly, unmistakably—back to you. And there’s something in that moment that makes it impossible to leave. Before you know it, you’re moving toward him, your pulse quickening with each step.

You tell yourself it’s only polite to say hello, maybe thank him for the sermon. It’s what people do, right? But the truth is, you haven’t attended a church service in so long, you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to talk to a priest. What do people even say in these situations? Your mind races as you approach, trying to figure out what you’re supposed to say.

When you reach him, he finishes his conversation with the elderly women, offering them a polite nod before turning his attention to you. For a moment, you stand there, unsure of how to start, but before you can stumble over a greeting, he speaks first.

"Good to see you again," Zayne says, as he offers you a barely visible smile. It’s subtle, just a small upturn at the corner of his lips, but it’s enough to make your heart race. "I don’t recall seeing you here before last week."

You blink, feeling like you’re caught red handed. You fumble for a response, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Oh, no, I—I haven’t been here before," you admit, glancing down at your hands before looking back up at him. "I mean, I used to go to church when I was younger, but... it’s been a while." You force a small smile. "I’ve been in this town for a few months now, but I guess I still feel kind of... new. I’m trying to, you know, be a part of the community."

It’s a half-truth, but close enough to reality.

Zayne listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he considers your words. "It’s understandable," he says after a moment, his voice softer now. "Moving to a new place can feel... isolating." His gaze lingers on you. "I’m glad you’re finding your place here."

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. "Yeah, I think I’m making some progress."

You’re unsure of what to say next, but Zayne is the one that speaks next. "Those macarons you brought last week," he begins. "There was one flavor I hadn’t tried before—rose, I believe?"

You hadn’t expected him to bring it up. "Oh, yeah," you say, a giddy smile creeping onto your lips. "I like to experiment with new flavors in my free time. I wasn’t sure if anyone would like that one."

He nods, with a faint smile. "It was... different. Unexpected, but in a good way."

Your smile widens at that, unable to contain the warmth blooming in your chest. You hadn’t realized how much his opinion would matter to you. "I’m always experimenting," you admit, feeling more at ease now. "Sometimes I stay up late trying out new combinations."

The air between you feels lighter, warmer. "I can tell you put a lot of effort into it."

The compliment catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond. But before you can say anything, Zayne shifts the conversation slightly. "We’re hosting a bake sale next week," he says, "It’s for a local charity. I was wondering if you’d have the time to volunteer."

Volunteer? At the church? You’ve never done anything like that before. But the idea of working with him, of contributing in some way—it tugs at you, and before you can think it through too much, you find yourself nodding.

"Yeah, I’d love to," you say quickly, the giddiness from earlier still bubbling beneath the surface. "I mean, I’m sure I could make time."

His gaze softens, and there’s that almost smile again. "Good," he says. "I think your talents would be appreciated."

You nod, feeling strangely content. Working with him, even if it’s just for something simple like a bake sale—seems like a small step forward, a way to stay close without pushing too far.

As the crowd continues to thin, you realize you’ve lingered long enough. You take a small step back, your heart still racing from the interaction. "I’ll see you next week, then," you say softly, offering him a final smile before turning to leave.

"Yes," he replies. "Next week."

You can feel his gaze on your back as you exit the church, the weight of it lingering long after you step outside into the cool autumn air. And though you try to tell yourself that it’s just a bake sale, just a way to be part of the community, you can’t shake the excitement simmering beneath the surface.

Next week couldn’t come soon enough.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The bake sale was a success. The air was filled with the scent of baked goods and laughter, but you hardly had time to enjoy it. Zayne, ever the center of attention, had been pulled away in a dozen directions the entire day. When you’d arrived early that morning, hands full of pastries and stomach full of butterflies, you barely got a chance to exchange more than a quick greeting.

He had smiled at you, brief but warm, though his attention was quickly snatched away by people needing his assistance, asking for advice, or organizing last-minute details. Of course, he handled everything with calm efficiency. You watched him navigate the chaos with admiration, though a part of you ached for more than those fleeting glances you stole throughout the day.

Now, as the sun begins to set and the crowd dissipates, everything is finally winding down. The tables have been mostly cleared, the leftover baked goods packed up, and most of the volunteers have either left or are chatting amongst themselves. You’re still tidying up, folding a tablecloth when you feel a presence beside you. Zayne.

"Need any help?" he asks.

You offer him a small smile, shaking your head. "I’ve got it," you say, too aware of how close he’s standing. "But thank you."

"You did a lot today," he says quietly. "The bake sale wouldn’t have been as successful without you."

The compliment, though simple, warms your chest, and you can’t help the slight flush that rises to your cheeks. "I’m just glad I could help," you reply, glancing at him, and there it is again—his gaze, lingering just a fraction too long.

"Will you be attending mass tomorrow?" he asks after a pause, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

For a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. Attending Sunday mass on a regular basis was not something you imagined for yourself when you moved here. But neither was the crush on a priest. You tilt your head slightly, offering a small smile. "I might," you say. "But... I’d be more than happy to help out around the church too. If you need extra hands for events or... anything else." The offer hangs in the air.

Zayne’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer, before he nods, his lips curving into that barely-there smile that always makes your heart race. "I’ll keep that in mind."

As you both finish the last of the cleanup, the weight of the day settles over you. The connection between you and Zayne feels more real.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

Days pass after the Sunday mass, and your mind is restless. You had hoped—foolishly—that this crush would fade. That the flutters in your stomach and the lingering heat in your chest, and somewhere else, would disappear. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s grown stronger. It’s more than just attraction now—it’s curiosity, fascination, a desire to know him beyond the surface.

You had gone to mass that Sunday, and the entire service, your eyes had found his. After the service, you exchanged pleasantries as usual, but there was something beneath the surface. The way he smiled at you, as if holding back. And then, before you left, he had handed you his phone, suggesting that you exchange numbers, “in case there’s any more help needed with events.”

It was a perfectly reasonable request, and yet, your hands had trembled slightly when you typed your number in. A simple exchange of phone numbers shouldn’t feel like this, but you couldn’t shake the thrill it gave you.

Now, days later, you’ve been staring at his name in your phone for what feels like hours. Your fingers hover over the screen, your mind spinning with a thousand excuses you could use to text him.

‘Just invite yourself over.’ Tell him you’ve been working on new desserts and want to share them. It’s innocent enough—after all, you’ve done it before, and he was more than happy to accept. Why should this time be any different?

You lean back, the phone still in your hand, your thoughts a tangled mess. ‘It’s not wrong to want to see him, is it?’ When you’d exchanged numbers, had there been something in the way his hand brushed yours? Something more than just casual contact?

Your thumb hovers over his name on your phone, heart pounding in your chest. ‘One message. That’s all. Just one message to bring him something.’ It’s innocent. Harmless.

You begin to type. “Hey, I’ve been experimenting with some new dessert recipes. Thought you might like to try them. Could I drop some by?”

Before you can second-guess yourself again, you hit send.

The message disappears, leaving you staring at the screen, your heart racing.

Your phone buzzes a minute later, and you can hardly breathe as you open the message.

“That sounds great. I’d love to try them.”

His reply is simple, casual, but the effect it has on you is anything but. You glance around your apartment, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’ve done. You’re going to see him again, and this time, the meeting will be more personal, more intimate. ‘Just you, him, and those damn desserts.’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You close the shop with shaky hands, flipping the sign to "closed" and locking the door behind. You try to calm your nerves as you walk toward the church.

‘Why am I doing this?’ you ask yourself for the hundredth time. You always shared your new recipes with your two employees—they were your taste-testers, your go-to feedback. So why now? Why are you heading to a priest, of all people?

‘He’s the customer experience,’ you remind yourself, a weak excuse at best. However, if anyone could give an honest opinion, it would be him—level-headed, composed, with that quiet seriousness that always unnerves and excites you. It’s just an opinion, nothing more. You repeat it like a mantra as you approach the church.

The doors creak open as you step inside, the familiar scent of incense filling your senses. The church is mostly empty, the soft glow of evening light filtering through the stained-glass windows. As you enter, you spot Zayne standing outside the confessional. He’s speaking quietly with an older woman, but his eyes flick up as soon as you walk in. The moment he sees you, his expression changes for a split second, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat.

The woman finishes her conversation, offering him a polite smile before heading toward the door. Zayne watches her go, and when she’s gone, he turns his full attention to you.

His lips curve into a subtle smile. "Good evening," he greets you with that calm authority that always makes you feel both at ease and strangely vulnerable at the same time. "Thank you for coming. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble."

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady as you return his smile. "No trouble at all. I just closed up the shop, so... it worked out."

He nods, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before gesturing toward the back of the church. "Shall we?" He leads you down the quiet hallway, until you reach his office—a small, private room tucked away from the rest of the church. The walls are lined with bookshelves, a modest desk in the middle, and a soft lamp casting a warm glow. Zayne closes the door behind you, and for a second, the air between you feels thicker than it had before.

You sit across from each other at the small desk. You set the box between you, showing a display of your latest creations. Zayne’s intense green eyes take in the array of sweets.

"These look incredible," he says as he leans in. He reaches for one, pausing as if to savor the moment. "Shall we start?"

You nod, your voice wavering as you describe the little creation.

As he finishes the first dessert, followed by more praise, his eyes drift over the others in the box. His eyes linger on a small orange-tinted one. His brow furrows slightly, and he glances up at you. "Is that… carrot?" he asks, with reluctance in his tone.

You laugh softly, "Yes, it’s a mini carrot cake," you say, your voice light and teasing. "I’ve been thinking about adding it to the menu."

Zayne’s smile tightens just a little. His fingers hover near the pastry, but he doesn’t reach for it. "Carrot cake... that’s..." He trails off, clearly searching for the right words, though his discomfort is obvious. "I’m sure it’s delicious," he adds, his tone strained with effort.

You can’t help but chuckle softly at his expression, the idea of Zayne being uncomfortable with something as simple as a carrot cake is both endearing and amusing. "You don’t like carrots, do you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him with a grin.

Zayne shifts slightly, his ears tinged with a faint blush as he gives a sheepish smile. "I’ve never been... fond of them," he admits.

You laugh again. "That’s completely fine," you say, shaking your head. "You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to. I won’t be offended."

Relief washes over his face, and you can’t help but find it charming. "Thank you," he says with a smile, his voice more relaxed now. "I’m sure it’s wonderful. Just... not for me."

You nod, smiling back at him as you make a mental note not to add the carrot cake to the menu after all. Who would have thought Zayne, of all people, would have such a small but specific dislike?

As you both settle into a comfortable rhythm of tasting the remaining pastries, the earlier tension eases, replaced by the easy conversation and laughter that flows between you. There’s something natural, almost soothing, about this—sharing these quiet moments, watching his reactions as he tries each new flavor, the occasional teasing smile crossing his lips.

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to push the boundary just a little. “I won’t ask what made you become a priest at such a young age,” you begin, offering a shy smile to lighten the weight of your words. “But I have to admit... I do wonder what you do when you’re not here. What’s Zayne like when he’s not... well, Father Zayne?”

Zayne’s lips twitch slightly at the question, as though he’s surprised but also amused by your boldness. He leans back in his chair, his posture relaxing a bit.

“Well,” he begins, a faint chuckle escaping his lips, “I don’t have much free time, to be honest. Between the church, the community events, and my other responsibilities, it’s hard to find a moment just for myself.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “But when I do get some time, I like to read. Mostly fiction—novels, stories that take me somewhere else for a little while.” His voice softens with a hint of something like nostalgia. “I also try to visit new restaurants when I can. There aren’t many options in this town, so sometimes I take trips to the city just to try something different.”

There’s something so relaxed, almost vulnerable, in the way he talks about it that makes you feel like you’re seeing a side of him that few people do. A side that isn’t weighed down by the responsibilities of his role, but is simply... Zayne.

He shifts the conversation, leaning forward slightly as he looks at you. “What about you?” he asks, his voice warm with genuine curiosity. “When you’re not experimenting with food, what do you do in your free time?”

“Well,” you begin, shifting in your seat, “when I do take a break, I like to drive out of town, too. I’d meet up with old friends, go out for a drink or two... but honestly, I like the quiet here. It’s different. Calming, in a way.”

Zayne nods, his expression thoughtful. “I can see that. There’s something peaceful about being here, away from the noise. But I imagine it must get lonely sometimes.”

His words strike a chord in you, and for a moment, you feel a vulnerability creeping in. You hadn’t expected him to understand, but somehow, he does.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “It does.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, you feel like you’re seeing him in a new light— as someone who, like you, is navigating his own struggles, his own desires.

The rest of the evening continues with light topics and soft laughter. But as you glance out the window you see it’s pitch-black outside. You glance at your watch, feeling a pang of reluctance as you realize it’s time to go.

“I should probably head out,” you say softly, not wanting to break the moment but knowing it has to end.

Zayne nods, though there’s a hint of something in his eyes that shows he feels the same reluctance. He stands, walking you to the door of his office. “Thank you for the desserts,” he says, his voice feeling more personal now. “And for the conversation.”

You smile. “Thank you for listening. And for the... honesty.” There’s a moment of hesitation before you step toward the door, the space between you suddenly feeling too close. He opens the door, and as you step out into the quiet hall, you glance back at him one last time.

His eyes linger on you. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice low, and for a second, it feels like there’s more he wants to say, but the moment passes.

“Goodnight,” you reply, turning to leave, your heart still racing from the quiet intimacy of the evening.

As you walk out into the cool night air, you can’t help but feel that this connection—whatever it is between you and Zayne—has deepened. And as you head home, your thoughts linger on him, wondering where this path will lead.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips a beat. It’s a message from Zayne.

“The desserts were incredible,” it reads. “You have a real gift for combining flavors. Thank you again.”

You smile, rereading the message a few times before typing out a casual reply. His words, the thoughtfulness behind them, mean more than they should. You tell yourself it’s just feedback—he’s just being kind, just acknowledging your work—but the fact that he took the effort to write this message... it lingers in your mind.

Days pass, and the messages continue. They’re not frequent, but every other day, you’ll receive something from him—a thoughtful comment on one of your desserts or a small exchange that feels more personal than before.

One evening, your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a picture—a grainy snapshot of a small, scruffy-looking cat sitting outside the church doors.

“This little guy hangs around the church sometimes. I think he’s starting to expect me to feed him,” the message reads.

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself as you look at the picture. You quickly type out a response: “He’s adorable! Have you tried petting him yet?”

A minute later, Zayne replies: “I’ve tried. He runs away every time I get close.”

You smile to yourself, finding the image of Zayne—a man so composed, so in control—being outwitted by a stray cat endearing. You imagine him, kneeling down, trying to coax the little creature closer, only for it to scurry away. There’s something so human about it, so... normal.

“That’s adorable,” you reply, the smile still on your face. “Keep feeding him, and he’ll come around eventually.”

The conversation carries on like that—simple, easy exchanges that make you feel more connected to him in ways you hadn’t expected. But with every message, every small insight into Zayne’s life outside of his role as a priest, the ache in your chest grows. The attraction you’d hoped would fade has only grown stronger, and now it’s not just about the way he looks or the way his voice makes your heart race. It’s about him—his quiet strength, his thoughtfulness, the way he seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders but still finds time to send you a picture of a stray cat.

You know you shouldn’t feel this way. He’s a priest, and you’re well aware of the boundaries that are supposed to exist between you. You’ve tried telling yourself that it’s just a crush, something that will pass.

But it hasn’t.

Late at night, you lie in bed, staring at your phone, your thumb hovering over the screen as you reread his latest message for the hundredth time. You feel a warmth spread through your chest, a soft ache blooming alongside it—a gnawing longing.

Your set the phone beside you as you exhale, closing your eyes. The ache doesn’t go away. The thought of him consumes you. Every night, it’s the same. You tell yourself not to think about him, not to let your mind wander to those places where it’s dangerous to go, but you’re powerless to stop it.

You imagine his hands—strong yet gentle—the way they would feel against your skin. You think about his lips, how they’d taste, how they’d move against yours, how they’d trail lower. Your body heats at the thought and before you can stop yourself, your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties. The room feels too quiet, too still, as your breath quickens, and all you can think of is him.

Every night, you touch yourself to the thought of him. It’s become your secret ritual, a way to chase the frustration and desire that builds up inside you. You picture the way his body would feel pressed against yours, the way his breath would hitch as he gives in, as the control he fights so hard to maintain finally snaps. You can almost hear his voice—low, rough with need—as he murmurs your name, telling you how much he’s wanted you, how long he’s been fighting it.

Your fingers move faster. And just as you reach the edge, teetering on the brink of release, you whisper his name into the darkness, your voice barely audible.

When it’s over, you lie there, breathless, your heart pounding in the silence of your room. The guilt creeps in, just like every night.

During the day, at the shop, you go through the motions—serving customers, smiling, chatting. But your mind drifts back to him, and you wonder –

‘Does he ever think about me like that?’

You think of him during the slow afternoons at the shop, when the world feels like it’s moving on without you. You wonder what he’s doing, if you cross his mind in those rare moments when he’s alone. Or if you’re just another parishioner to him, someone he texts about cats and pastries and nothing more.

The next time your phone buzzes, and you see Zayne’s name light up the screen, your heart skips a beat, followed by that all-too-familiar flutter in your belly. He’s sent another picture of the cat, this time with a playful caption:

“Still no luck with petting him. I think he likes to torment me.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. Warmth spreads through your chest, but the ache follows closely behind.

You type out a response, light-hearted to match his tone. “Maybe he’s playing hard to get. He knows you’ll keep trying.”

The response comes seconds later, “You’re probably right. I’ll keep trying. Maybe one day he’ll trust me.”

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Sunday mass comes, and you sit quietly in the back, as you’ve grown accustomed to. Zayne stands at the altar, delivering his sermon with the same calm and captivating demeanor. The words, though meaningful, drift over you like a gentle breeze—comforting, yet distant. You can’t help but let your mind wander, your gaze occasionally flitting up to meet his. Each time your eyes find his, there’s a momentary spark, a flicker of something that passes between you.

At first, it’s subtle—a glance, nothing more. But as the moments pass, the weight of his attention seems to grow heavier. His gaze lingers on you for just a heartbeat longer than it should. The words coming from his mouth slow for the briefest second, just enough to notice, before he corrects himself and continues. But the flicker is there, a momentary lapse in the composed, unwavering Father Zayne.

You feel a rush of heat rise in your chest. ‘Is he losing focus because of me?’ The thought sends a thrill through you, though you immediately try to brush it off as wishful thinking. But then, it happens again.

Zayne’s sermon flows smoothly as usual, but this time, when his eyes find yours again, there’s a subtle shift in his expression. His voice falters, just slightly, as if he’s momentarily forgotten his place. He pauses, clearing his throat, his gaze quickly flicking away. You feel your heart pound in your chest, and you know he felt it too—his usual calm shaken, if only for a moment.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. A pair of elderly women seated a few pews ahead of you exchange a glance, their heads turning slightly as if they’re trying to figure out what—or who—might have caused the good Father to stumble. They lean toward each other, whispering quietly, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, a mixture of excitement and guilt flooding through you.

Zayne continues, his voice steady once more, but you can see the subtle tension in his posture now—the way his hands grip the edges of the lectern just a little tighter, the slight crease between his brows as if he’s fighting to regain control. You try to focus on the sermon again, to pull yourself out of this strange, charged moment, but it’s impossible.

When the service ends, and the last of the parishioners trickle out, you step forward, your heart still pounding in your chest. Zayne looks up, and you can tell he’s still unsettled from earlier.

But he smiles. "Good morning," he says, his voice quieter now. "I—uh, hope you enjoyed the service."

You nod, offering him a small smile in return. "I did. Though, I have to admit... I still don’t understand most of it."

Zayne chuckles, "As long as you’re here, that’s what matters," he replies, and for a moment it seems as if there’s more he wants to say but can’t quite find the words.

Before either of you can speak again, you glance toward the doors and realize that, during the service, the skies outside have opened up. Rain pours down, tapping against the windows with a steady rhythm. You curse softly under your breath, realizing you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

"Looks like I’m stuck for a while," you murmur, half to yourself, half to Zayne.

He follows your gaze, then turns back to you with a thoughtful expression. "You don’t have an umbrella?" he asks.

You shake your head, feeling a bit foolish. "No, I didn’t think it would rain today."

Zayne pauses for a moment, as if thinking about something, before he speaks again. "I could walk you home," he offers. "I have an umbrella, and I need to head out anyway. We could talk about the next bake sale on the way."

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of walking alone with him.

"Are you sure?" you ask, though you already know what his answer will be.

Zayne nods, that soft smile returning to his lips. "Of course. It’s no trouble."

And just like that, the decision is made. You follow him to the coat rack near the entrance, where he retrieves a large, dark umbrella. He opens it with a swift motion, then gestures for you to step under it with him. As you do, the two of you step out into the rain, the world around you suddenly feeling smaller.

You walk side by side, the umbrella barely covering both of you, forcing your bodies to press close together. His arm brushes against yours every few steps, the warmth of his presence almost too much, making it difficult to focus on what he’s saying. The scent of rain mingles with the faint hint of his cologne, and it makes your head dizzy.

At one point, your eyes meet again, and for a split second, Zayne’s step falters, just slightly. His words stumble as he’s explaining something about the church’s plans for the sale. He catches himself quickly, but when you glance up at him, there’s a flush of color in his cheeks. And in that moment, you wonder – ‘Is he affected by this as well?’

As you walk, the rain begins to lighten, turning into a soft drizzle, but neither of you rush to part ways. The conversation continues, easy and unhurried, and for a moment, you forget about everything else—the church, the responsibilities, the complicated emotions swirling between you. It’s just the two of you, walking in the rain.

When you finally reach your street, Zayne stops in front of your building.

"Thank you," you say with a smile.

Zayne smiles, that familiar softness in his eyes again. "It was my pleasure."

There’s a brief pause, and for a moment, it feels like something hangs in the air between you. But before either of you can break the silence, Zayne steps back, offering a small nod.

"I’ll see you soon," he says, his voice quiet.

You nod, watching as he turns and walks away. As you head inside, you can’t shake the feeling that the space between you and Zayne is growing smaller with every encounter. You wonder if the boundary between friendship and something more is becoming increasingly blurred.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next day, you couldn’t stop replaying it all in your head. The way he had looked at you, the subtle hesitations in his words, the fleeting touches. You found yourself waiting for a message from him, hoping for a hint that he felt something.

But the message never came.

You tried to brush it off at first. ‘He’s busy.’ The church had its demands, and the bake sale was coming up soon. He probably had a hundred things to take care of. But as the days passed, the silence grew heavier. Each time your phone buzzed, you found yourself hoping it was him, only to feel that familiar stab of disappointment when it wasn’t.

When you finally couldn’t stand the silence any longer, you sent him a message, keeping it casual. You told yourself that it wasn’t a big deal, that he’d reply, and everything would be fine. But when his response came, it was short, almost curt.

Your stomach sank as you stared at the screen. You told yourself you were imagining things, that maybe he was just having an off day. But the pattern repeated itself. Another message from you, another short, impersonal reply from him. It was as if a wall had gone up between you, growing taller with every passing day.

And then there was the shop. Zayne had always made a point of visiting at least once a week, stopping by for a quick chat and dessert. But that week, he didn’t come. Each day, you glanced toward the door, half-expecting to see him walk through it with that quiet smile, but the door never opened for him.

The absence weighted on your mind, leaving you questioning everything. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ you wondered, replaying your last conversations over and over in your head.

You tried to focus on work, on the bake sale preparations, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You thought about sending another message, something more direct. But each time, you hesitated. ‘What if he’s distancing himself on purpose?’ The thought left a hollow feeling in your chest.

By the time the weekend approached, the doubt and confusion had hardened into something else—hurt. You couldn’t understand why he had gone so cold, why the easy warmth between you had turned into this frigid distance.

And as you stood behind the counter of your shop, watching the door and waiting for a familiar face that never came, you realized something. ‘He’s avoiding me.’

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

The next Saturday, the church is buzzing with activity. Tables are set up along the hall, covered in pastries, cakes, and breads that you had carefully crafted over the week. The sight of them should be enough to fill Zayne with excitement. He usually enjoyed events like these. Always eager to chat with volunteers, admire the work of the community, and, if he was honest with himself, look forward to seeing you.

But today, as he scans the room, his gaze lingers on the table where your pastries sit, beautifully arranged and ready to be sold. He can feel a flutter of anticipation. ‘She’ll be here.’ he thinks to himself, hoping to see you among the busy volunteers. You hadn’t come to last Sunday’s mass, and even though he had tried to keep his distance, part of him had been looking forward to seeing you today. He hadn’t realized how much he missed your presence until you weren’t there.

But as the minutes tick by, his eyes sweep over the table again, and something unsettling clicks into place. You’re not here. Instead, your two employees are standing behind the table, chatting with customers, offering samples and smiling as they go about their work. The sight of them, rather than you, feels like a punch to the gut.

Zayne takes a deep breath, as he walks over to the table. He exchanges polite greetings with your employees, but his mind is racing. ‘Why didn’t she come?’ He expected you to be here, after all the work you had put into the preparations. He glances around the room again, hoping maybe you’re somewhere else, mingling with the other volunteers. But you’re nowhere to be seen.

The knot in his chest tightens. For the first time in days, the weight of his own silence, his distance, hits him with full force. ‘She didn’t come because of me.’ His guilt, which he had been trying to push down, now rises to the surface. This time, for a different reason. He remembers the unanswered messages, the short replies, the way he had deliberately pulled away, thinking it was the right thing to do.

He moves through the rest of the bake sale with that guilt gnawing at him. Every time he passes your table, he feels the weight of your absence, the emptiness it leaves behind. And though he tries to focus on the event, shaking hands and exchanging small talk with parishioners, his mind is elsewhere—on you, and how he pushed you away with his silence.

As the crowd thins and things begin to slow down, he can’t resist any longer. He approaches your employees again, keeping his tone casual.

“She did an incredible job with everything,” Zayne says, offering a small smile as he glances over the leftover pastries. “I was hoping to thank her in person, though. Is she around?”

One of your employees, a young woman with a friendly smile, looks up at him. “Oh, she’s not here,” she says. “She’s actually out of town right now. I think she’s with her friends for the weekend.”

Zayne’s chest tightens. ‘Out of town?’ ‘With friends?’ The information feels like another blow. He hides his reaction, nodding politely.

“Ah, I see. Thank you both for participating,” he says, his voice a little more strained than he intends.

As he walks away from the table, the guilt intensifies. The thought of you spending the weekend elsewhere, with your friends, leaving the bake sale in the hands of someone else, feels like a quiet rejection. ‘She didn’t want to see me.’ The guilt twists in his chest, tighter and heavier than before.

⋆꙳❅*°⋆❆.ೃ࿔*:･*❆ ₊⋆

You stood in your kitchen for a few minutes, debating what to do. You weren’t planning on attending tomorrow’s Sunday mass—again. The thought of sitting there, with Zayne at the altar, pretending everything was normal, made your stomach twist. But the tablecloths. They needed to be returned, and the idea of just dropping them off quickly, quietly, without having to see anyone—without having to see him—seemed like the easiest solution.

You didn’t expect the rain. The sky had been calm when you left, but halfway to the church, the clouds burst open. Within seconds, the rain comes down in torrents, soaking through your clothes as you clutch the tablecloths tighter, your feet pounding against the wet pavement.

By the time you reach the church, you're drenched, the fabric in your arms heavy and useless. Gasping for breath, you push open the door. Your shoes squeak on the stone floor as you step inside, water dripping from your clothes and pooling beneath you. You wipe a hand over your face, trying to gather yourself.

"Hey," a voice calls from deeper within the church.

Your heart skips a beat. You recognize that voice immediately. Of course, it had to be him.

You’re standing there, dripping wet, trying to catch your breath and your bearings when Zayne steps closer, his eyes scanning over your soaked clothes. There’s a flash of concern in his expression, though he quickly tries to mask it with something lighter, a smile playing on his lips.

"You really don’t like carrying an umbrella with you, do you?" he teases softly, trying to ease the tension, and it works—just for a moment. You chuckle, shaking your head.

"I guess not," you manage to say, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your shivering.

His smile fades slightly as he takes in the sight of you, soaked and visibly trembling. “You’re freezing,” he says, his voice gentler now, more serious. “Why don’t you come to the rectory? You can dry off and change into something warm.”

The idea of going to the rectory, the space where Zayne lives, feels like crossing a line, a line you’ve been tiptoeing around for weeks. You shake your head, stepping back slightly. “I’ll just call a cab. I’m just here to return these,” you say quickly, you murmur, gesturing to the tablecloths. "I don’t want to intrude."

But Zayne steps forward, his brow furrowed as he looks you over. "You’re not intruding." he says, his voice more insistent now. "You’ll get sick if you walk back out like this. Please, just let me help."

You look up at him, the concern in his eyes stirring something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to suppress. The rain outside is relentless, and despite your instinct to retreat, you find yourself nodding. "Okay," you whisper.

Relief flashes in Zayne’s eyes, and he nods, stepping aside to lead the way. "Good. Follow me."

Zayne leads you into the rectory, the warmth of his home. He guides you toward a small bathroom. “Take a hot shower,” he says, “I’ll put your clothes in the dryer, and I’ll leave some of my pajamas for you to change into.”

You nod, stepping inside the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

As the hot water runs over your skin, you feel the tension in your body begin to ease, the heat chasing away the lingering chill. You try to focus on the steam rising around you, on anything but the fact that you’re in his home, about to wear his clothes.

When you finally step out of the shower, you glance at the folded set of Zayne’s pajamas waiting for you on the bathroom counter. You slip into them, the soft material comforting against your skin, and can’t help but take in the smell of his fabric softener – fresh, floral scent. As you step out the bathroom, suddenly you’re self-conscious, aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. The loose fabric brushes against your skin with every movement.

You walk timidly toward the living room, your heart pounding in your chest. As you step into the room, you find Zayne waiting for you, seated on the far end of the sofa. He’s placed two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits on the coffee table. The room feels intimate, almost too intimate, with just the two of you here, the rain still tapping against the windows outside.

Zayne looks up as you enter, and for a moment, his breath seems to catch in his throat. His eyes widen slightly, and a blush creeps up his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you in his clothes, fresh from the shower. He clears his throat, his gaze quickly dropping to the tea in front of him, but the redness on his face betrays him.

You feel your own cheeks burn in response, suddenly hyper-aware of the way the loose fabric hangs on you. You move quickly to the far end of the sofa, sitting down with careful distance between the two of you.

"Thank you... for the shower," you say. "And for letting me stay while my clothes dry."

Zayne glances at you, his eyes flickering briefly over you again before he focuses on his hands resting in his lap. "Of course," he murmurs, his voice a little strained.

You give him a small smile, wrapping your hands around the warm mug of tea, grateful for something to do with your hands.

Zayne speaks first, before the uncomfortable silence could stretch, “I heard you were out of town,” he says, his voice soft but probing. “What are you doing here?”

His question catches you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up so directly.

“I was supposed to be,” you say quietly, your fingers tightening around the cup of tea, the warmth barely grounding you. “But... the friend I was supposed to go out with caught a cold. She cancelled last minute.”

The explanation hangs between you, and even though it’s true, it feels flimsy. You look down, staring into your cup. ‘I shouldn’t have come here.’

Zayne’s gaze remains fixed on you, as if he’s waiting for something more. Then, he continues. “And the bake sale?” he asks, “You didn’t come.”

The question lands like a blow. You know why, of course. Your throat tightens as you try to form a response.

“I—uh, I got caught up,” you say, your voice faltering.

You know how weak that lie sounds. But he doesn’t push. Instead his gaze softens as he looks at you. "I’m glad you’re here now," he says quietly.

You stare at him for a moment, his words sinking in, and a small, ironic chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it. "I find that hard to believe,"

Zayne looks at you, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, his brow furrowing slightly as he waits for you to elaborate.

"I thought..." you begin, but then pause, biting your lip as you glance away, trying to gather your thoughts. "I thought you didn’t want me around."

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence.

Your eyes find his and the vulnerability in them makes your chest tighten.

"I’m sorry," he says softly. "For keeping my distance. For... pulling away."

The apology lingers between you, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity behind them, but also the pain. He’s struggling—just as much as you are, maybe more.

"I thought..." he starts, his voice faltering for a second. He pauses, his hand moving to the white collar at his throat. "I thought keeping my distance would help, that it would protect both of us. But it only made things worse."

You swallow hard as you watch him. His fingers linger on the collar for a moment longer before he drops his hand, his eyes filled with a quiet regret. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "I started hearing things. Rumors. People talking about... us." The words make your heart skip a beat. "It was like a wake-up call, a hard one." His fingers brush the collar again, this time more deliberately. "That I’m a priest. And I took vows. Vows I can’t break."

You want to say something, anything, to ease the guilt you see in his eyes, but before you can, he continues, his voice even softer now. "But no matter how much distance I try to put between us, you’re always on my mind." He looks away for a second. "Everywhere I go, everything I do... I can’t stop thinking about you."

You don’t know what to say, what to do. Zayne’s vulnerability, his confession of how deeply you’ve affected him, makes the tension between you almost unbearable.

His eyes meet yours again. "You’re everywhere," he whispers, his voice almost breaking. "And I don’t know what to do about it."

Zayne’s words linger in the air, pulling at your heartstrings. You want to say something, to ease the pain, and you don’t know if you can. Not when you’ve been feeling the same way.

"Zayne..." you say softly, "I don’t want to be the reason you’re struggling," Zayne’s gaze drops to the floor, shoulders tense. Seeing him like this makes your chest tighten, but you can’t stop now. There’s too much unsaid.

"But I can’t stop thinking about you either," you confess, your voice trembling slightly. The words make you feel exposed, but it’s the truth you’ve been holding in for so long. "You’re in my thoughts all the time. It’s like... no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, I just want to be near you."

Zayne looks back at you, and you fight every fiber in your body to close the distance between you.

"I care about you, Zayne," you whisper. "And I hate seeing you like this. But I can’t pretend that what I feel isn’t real."

He’s quiet, his breathing shallow as he processes your words. Neither of you has the answers, but in this moment, it’s enough to know that you’re not alone.

"I’ve tried to ignore it," you continue, your voice shaky but honest. "I’ve tried to stay away, to give you space, but..." You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to say what’s been burning inside you for so long. "It’s not just the little things. It’s all of it. The way your touch lingers... even when you barely graze my skin. I keep thinking about it, imagining more, wishing you would... touch me, hold me.”

Your cheeks burn as the words leave your lips. This is it. There’s no turning back now. You’ve held this in for so long. And now, it’s out there between you, impossible to ignore, to pretend it doesn’t exist.

"I want to feel you," you confess softly. "I want to feel your hands on me. I can’t pretend I don’t need this anymore."

For a moment, Zayne doesn’t move. His breath is shallow, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers flex slightly against the fabric of his pants. You wait, breathless, watching him.

"I want to touch you," he whispers finally. "I’ve thought about it more than I should. About how it would feel…” Then, his expression falters, frustration flashing across his face. “But I can’t."

The empathetic side of you understands him completely, and you don’t want to push him. But at the same time, you can’t just let this moment slip away.

Your hand moves instinctively, slowly sliding down your chest in a deliberate motion. "You don’t have to." you murmur.

You don’t wait for him to respond as you reach up, your fingers tracing the top button of the shirt. Then, one by one, the buttons come undone, exposing your skin to the warm air of the room. You hesitate for just a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you look at Zayne. His gaze is fixed on you, the unbuttoned shirt, eyes betraying everything his words deny.

Your fingers slide along the edges of the unbuttoned shirt, and, with a steadying breath, you shrug your shoulders slightly, letting the material slip down your arms. The shirt falls away, delicately sliding off your skin. Your skin is bare now, exposed under the dim light, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Your nipples are hard as the air brushes over your skin.

Zayne’s reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, and you can see the deep flush flood his cheeks and ears. His gaze roams over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, his pupils dilated. He’s stunned, frozen in place, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing—what he’s allowed himself to see.

His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out, to touch you, but he doesn’t. He’s rooted to the spot, his body betraying him with how tightly he’s gripping the sofa, the knuckles of his hand turning white from the force of his restraint. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—he’s completely consumed by the sight of you.

Without another word, you let your hand slide down, your fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants. Zayne’s eyes follow your movements. You pause for a moment, savoring the anticipation. Zayne lets out a ragged breath, his body tensing as he watches you, helpless to do anything but stare. Your fingers tremble as you hook them into the waistband of your pants, eyes never leaving Zayne’s. You push the pants down slowly, the fabric sliding over your legs and pooling at your feet, leaving you sitting in just your underwear.

For a moment, you hesitate, your heart pounding in your chest. You give him one last chance to stop you, to pull back before things go any further. "If you want me to leave," you say, your voice low, "you should say it now."

Your words hang in the air, the final chance for him to take control, to push you away. But Zayne says nothing. His lips part slightly, but no words come. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t tell you to leave. Instead, his eyes stay locked on yours, his silence a wordless plea for more.

That’s all the confirmation you need.

Your hand slides down slowly, Zayne’s eyes following every move. You let your fingers brush over the front of your underwear, and you know he can see the obvious damp spot, his presence alone having you already soaked through the fabric.

His pupils dilate as he watches, and for a second, you think you hear him let out a soft, involuntary sound—something like a groan—but it’s barely audible. His chest heaves, and his grip on the sofa tightens even more, as if he’s hanging on by a thread.

"I think about you all the time, Zayne," you whisper, your voice trembling. "And when I do... this is how I touch myself." Your hand presses down on the damp fabric. "There’s nothing wrong with this," you continue, your voice silky and sweet. "Not if you just watch."

The words feel like a challenge, a tease. Zayne’s face is a mixture of conflict and desire, but he doesn’t stop you. His eyes are glued to your hand, to the way your fingers move against the fabric of your underwear, his gaze filled with hunger he can’t hide anymore.

Your hand moves in slow, deliberate circles over your underwear, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body, and you let out a soft moan. The sound makes his jaw tighten, and he shifts in his seat, clearly aroused but still holding himself back. His gaze flicks back and forth between your eyes and your body, torn between wanting to pull away and being unable to look anywhere but at you.

Then, finally, his voice breaks the silence. "Take it off," he rasps, his voice trembling with the weight of his words. His eyes meet yours, and there’s no mistaking the command in them now. "I need to see... all of you."

His words send a rush of heat through you, making your entire body tingle. There’s no hesitation in his voice this time. Without a word, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, your fingers trembling slightly as you slowly slide the fabric down your hips. The underwear slips down your legs, falling softly to the floor, leaving you completely exposed before him. You sit there, vulnerable, your skin glistening with arousal. You can feel his gaze on every inch of your body, lingering on your thighs, your hips, and finally, on the slick wetness between your legs.

"You’re... so beautiful." he breathes, his voice barely audible, filled with astonishment and desire. Zayne swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to steady himself. "Show me," he says, his voice low, trembling with desire. "Show me how you touch yourself... when you’re thinking about me."

Your heart races, your entire body flushed with heat as you slowly slide your hand down your stomach, your fingers grazing over your slick skin. You let out a soft moan as you begin to touch yourself, your eyes fixed on Zayne. He’s completely captivated, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he watches you.

Your fingers move with a growing urgency, sliding over the slickness between your folds. The sight of you touching yourself, moaning softly, has him teetering on the edge of his restraint. You’re watching him just as intently as he watches you, and you need to see more.

"Touch yourself too," you whisper softly. His eyes snap up to yours, stunned. "It’s not so bad," you add. "You’re not touching me. We’ll just… watch each other."

Zayne’s jaw clenches. His eyes are locked on yours, a storm of guilt and desire brewing beneath the surface. But then he slowly reaches up and unclasps the white collar at his throat.

For a moment, he holds it in his hand, his fingers trembling as he looks down at the small strip of fabric. Then, with a quiet exhale, he sets it aside on the table beside him. His hands move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, each motion slow, as though he’s still hesitating at the threshold. When he’s halfway down, Zayne pauses, then pulls the shirt over his head in one fluid motion, slipping free, leaving him bare from the waist up.

The muscles beneath his shirt are more defined than you had imagined. Your eyes roam over every line, every curve of his body, taking in the way his chest moves with each heavy breath. He sits there for a moment, shirtless, his collar gone, his identity as Father Zayne falling away along with it.

He’s just a man now—just Zayne.

You swallow hard, your fingers still moving, your own arousal building with each second that passes. "Please," you whisper. "I want to see you. All of you."

Zayne’s hesitation doesn’t linger for long, before he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. Your pulse races as the pants drop to the floor, leaving him in nothing but his underwear, his arousal straining against the thin material. His eyes flick to yours, searching, almost pleading. He’s asking without words—asking if this is what you want, if this is what you’re ready for. And you are.

You nod, biting your lip, your body trembling with anticipation. With a shaky breath, Zayne hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, and you can see the tremor in his hands. But he doesn’t stop. He slides them down slowly, the fabric falling in one fluid motion, leaving him completely naked.

Your breath hitches, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as you take in the sight of him. His erection stands thick and heavy, the tip glistening with need. Every inch of him is raw, masculine, breathtaking. He’s stunning, more than you could have imagined, and for a moment, you’re lost in the sheer power of him—his vulnerability and strength laid bare before you.

Your fingers slide over yourself again, the slick heat of your arousal making you moan softly, your body shuddering from the touch. Zayne’s erection throbs visibly as he watches you. His hand twitches at his side, his body screaming for release, but he waits for you to give him permission, waiting to be told it’s okay to let go.

"Touch yourself," your voice is breathy, filled with need. "Please, Zayne."

His eyes flick between your hand and your face, but then, slowly, he wraps his hand around his length. The sight of him finally surrendering, of his strong hand gripping himself, sends a surge of heat straight to your core. You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes your lips as your fingers move faster.

Zayne lets out a low groan, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he strokes himself. The room is filled with the sound of your combined breathing, the soft moans that slip from your lips, the slick sound of your fingers slipping inside your wet entrance. You’re both completely lost in each other now, and there’s no going back.

Zayne’s hand moves slowly, rhythmically over his length, his breathing heavy and uneven as he watches you, his eyes filled with a hunger so intense it makes your pulse race even faster. His breath catches in his throat, and you know he’s still holding back.

“Relax,” you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with warmth. “It’s okay... I want this. You don’t have to hold back.”

Your words seem to wash over him, his eyes flickering with something like relief. His gaze is locked on your body, the way your fingers are soaked with your wetness, the slick sound filling the quiet space between you. His jaw clenches as he tries to steady himself, his hand stroking his length with increasing need.

"You’re... beautiful," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. "God, you’ve been... in my head... in my dreams... almost every night."

His confession makes your squeeze around your fingers, a soft moan escaping your lips. The raw honesty in his voice, makes your body tremble as you teeter on the edge. Your fingers press harder, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you feel the tension in your body building, coiling tight, ready to snap.

You can see he’s close too—his hand moving faster, his body tense with the effort of holding on. But even now, even with his own release so close, his eyes are locked on you, filled with a hunger.

"I want to see you," he whispers, his voice low and rough. "I want to see you... let go. I want to hear you... Please..."

That’s all it takes. His voice, thick with need, and the sight of him on the brink, unravel you completely. Your breath hitches, turning into ragged gasps as pleasure overtakes you, your fingers moving faster, desperate to prolong the sensation as wave after wave crashes through you, each one more intense than the last. And all the while, Zayne watches, his hand moving faster, desperate to join you in the release.

Your breath steadies, your hand still resting on your wet folds, the space between you now feels too wide. "Come closer," you whisper. "I want you closer... please."

The raw need in your voice, the tenderness of your plea, draws him toward you, erasing any hesitation. He hovers over you, kneeling between your legs, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin. His arousal still hard and throbbing, inches away from you, his gaze filled with so much want that it makes your own body heat up again.

"I’m... I’m so close," Zayne gasps, his voice shaking, laced with desperation.

"Let go," you whisper, your voice soft but unyielding. Your eyes lock with his, your breath hitching as you speak. "Let go on me, Zayne."

His eyes widen at your words. He looks conflicted for a moment, as if he’s about to argue, to get up and find something else—a tissue, anything to keep from crossing that final line. But the hunger in your gaze, the trembling of your body beneath him pulls him back into the moment. The sight of your hand sliding over the slickness between your thighs seals his fate. His hand tightens around himself, his strokes quickening as his control shatters.

"Please," you whisper, your soft plea the final push he need.

And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he finally lets go.

The first hot spurt of his release hits your belly, warm and wet, the sensation eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. His body trembles violently above you, his muscles taut and shaking as his hand moves over himself with desperate need. He groans deeply, the sound raw and primal, as more of his release follows, thick and hot, landing between your thighs, coating your skin. His breath hitches, his body tensing with each spasm of pleasure as he watches the way his release paints your skin. His hand continues to pump his length, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, caught in the overwhelming force of his orgasm.

Zayne closes his eyes as the last drops land on your flushed skin, his body still above yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The air is thick with the weight of what just transpired, but there's no guilt, no regret. His breath is still ragged, your own chest rising and falling with the same uneven rhythm.

When Zayne opens his eyes, they’re soft with awe—filled with pure, unguarded admiration.

"You..." he whispers, his voice rough and shaky, barely able to finish the thought. His eyes trace the glistening trail of warmth he’s left on your stomach, the way it pools between your legs, marking you with the undeniable proof of how far you’ve both fallen. "You’re... perfect."

A soft, breathless smile plays on your lips. "So are you," you murmur back.

For a moment, Zayne just stares at you, his eyes filled with something deeper than words can express. Then, he leans forward, pressing a soft, featherlight kiss to your forehead. The gesture is so tender, so filled with affection, that it takes you by surprise. It feels fragile, like something you both need to hold onto, if only for a little longer.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours again, and for the first time, there’s a sense of peace. Just the quiet aftermath of something real—messy, complicated, but undeniably real.

And for now, that’s enough.

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne smut #love and deepspace smut #zayne x you #lads zayne #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #lnds zayne #lnds #lnds smut

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venmondiese · 22 days ago

Text

COME TO ME, ANGEL OF MUSIC

‎‎masterlist ✧works in procress ✧ AO3

-ˋˏ| summary: On a costume party, you meet Aemond, a strange man who seems to lurke your thoughts. Soon enough, you'll find he is more than what he seems.

✧| Pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

✧| word count: 4.2k

✧| Warnings: MDNI 18+, possible dub-con, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), Aemond is very weird, and this contains dark contents.

-ˋˏslightly based on the phantom of the opera + my contribution to halloween

You wish you knew how you ended up in a rich party, honestly. It was a costume party, and everyone had rich costumes. You went for a classic one; Christine from Phantom of the Opera. Your friend was dating the younger son of this family, throwing a party in the whole damn state they had, as if it was some kind of Saltburn. You didn’t comply when she dragged you to ‘meet one of his rich friends so you and him can be together’ because honestly you had nothing better to do.

Seeing people do heroin and ecstasy was not your style, so you separated from your friend soon enough, as she told you her boyfriend and her would spend quite some time on that. She had promised to invite one of your childhood friends (and crush); Ben. Even if it had been ages, you still thought about the chance to meet him.

Dancing on the dance floor was something else. They didn’t play some of the usual party songs played on discos or bars. It was somehow more refined, but it didn't stop you from dancing. You danced with some dudes; with a mummy, with Beetle juice, with Pennywise and even with the typical one dressed as the Joker. You made out with them a bit, but soon enough you pulled away.

Once you were sweating through your costume, you went to the backyard, seeing all the stairs you had to get down to touch the grass. Instead, you walked to the chairs in the balcony and stayed there.

“I lost my… fucking piercing…” you murmur, feeling your face and not feeling your nose ring. Did you even…?

“Hello, didn’t expect you here”

You turn to see the voice by your side. It was dark, or perhaps you weren’t using your glasses, but you could swear there wasn’t a man there.

“Hey” you murmur softly.

“Who are you supposed to be?” He asks softly, smoking his cigarette as he was against the wall.

You weren’t one for small talk, truly. But here you were.

“Christine Daaé” you tell him softly looking at him.

“Hm.”

“From the phantom of the opera”

“I know, it is rather obvious coming from you” he says softly, another puff as he speaks.

You frown slightly, confused by his words. What was he on? Maybe your face is familiar with someone he knows. You are sure you know him. He is oddly familiar as well, and you definitely couldn't shake the feeling of knowing him. He was like a distant, misty memory, as if from a dream.

“And who are you?”

“Nosferatu”

You take a moment to watch his costume, seeing the formal clothes he used. He had long silver hair, and it looked silky and it was very eye-catching. As you saw more and more of him, as the dim lights from the garden gave him a sombre aura. His skin was pale, not rosy-like pale, but straight out white, cold tones. He had a purple eye, and he wore an eye patch to the other.

“I Thought Nosferatu was bald”

“I thought Christine Daaé could sing.”

“You surely wear tons of makeup”

“You should see my brother” he says, looking at you “He came as Edward Cullen, Tons of glitter”

You chuckle “I can see it”

He was handsome, leaning on the wall as he inspected you. Gave you goose bumps, that, and the cold air too.

“What’s your brother’s name?” You ask softly, looking at him as the skirt of your costume had been caught on some leaves.

“Aegon” he says, as if testing your knowledge on the name.

“And yours?” You ask, smoothly. You wanted to know his, in truth, and he smirked as he puffed on his cigarette.

“Aemond” he says softly, looking at you. “Yours?”

You tell him your name, and he hums watching over you. There is something about the way he looks at you, making your skin have goose bumps and you turn slightly more conscious about yourself. He was intimidating, yet at the same time, you were attracted to him as moths are to light.

“You fit the costume” he says, puffing on his cigarette again.

“It is my favourite costume. I found a white corset, and a white puffy dress. I did the star pattern on it, and it took me a while to style my hair.”

“Hm. I see.” his voice is sultry, watching you closely.

“I have seen the Phantom of the Opera since I was a child. I love it” you admit with a smile “Seen it like a hundred times. I doubt there is someone who has seen it more than I”

He raises an eyebrow at your nerdiness, yet he shrugs, throwing his cigarette on the floor to stomp on it. His shoes had dragon patterns on them, and looked as if they had never been worn.

“I doubt it” he says smugly, moving to sit in another chair next. One of his legs lazily going above the other as he leaned back. “I have seen it for years and years”

You roll your eyes amused, as if he was trying to fight who was nerdier. “Yeah, right”

“I mean it. They always play it in the theatre” he says, looking at your face as if trying to see your reaction. He isn’t very expressive, you notice, as his face almost doesn’t move as he speaks.

“And so you happen to visit the theatre always?”

“Well, in fact I do.” He shrugs, moving to take another cigarette out of his pocket, to lighten it up. You roll your eyes as if you don’t believe him. “I own the place.”

It is a moment of silence, as you watch him brag about it. Men and their audacity. He was extremely rude, apart from off-putting. And he was arrogant, you knew an arrogant man when you saw one, how his chin is titled up, as if looking down at you.

“Yeah, right”

“I mean it” He says, surely.

“Are you rich?” You say in disbelief, not believing one word of what he was saying.

“I live some states away” He says, referring to the mansions. “It’s older than the damn country”

“I do not believe you one bit”

“Don’t” he shrugs nonchalantly, his face barely changing as he takes another puff. “You could have had free entry to see the phantom of the opera every night”

You narrowed your eyes to his words, you do not believe him. How rich can you be to own one of these houses AND own a theatre? Makes 0 sense in your middle class mind. Yet, Aemond, for some reason, is different. You cannot explain it… and it bugs you. Yet you are curious as a cat.

“Okay, Mr. Billionaire” You say mockingly, leaning closer as you watch his face. “If you do own that, you must be an aristocrat” you point out, seeing how his eyebrows raise and he nods slightly.

“Yeah”

“So your family has been around for centuries?”

He nods, and he says “Yeah, more than centuries”

“Every dynasty falls, you know. Sooner or Later”

“Or they evolve” He says, taking another puff. He has a calm way to speak, almost sultry. He speaks as if he had all the right opinions on the world, and doesn’t leave room to question him.

Aemond was handsome, perhaps too handsome. Though the white makeup was too much (and you can imagine how full of glitter his brother should be), he has a mystery surrounding him. He was a billionaire, yet he doesn’t tell you his family name, which doesn’t surprise you, since rich people are full of fake friends. You doubted that half of the people in this mansion even knew the hosts personally. And Aemond seems the calm type, stoic, silent and observant. You can notice it just by the way he stares at you, no expression on his face, not even boredom.

“And you are friends with …” You ask, moving a hand to point at the castle.

“My brother is more social than I am” his tone is quiet.

“And he dragged you here?”

“I dragged myself here” he says. Even if he is very expressionless, you were getting tired of him.

You didn’t even notice how awkward the whole conversation was. He was so clearly uninterested in you, only bragged about his luxuries and spoke in a condescending tone. You were confused, no doubts. The alcohol had been too much.

“I will go to the dance floor then…, Aemond” you say standing up, and he doesn’t do the courtesy to look interested.

As you leave, you just try to sneak away from his little corner, and you try to find your friend. The meeting with Aemond left you a sour taste in your mouth, no doubts. Lisa was certainly more of a social butterfly, and if she was next to her boyfriend she would probably be like his trophy, anyways.

You walked through the corridors, and tried to check your phone. It was almost one in the morning, 00:58. You sighed, checking your messages as you tried to stay against the wall; the music was loud enough to drive you insane.

Where are u??? Ben is here…

You cursed yourself, muttering a great deal of insults as you answered, asking where the hell she was with Ben. You came with a purpose, and you certainly couldn’t leave without it.

Ben was handsome, and his blonde hair fell from his face as he was dressed as some superhero you didn’t recognise. Yet he was lean, and handsome as hell. He has some beard, not too rusty, but you liked it, suited him well. It reminded you of his dad, no doubts.

“Ben” you say smiling

“Oh, look at you” he says, standing up to hug you. “It has been ages!”

“Too long” You say smiling, hugging him back. “How have you been? I mean… What have you been up to?” It was almost impossible not to want to ask Ben about all the amazing things he must have been up to.

Between chatting, drinking and dancing, it’s nearly three am when you are still dancing on him in the dance floor. It was less crowded than before, yet it still was hot as hell. You were sweating slightly, and still with Ben, dancing together and having so much fun.

“Hey, Christine”

You turn a bit confused. Oh, it was this guy. The Nosferatu guy, Aemond.

“Hey” You say to him, cringing a bit. His expressionless face looked from you to Ben, who stopped to dance to introduce himself. “Ben, this is Aemond… Aemond, Ben”

Whereas Ben extended his hand with a smile, Aemond watched him with a hum, acknowledging him with a raise of eyebrows. You wanted to die, he was so fucking rude and hard to swallow, and you didn’t even know why he was bothering you.

“You are friends?”

You try to answer, yet you find yourself mumbling nonsense as your cheeks get red slightly from shame. It is Aemond who answers.

“Yeah. Long acquaintances” he says, and his face finally changes. His lips curled in a smirk, his arms crossed on his chest as he was very much interested in Ben now. “Isn’t it right?”

You look at him, and then at Ben, blinking a bit confused. “Yeah, we know each other… and we are so close”

“Oh, I see. Didn’t mention that” He says, his smile confused as he looks at you.

“Well, I didn’t remember” you say, a bit confused, frowning.

Where did you exactly meet Aemond?

“Ouch” Aemond says, looking at you. His voice still cold, and detached “Didn’t you tell him all the times we have gone to see the Phantom of the Opera?”

It takes you a bit to speak. “Yeah, tons of times… Aemond owns a theatre, and they play it all the time.”

Ben looks at you a bit confused. His hand is on the small of your back, and still close to you.

“Maybe you could come with us” you babble, words out of your mouth hastily. “I’d like you to” you add, words you like to say finally coming out of your mouth.

“Sure thing” Ben says smiling, giving you a reassuring nod.

“We could arrange it for the next season. Now it is all about more new musicals” Aemond says shrugging “Even if the Phantom of the Opera is quite new, still”

“It’s old as fuck, dude” Ben laughs it out, but his laugh is met with no response.

You looked at him, eyes wide. You found it funny, why didn’t you laugh?

“Either way…” Aemond says, his tone unwavering as always. “We have to leave, darling”

It is then when you look at Aemond again. You were attracted to him like a moth is to light, and he was like a drug. He was handsome, tall and definitely hot. He made you feel alive.

Yet you didn’t want to leave Ben. Why would you? Lisa had especially invited him for this purpose, to get you two together, to reconnect and with some luck, hook up. Even if you weren’t the type to hook up with guys you have met the same day, unlike Lisa. She joked that maybe Ben was worth the exception.

“Wait, I thought we were staying…?” Ben says, confused, since Lisa’s boyfriend had no problem in lending one of the guest rooms to you two.

“No” you say, almost automatically.

“Come on” Aemond says, pulling you away from Ben, grabbing your elbow with a self-sufficient smirk.

His touch was cold, unwelcoming and uncaring. Even with that, you followed his lead out of the mansion, not caring to wave goodbye to Ben.

It is when he opens his old car, probably expensive as hell, when you ask him. “Where are we going?”

He smiles “Oh, my darling. We are going to my state”

Your mind has problems remembering how you two exactly arrived at his state. You have had too much alcohol, either way.

And as you went away from the party, you started to ask yourself more things. Why did you ignore Ben? You were an ass to him, and you didn’t care about it. But in truth, you did, and you felt awful about it.

It made zero sense; you couldn’t understand your change of heart. As if sorcery was inflicted upon you, or mind control. When you take out your phone, to send him a message, to apologise, and to also tell Lisa where you are, you find yourself with no signal at all. You barely had any battery on it too.

“Do not bother” Aemond’s cold tone comes as he drives. The car was so old, the gearshift was like a lever next to the steering wheel. Damn, this shit didn’t even have a radio. “There is no signal around here”

“No technology either…” you murmur between your teeth, and try to look out in the darkness of the night. It was all mist, from miles and miles in the field.

“Do not worry yourself” He says, and with that, you shut up.

Your walk is almost automatic, following his lead into his house. It was a mansion, more like a Victorian one. Maybe even older, this truly seems like centuries old. You couldn’t imagine how old his dynasty was to inherit something like this.

Aemond could be as sultry as he was cold, because soon enough you were on his bed, sitting as he talked softly, about your appearance or how perfect you were. You truly didn’t take a look around his home, or his room. Surely, there were a lot of stairs, and a lot of floors. But you only cared for Aemond.

“Dressing up like Christine, hm? Suits you” He murmurs, his hands cupping your face as if you were dear to him, yet there was no tenderness in his tone, only that detachment you despised.

“Hm” it was all you could say.

“So perfect for me. I knew I was right on you”

His lips devour yours as he kisses you, and you can do anything but return his kisses, perhaps not with the same fervour, but still you are a bit enthusiastic with that.

If he was cold, he made it up by being addicted. Kissing him was addictive, and the taste of it was making you lean closer and closer to him. And it was as if he thought the same about you, by the way he was acting the same, if not more desperate.

You feel his kisses travel down, as his hands lower down to move the skirt of your dress, feeling your bare legs and going upwards. His face nuzzles your neck, and you can feel how he leaves hickeys, bites and wet kisses on the skin.

He was insane with lust, like an animal as he pressed kisses on your collarbone, pulling you back in his bed. Kissing Aemond was like being in heaven; you could barely feel your own body.

“You are perfect” He murmurs “No need to be nervous” his tone is sultry, almost too enchanting for you.

You weren’t even nervous, to be honest. Your heart was racing like crazy, and your hands were sweating. Still, you didn’t feel nervous.

“I’m not” you murmur softly.

“You are” he says, his eyes turning to look at you. “I know it. You can’t hide anything from me”

As his hands move to take off your clothes, and his mouth relishes on your breasts, clavicle and neck, you start to wonder. Was he stalking you? You remember him too dizzily to connect dots, but he was starting to…

Scare you. Arouse you. You weren’t even sure.

Aemond was especially good with his mouth; his kisses pressed lower and lower as his hands caressed your thighs softly, looking up at you.

“I’ll make you feel better” he promises, his tone sounds ever sweeter. “I know what to do to cure you”

If the remark was oddly strange, he doesn’t give you a moment to think about it, as his mouth goes to your cunt, his tongue moving expertly along your folds to taste you, like a man starved does. He was, in a way, starved. You could see it in his gaze, looking up to you to see your reactions and if trying to see right across your soul.

He accommodates your thighs on his shoulders, as if hugging your back to press you further to his face, and mouth. He was groaning on it, delighting himself in your taste, as you could only whimper and see with half lidded eyes, biting your lower lip as you feel your head starting to drop back in delight.

His mansion was cold, and Aemond was even colder, yet everywhere he touched, felt warm. It was magnificently paradoxical, yet it made every sense in your head. If you could form a logical thought, that would be, because when Aemond touched you it was as if your brain melted completely, being nothing as he touched your body.

“Will you let me?” He asks, his mouth and chin shiny from your arousal, gods, you were leaking wet. You haven’t noticed until now, you were really wet. And he only seems to be happy about it.

He glances up at your face, watching you closely with his careful eye. You were right on his mercy, and he liked it. He could tell that you were loving it, the way he gives you attention and takes care of you, and yet he isn’t pleased when you nod as a way to answer him “I want you to say it out loud”

“Yes” you say, your breath almost stuck in your throat as you speak, nodding. Your cheeks were red, and you could feel your blood going everywhere in your body, especially where he had touched you, and kissed you.

“You are all mine, hm?” He says, seeing the hickeys on your neck and legs.

His cock was hard, and he was as excited as you were to have you. You didn’t quite get what he was after, sex? Taking care of you? An odd, distorted and sick pleasure of… doing what he does? You couldn’t get it.

He doesn’t use protection, and you also don’t try to ask about it. You just don’t care about it, you want him. You need him. You craved him.

Aemond hiss when he enters you. Your pussy is warm, wet and welcoming to his cock. Seeing you in display to him, moaning as his cock starts filling you is too much for him. It’s too overwhelming, and he has to curse out loud, moving to grab your thighs to pull you closer, your body moving as if you were a ragdoll.

“Fuck, princess. That’s it” he mutters, his hips going back, before harshly going forward, starting to pound into you as if he was a feral animal, grunting and groaning,

Your body welcomes his harshness, feeling his cock pound again and again against all your sensitive spots. He knows what he was doing, surely, and he knew how to please his partner in bed. His dick slides effortlessly into her cunt, you could feel his balls slapping against your skin.

“Aemond” you moan is more like a whine, the same tone wounded animals used emit when in pain. Oddly enough, that turns him on more.

“That’s it” He murmurs, his hips being harsh as he thrusted, and you could only imagine how much it would hurt to stand up next morning. "Sing for me...."

Aemond reaches with his hand to find your clit. Most men would be blind, but Aemond had experience. His wet fingers rub your clit, as he made sure his thrusts were overwhelming enough to have you made a mess for him. Moaning loudly, he feels your legs shaking a bit as he leans to whisper in your ear.

“Come for me” His tone is many things, a plea, an order, a fact. "Come to me"

You didn’t know how, but he knew. You were coming hard, as you felt his cock deep inside and his wet kisses all over. It was intense, and he had you all disoriented. Maybe you squirted, maybe he came right with you, and maybe he came inside you. But the truth? You didn’t care.

You fell asleep soon after, almost unconscious from such a night. Alcohol, crazy sex, and going to a stranger’s home.

It all hits you by the morning.

If you could call that a morning, honestly. You wake up, in the silk bed sheets, feeling colder than ever, and naked. You turned around, and everything was dark, as if it was night. The tall, heavy curtains in the windows were old enough to be thick, and not let a single ray of sunshine inside. Yet, it was badly closed, because one ray hit right in your neck, and in your left eye, waking you up.

You don’t know how long you have slept, as you stand up. You feel panicked, because you went home with a stranger. And then you start remembering. Leaving without telling Lisa, leaving Ben just because Aemond said so, and you were stupid enough to follow him.

And you had sex with him. You can feel your body aching from how feral he was with you, and you sit up in bed, whining, as your whole body is sore and burning you.

You check your thighs, red and lots of bruises there. And your stomach, and your forearms. You stand up carefully, moving closer to the window you had seen in the hallway, not minding your nakedness, or who might see you wander around.

You are more worried by the blood coming out your neck. You see yourself in the mirror; your neck has dry blood, bruises and hickeys. Your face? Intact. But your neck and collarbone were… destroyed. Your breasts are saved, just a little bit, bitten and full of hickeys, but no blood there.

You try to move the dry blood, trying to see what you were injured. You didn’t hear a sound in the house; it was dark, and quiet. The most light that entered was from a skylight in the stairs, which seemed to be endless.

You see two dots, deep and scarlet in your neck. And another pair, and another. You had to check more than twice to try to make it sense. Aemond had bitten you. It was all Aemond.

“I see you have woken up” He murmurs, leaning on the hallway, with a cup of tea, and some cookies.

You turn to look at him, and you regret not having something to cover yourself with.

“You are a monster” You say, turning back to the room, to try and go find your clothes and your phone. “Biting me like a… a… a vampire” you say, just to test the waters. Hells, you didn’t even believe he was a vampire.

Aemond chuckles, following right behind you as he leaves the tray in the cabinet. He looks at you, covering the door unconsciously, as he crosses his arms. “So you figured it out then” he says. “I thought it would take you less”

“You… drugged me”

“No” He says, crossing his arms, offended. “I did not need to.”

He was attractive, but it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his charm, and how handsome he was. Of course, you think, being an idiot. You had seen twilight a million times, and you felt like Bella when she discovered the same about Edward.

“Vampires aren’t real” You remind him, putting on your clothes. They were dirty, yet you just wanted to get out of there. Gods, you were an idiot. An idiot. And you didn’t even know what you would tell Lisa, or Ben, or your parents…

“Aren’t they, really?” He asks, almost mockingly. “And where are you going, darling?” He asks amused, seeing you grab your purse and pull your clothes fast as day. It took you a bit to close the corset of the dress, but whatever.

“Away” you mutter, which causes him to laugh.

The only, genuine and loud laugh you have heard him do. Maybe the most genuine he has ever been in the time you have meet him.

“You are adorable, my sweet” he says, his tone as detached even with his amusement. “I thought it was clear. You are not going anywhere”

You look at him, as if confused. He wasn’t a vampire, it was ridiculous. It felt like a crappy movie that they passed through forgotten channels.

“Yeah, right” you say, passing through him and going into the hallway. “I am leaving” you tell him, trying to look brave, as you try to decipher the fucking mansion.

“You are scared as a kitten” Aemond says, more amused than anything “Your heart is beating like crazy, darling”

“Whatever!” You scream, finding some stairs and going down.

“And how will you ever leave? The closest town is far away for leaving on foot.”

“I’ll call a tab” you say, stubbornly, taking out your phone.

Seriously? 11%? You sighed. Aemond didn’t stop you, but let you figure it on your own. There was no signal here.

If you go, with how cold it was, you were going to die of hypothermia. And going out without a map, without a direction, you will be also dead, if not found by him. You really, really were trapped. You had to think of something else, surely, but not now…

“I see your pretty head has figured it out” Aemond says, from top of the stairs. “Now, will you take the cookies and tea I had you? I bought them just for you” he says, almost annoyed. “I can’t let my pet starve”

That was what he wanted you for. If he was a vampire, he needed blood. And he had his fill, and he had his next meal. It was you; he wanted you as food, and to fuck.

"I want my pretty angel to keep on singing for me" his tone is deep, smiling, as he teases you with those words. "My angel of music"

You want him to shut up, but at the same time, you don't.

You remember, for a moment, when he bites you with his fangs. You had thought it was with the costume, but he didn’t dress up. He surely invented he was Nosferatu, and you believed it like a fool. Those fangs weren’t fake, and they dig into your neck to draw blood from you, multiple times.

It was painful, and it stung like a bitch. You didn’t want him to feed on you.

"You have come here with one purpose and one alone" he says, as he lure you into his whims "I have needed you with me... to serve me. "

Yet when you see him smile, guiding you to eat, you feel calm, even if your mind knew he was using his dirty tricks on you, just like before. He seduced you, into his will. And gods, if you didn’t feel like you wanted just that: be his forever. To feed, to fuck, to devour.

It was surely going to drive you insane one day, yet you had to get used to it. It didn’t seem as if you were going to be out anytime soon.

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cherubfae · 24 days ago

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𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 || {𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪}

In thick dick we trust

|| 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐅𝐀𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ||

tags: smut, NSFW, fem!reader, breeding, blowjobs, fingering, slight angst/fix-it-fic and spoilers for JJK (Gojo), predator/prey dynamics, public sex, no foreplay (in some), monster fucking, belly bulge, impossible standards but we can dream, unprotected sex, slight dubcon (pyramid head), this is a trail mix of all sorts of some of my favorite men (and my bestie's)!!. Pls enjoy!!

leon's is a bit short bc he's got a halloween treat comin' up ;D

Leon

"This is not a good idea." Leon's voice hisses next to your ear. Ever the hypocrite, he's not one to heed his own warning. He is far too focused on tugging his pants half-way down his ass, panting hotly at your ear, the clasps of his belt jingling together as he frees his swollen cock. His fingers push into your hole, messily stretching you out. Knowing you two don't have much time, he pulled them out after, lapping at your essence with a pleased moan. "So fuckin' good, princess."

Sinking into you with a guttural groan, Leon snaps his hips into you. His shirt is messily pulled up to his abdomen, biting his lip to conceal any moans. You back your ass up, meeting his thrusts as quickly and most importantly, as quietly as possible.

"I know this is rushed but you gotta try to relax for me, baby." He kisses just below your ear. "You were the one who wanted to fuck at a Halloween party, right? I promise I'll take care of you as much as you need me to when we're home... But for now, loosen up that pussy for this cock you love so much, yeah?" He breathily chuckles.

Zayne

"You're too bold for your own good...," His lashes flutter, his head falling back to rest on his chair. Legs widening, Zayne's breath stutters out of him the deeper you take his rigid length. "Doing such a thing like this in a place of healthcare practice and to a renowned surgeon no less. How naughty."

His heart stutters at your intense gaze between his parted thighs. Pulling off his cock, he can see how his length and your lips glisten with precum and saliva. "You say that... But were you not the one who fingered me to sleep last time I was here?" You smirk as Zayne's ears flush red.

"You said you needed help sleeping... Orgasms can provide that. When all of your muscles are tight during sexual arousal, an orgasm helps relaxes those muscles." Came his clinical response, despite both of you knowing you'd successfully cornered him. You grip his cock once more, relishing in how his hips jerk upwards.

Lapping at his tip, you grin. "And that's what I'm doing just now. My favorite doctor said he needed help relaxing-- and I think this is just what the doctor prescribed." The groan Zayne let out as you lowered your mouth onto him was music to your ears.

Sal Fisher

After your very first successful Halloween party in your new shared apartment, you and Sal giggle and hush one another, messily pulling off each other's costumes. You, a witch and Sal, a skeleton (or as he worded it, your 'willing victim'). With Chase Atlantic playing rhythmically from Sal's old stereo, he pushes you gently onto the soft bed.

Mask left forgotten and his glass eye already out of his socket and cleaning in a cup at his bedside table next to his tiny suction device. You couldn't help but adore him, staring up at him tenderly. You loved that he was able to be so comfortable with you like this. You supposed knowing him since high school and dating since sophomore year helped!

You reach up and cup his scarred cheeks, running your thumb above his missing nose. Sal closes his good eye, breath warm on your palm. He kisses your fingers, covering your hand with his. The passionate energy takes a softer turn, gently pulling off your clothing until you were both laid bare.

"I will never get over how beautiful you are." Sal murmured, his cold hands cupping the swell of your breasts, thumb circling the hardened nipple. His thick cock, surrounded by blue hair, nudges between your folds, though he is no rush to enter. Leaning down, he kisses you softly, an action you readily return.

Pyramid Head

You were easy to corner. It was laughable, really. Pyramid Head couldn't ignore those sweltering feelings any longer. The thrill of hunting you down like small prey had thrilled him to no end. He was sick of those nurses and the mannequins. He wanted something real, someone warm.

The scrape of his Great Knife splitting through concrete and asphalt grated on your ears. Wedging his knife into the crease of the segmented sidewalk, Pyramid Head backs you up against the fence. He towers above you; he has no visible eyes to look at, only the cold, rusted and bloody triangular helmet that presses against your cheek.

A shuddering, inhuman growl bellows like iron rubbing together, followed by a rather curious huff. Something hard pokes at your tummy and your eyes widen, heat rising to your cheeks. This thing... This humanoid embodiment of hate was rock hard, rutting his large erection against the seam of your jeans. His hands grapple for your shoulders, huffing demonically again. Impatient.

Seeing no other choice and admittedly, you were a bit curious. It certainly had been quite some time since someone had craved anything of you. And from what you could see of the great Pyramid Head, your curiosity had been thoroughly piqued.

Shimming your jeans and underwear down, you yelp as Pyramid Head hauls you into his strong arms. One arm barred across your lower back, his large blood covered hand spreads open your folds. Then, the fattest tip you've ever seen pokes out from under his dirtied apron; sliding up your folds to collect your wetness. He rubs himself against you messily, his hand moving to lock at your elbow, keeping you in place.

With immense searing heat, he pushes his thick, swollen cock into your tight channel. You feel like you're floating, your head knocking back against the fence. You could feel him stretch you impossibly wide, your tummy extending ever so slightly, and with the frantic upwards cant of his hips, you knew that the beast was far from done.

Gojo Satoru

He was here. He was home. Sukuna was dead. Defeated. The strongest had once again prevailed. Satoru had made it back to you alive.

Satoru approaches you like you were a newborn deer, power thrummed off of him. He'd let his infinity down. You weren't sure what you looked like in that moment, but you imagined he was mirroring your expression back at you. His snow-white hair was messily disheveled, his lips in a wobbly, uncertain smile and his eyes-- those endless ocean eyes. They looked like rippling waves with the more tears that filled them and spilled over, clearing paths on his dirty cheeks.

"I'm home, honey." Satoru spoke hoarsely, trembling as he gathers you in his arms. Instantly, his face finds its home at your neck, breathing in your scent. "I'm home." His grip tightened.

After hours of snuggling up on the sofa and Satoru freshly showered, you along with him--neither of you could bear to be apart from the other right now. You curled into his embrace, his arms wrapped around you like a safety belt, his long fingers brush the waistband of yours, his, sweatpants. Satoru kissed your jaw.

"Is it okay, pretty? I--," Voice breaking, Satoru swallowed thickly. "I need to know this isn't a dream." Nodding, you shift your hips up, helping him push your sweatpants and underwear down. Satoru does the same, gently swirling his pink head against your folds.

Leaning into his embrace, you grip his arms, making him look at you. "I don't need prep, 'Toru. I wanna feel you too. Want it just like this, please?" Cupping his cheek, he leans into your touch and nods understandingly. Guiding himself into you, the two of you gasp. Your fingers thread together tightly, slowly rocking into each other. Reunited once again. <3

Cloud

It was no secret that Cloud could be quite socially awkward. When he wasn't thinking about his next payment, the free estate of his mind more than often drifted to you. It was rare for him to not have you by his side, but you'd had your own mission to attend to.

Mako-blue eyes drift to his lap, feeling the subtle twitch in his black trousers. He'd been throbbing for days on end now, but rather than dealing with it he willed it to leave on its own. Pleasure always felt better when it was shared with you, after all. But thinking of you only served to make his cock harden more.

Hissing, Cloud shoved his bottoms down far enough for his swollen member to pop up, slapping wetly against his bare stomach; a string of sticky pre connecting his skin to his reddened tip. With a growl, he wrapped his hand tightly around the base of his thick cock and squeezed his eyes shut tight, doing his best to mimic how you felt around him.

He could still feel the phantom touches as you traced your fingers up to his tip and down to his base, moving your hand to cup and fondle at his heavy balls, every touch of yours was like you were worshipping a beautiful lost god.

"Shit--fuck, baby!" Cloud gasps, hips jerking into his fist, cum squirting out of him until his knuckles were dripping in it. He'd really been too pent up... He couldn't wait til you were home. He misses you. :(

Bonus for the sillies<3

Astarion

"Shhhhhh, darling...," Astarion hushes into your mouth, making you snort back at him. The two of you drunkenly giggle, a little more than pleasantly buzzed, and chat with each other out in the hall of the inn in what you two think were whispers. "Can't wake the others. Do you have the key?" He hiccups softly, leaning his chin on your shoulder, making your hunt for the room key that much more difficult.

You grin and pull the key out of your chest bandages, winking. Astarion purred approvingly. Leaning your forehead onto the door, you narrow your eyes and focus on trying to hold it steady, struggling to line the key up with the doorknob. Behind you, Astarion snickers like a schoolboy.

"You don't struggle this much guiding me into you... Has a door bested you, love?" He slurrs, nuzzling at your arm like an affectionate cat. You scowl and playfully and softly place your entire hand on his face and ease him back.

"Ack!" Astarion sputtered, blinking with annoyance as you unlock the door triumphantly. You enter first, the spawn stumbling in behind you. He makes for the bed first, leaving a trail of clothing behind him and crawling atop the sheets. Propping his cheek up with his palm, he relaxes into an attempt to look seductive, which wasn't hard. His thick cock, however, was quickly becoming so. Everything about him was ethereally beautiful, even in your drunken haze.

You squint at him, weighing your options as best you could with your inebriated state. If the two of you started fucking, the chances of either waking up another inn guest or resulting in some sort of drunken injury were quite high.

Ultimately, you decide it's not a good idea, as delicious as Astarion looked. You shed your boots and sit on the edge of the bed. The spawn pouts, reminding you of a cat once again as he paws at your backside.

"Don't you want to, love? We can snuggle instead if that's your desired passion." Astarion wiggled himself under your arms. You smile, brushing back his bangs to kiss his forehead. "We should wait 'til we're both sober, honey." Astarion nuzzled himself against your bosom.

Easing you both back onto the bed, Astarion cuddles into you. The both of you pass out, the spawn entirely naked at your side and you; half-dressed and half-off the bed in a starfish spread, mouth wide open in a snore.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

#love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #cloud strife x reader #silent hill x reader #pyramid head x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #cherubfae 2024 #cherubfae's halloween special 2024 #astarion smut #astarion x reader

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hawkinsbnbg · 2 months ago

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Steve was a late bloomer. He didn't expect to present as an omega right after seeing a bloody Eddie Munson into the ER.

His biological changes weren't a problem at first. He found his perky tits and even newly-slit cunt easily acceptable. They just felt right on his body.

His peace only lasted until he visited Eddie in the hospital and slicked his underwear beyond repair.

It was embarrassing and also pathetic because he was quite certain Eddie didn't want him that way.

He knew the alpha just flirted with him for fun like everyone else.

To fix it, Steve began wearing scent blockers religiously, dressing in more layers, and using pads to keep his slick from leaking out and ruining the sterilized air.

So far, it was a success. No one batted an eye when he got a little wet whenever he sat beside Eddie's bed.

Even Robin—his platonic soulmate who had always been in tuned with him—didn't pick up his inappropriate behavior.

As for Eddie, the alpha just became friendlier with him; kissing his hands, giving him more flatteries, hugging him tighter and longer than the others, etc.

Though Steve was flustered by the new development, he reminded himself that it likely meant nothing to Eddie.

Still, he couldn't stop finding excuses to see Eddie nearly every day.

Eventually, Eddie was discharged, went through every PT session with admirable strength and determination, and recovered beautifully.

They held a party to celebrate it and Steve was rosy cheeked with joy when Eddie stuck by his side the whole time. And even followed him everywhere like a lost puppy.

It was cute.

Even though Robin kept saying otherwise.

Eddie seemed to decide they were best friends now. Because wherever Steve went, the alpha would be right beside him.

Steve didn't find it as annoying as he had thought. Since Robin and Vickie were in their moonstruck phase, she couldn't spend as much time with him anymore.

He was happy for her, but it was also kinda lonely. A problem that Eddie's constant presence had quickly resolved.

They would hang out and do everything together; cooking, doing chores, listening to the music, watching movies, getting high, and even sleeping.

It wasn't right for an unmated omega to get so close to an unmated alpha, but their bond ran deeper than their carnal instincts. A few cuddles wouldn't hurt their friendship.

Or so Steve told himself.

Because he had to change his panties at least thrice a night before going to bed to not disturb his friend with his situation.

"Where are you goin'?" Eddie muttered sleepily just as Steve tried to get out the alpha's arms.

On the other hand, his body had been acting weird lately. Producing more slick than usual and becoming more sensitive.

It might be his fault for letting Eddie into his nest all the time, but it wasn't like he could help it, either.

Jesus. Even Eddie's raspy voice already made his cunt pulse with want.

Steve felt thankful that he didn't give up his scent blockers. Otherwise, he'd no doubt smell like a bitch in heat right now.

"Nature's call," Steve mumbled, frowning slightly when Eddie's hold just got tighter around him and the musky scent grew thicker.

"'S your slick, isn't it?" Hot lips pressed to his ear, making him stop cold. "Yeah, I can smell it. Been wanting to taste how sweet you are, omega."

Steve gulped dryly, his brain turned hazier and hazier with lust. And yet...

"W– Why didn't you say anything?"

"And chased you off?" Eddie chuckled and squeezed a hand between his thighs, feeling his wetness and scratching his clit lightly through the cotton. "No way, baby."

Steve closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, choking on the scent of a very aroused and virile alpha.

He didn't know why his blockers didn't work, but the heat of Eddie's palm on his clothed cunt was distracting enough that he just stopped questioning it altogether.

"Be gentle with me," he craned his neck to meet those dark wild eyes.

"You got it, angel," Eddie rolled him on his back and kissed him sweetly. "Gonna worship your pretty cunt for the rest of my life."

And Eddie did.

Eating him out every given chance and everywhere; on the bed, in the kitchen, in the back of the van, on the couch, in the shower.

And when Steve's heat arrived a few days later, Eddie had happily stayed up all night just to suffocate in the sea of slick before knotting him over and over again in the morning.

Which, consequently, triggered the alpha's rut and led to Steve being kept in bed for another week.

And by the end of it all, he was thoroughly bred and ravaged.

Eventually, Steve figured it out once they became mates. His blockers still worked just fine.

Eddie was the problem.

He was a horn dog who had sniffed out Steve's slick and got addicted to it.

But fortunately, Eddie had agreed to make do with his used panties whenever Steve was too sore to let him near his cunt.

The only problem was that Steve now had to guard his favorite pairs very closely.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #omega verse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #slick addict eddie munson #honeypot steve harrington #sionewritesatmidnight

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d4minnie · 3 months ago

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Pairing: YandereToxicHusband!Gojo Satoru x afab!Reader

Warnings: Non con & Abuse

wc:2,130

MINORS DNI

guys please give me requests!!

You listened in terror as your husband, Gojo Satoru, repeated the same chilling words over and over, his voice unwavering and unsettling. "I love you, love you, love you so much. You’re never leaving. You need to stay, stay with me forever. I won’t let you go ever."

How did it come to this? How did you end up trapped here, bound by his obsessive love, unable to escape the nightmare he’s turned your life into?

Your marriage to Gojo Satoru was really happy and loving; he was always so sweet. But then things started to change. You first noticed he became very possessive, especially when other guys would compliment you or hit on you. At first, you thought his jealousy was kind of cute.

But then it got worse. Gojo began telling you what you could and couldn’t wear. He’d say things like, “Change your clothes, or are you trying to get attention?” or “You love me, right? If you really do, you’d listen to me and change, okay?” What used to be small, cute signs of jealousy turned into controlling behaviour. You tried talking to Gojo about how his behavior wasn’t healthy. You assured him that you would never cheat on him, no matter what you wore, and that he didn’t need to worry. But every time you tried to explain, he only got angrier.

At first, you thought that his possessiveness and jealousy were just small issues and not enough to end your marriage over. But those little changes in behavior kept growing, and eventually, they turned into more serious problems. Before long, his controlling behaviour escalated into physical actions.

You and your close friends had decided to hit up a popular bar downtown, a place that Satoru was familiar with and often frequented. It was supposed to be a night of laughter, drinks, and a carefree escape from everyday stress. Even Satoru, with his intense personality, had seemed fine with the idea when you mentioned it earlier in the day.

The evening had gone off without a hitch. You had enjoyed the drinks, the music, and the company of friends who knew how to keep the party going. As the night wore on, you lost track of time, lost in the rhythm of the night and the warmth of the alcohol.

By the time you decided to call it a night, you had sobered up enough to realize it was time to head home. You said your goodbyes, stumbled a little as you walked to your car, and finally managed to get into the driver’s seat. It was only then, as you slid behind the wheel and reached for your phone, that you noticed the sheer volume of missed notifications.

Your phone buzzed and vibrated incessantly as you glanced at it. Texts, missed calls, voicemails—Satoru’s name appeared repeatedly. The sheer number of notifications was overwhelming, and your heart sank as you unlocked your phone to read the messages.

The first message was from hours ago, a chilling blend of concern and irritation:

"Where the fuck are you?"

As you scrolled, the messages grew increasingly frantic and angry:

"You’ve been gone for hours. I’m losing my mind here." "Answer me! Now!" "Do you have any idea what you’re putting me through? I’m coming to find you."

The final message was a blunt, terrifying command:

"Get home NOW. I’m waiting."

A cold shiver ran down your spine. You had never seen Satoru so unhinged, so desperate. You could almost feel the intensity of his rage through the screen. Ignoring the warnings of your growing anxiety, you started the car and began driving home, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

The drive felt endless. Each red light, each turn seemed to stretch into infinity as you imagined the worst—what Satoru’s reaction would be when you finally arrived home. The usual comfort of your own space now seemed distant and uncertain, replaced by an unsettling dread.

When you pulled into your driveway, you saw his car parked outside. The sight made your heart race, and your hands trembled as you turned off the engine. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the weight of the situation pressed heavily on your shoulders.

You opened the door slowly, bracing yourself for what was to come. Sator was waiting inside, his silhouette a dark, menacing figure against the dim light of the living room. His face was a chaotic storm of emotions-rage, hurt, and a terrifying intensity that made your stomach churn.

As you stepped inside, he stood up with a sudden, jerky motion, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. The warmth and affection you were used to were nowhere to be seen; in their place was a raw, unfiltered fury that left you feeling trapped.

"Sato-"

Before you could finish, he was on you. The slap came out of nowhere, a sharp, stinging blow that echoed through the room. Your cheek burned, and the shock of the impact made your vision blur. The pain was immediate, but it was the look in his eyes that truly shattered you.

Satoru's face was twisted with a tortured rage, the kind that came from a deep, obsessive desperation. He loomed over you, his breath hot and uneven as he stared down at you, his eyes glinting with a dangerous, almost unhinged light.

"Do you have any fucking idea how worried I was?" he spat, his voice a venomous whisper that cut through the air. "No, of course, you didn't. You never think about anyone but yourself. And look at you-wearing those slutty ass clothes, basically begging for attention. I told you, didn't I? I told you not to dress like that. But you never listen. You never fucking listen!"

His voice cracked with a mix of hurt and fury, and you could see the pain in his eyes, twisted and magnified by his obsession. The anger was consuming him, and you could feel the suffocating weight of his need to control you.

"You think you can just disappear and flaunt yourself like you don't belong to me?" he continued, his tone dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You're mine. Only MINE. And if you ever try to leave me again-if you ever think you can get away with this—you'll see what happens. I will make sure you understand exactly how much you mean to me. How much you belong to me."

He picked you up with a sudden, jarring motion, throwing you over his shoulder with a grip that was firm and unyielding. Your body was flung awkwardly, and you struggled against him, your tiny fists pounding ineffectually on his back as you yelled insistently for him to let you go.

"Put me down, Satoru! Let me go!" you cried out, your voice breaking with a mix of fear and frustration.

But your pleas were met with nothing but cold silence. Each of your desperate shouts and futile attempts to escape were dismissed with a harsh slap onto your ass. He continued to carry you with a terrifying calm, his steps purposeful as he marched through the apartment.

"Stop fighting," he finally said, his voice a low growl. "You don’t get to dictate the terms. Not now. Not ever."

He carried you into your shared bedroom and tossed you onto the bed like you were weightless. As he turned to lock the door, you scrambled to the far edge of the bed, trying to stay as far away from him as possible.

Satoru’s face was a mix of intense anger and lust as he faced you. “Stop trying to run,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “You know you can’t get away from me.”

He grabbed you by the legs and pulled you toward the end of the bed. You kept thrashing around, but it did nothing to break his firm grip on your thighs.

"please" you whimpered but either he didn't hear you or he just ignored it.

He ripped off the tight-fitting dress you were wearing, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. As you quickly raised your hands to cover yourself, he pinned them above your head and wasted no time tearing away the remaining fabric that concealed your body. "So fucking beautiful," he muttered as he held onto your waist. You started screaming, desperately hoping the neighbours would hear and call the cops. But it was useless—he immediately covered your mouth with his hand, silencing your cries.

He yanked his shirt off, and you heard the jingle of his belt. He lifted your knees, pressing them into your chest but spreading them apart so he could look at you. He used one hand to guide his dick to your entrance, and locked eyes with you. Not giving you a chance to think, he slammed into you, the tip of his member slamming against your cervix, you let out a cry as he once again snapped his hips harshly forward, forcing you to scream and dig your fingers into his shoulder blades.

“Shut up,” Satoru huffs again as he presses your knees even harder against your chest. He plunges in and out faster than before, You let out a filthy cry at the sheer stretch of his thick and girth cock. Your jaw hangs wide open and you’re simply gaping up at the man with stupid, glazed eyes. All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer, moaning his name softly every time his tip nudges into that sweet spot inside you. He’s so deep you can feel him in your throat. Your mind is churning, thoughts becoming hazy the harder and deeper he pounds into you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he continues, and he shoves his fingers into your mouth making you gag.

Each stroke he delivers inside of you knocking the wind out of your lungs, making it harder to breathe. He's so heavy on top of you, this huge bulky man who makes you seem small and fragile. Satoru takes up so much room inside of you, and it’s a wonder how you could possibly have any space left to spare.

It’s a fullness you can’t seem to get enough of.

Then he’s fucking you faster, harder, deeper. His lips move to the shell of your ear and he speaks, his breath blazing hot on your skin. "I love you, love you, love you so much. You’re never leaving. You need to stay, stay with me forever. I won’t let you go ever."

the bed creaks with his rough thrusts inside you his toned pelvis smacks against you over and over, heavy balls hitting your ass with each shove of his fat cock inside your warmth, “Fuck,” Satoru heaves as he feels his orgasm rising. Crying out, your walls spasm around him, as warmth fills your insides, until white leaks, and it slowly dribbles down the insides of your trembling thighs.

Your breath stopped as he brung his head in between your thighs and his tongue licked a long swipe against your core. His tongue moved against you, thrusting into you every once in a while lapping at the liquids dribbling out of your insides. He didn't stop. Tears built as he continued to lick, his tongue digging into that same spot.

Your body twitched, the warm sensation in your core became more intense than before but suddenly you felt dig his teeth into your thighs but not in a pleasing way. You screamed at the top of your lungs thrashing your body around and pulling at his hair but that didn't stop him. After he was done you looked down at the edge of your thigh as blood dribbled out of where he marked you up.

"You're never escaping. You’re trapped here with me, forever and

always."

#satoru gojo x reader #tw noncon #husband!gojo #yandere!gojo #yandere gojo #toxic gojo #possessive gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo x you #mdni #18+ mdni #d4minnie👻

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after-witch · 10 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel yandere Alastor imagine

note: discussions of sexual abuse, physical abuse, afab reader, misogny

Oh, to be in Hell and working for Valentino, who uses and abuses you, who goes from hot to cold depending on his moods, whims, and whatever might be pissing him off or propping him up at the moment.

It's not the living you wanted to be making. It's not the life--or afterlife--that you envisioned for yourself. But you owe him so much money (he fed you, and clothed you, and kept a roof over your ungrateful head, didn't he?) and you don't know how else you could pay him back.

But one day you happen to catch someone whispering about this new Hotel where you might be able to get better? Where life might be able to get better? Where you might get, and the word refuses to even catch on your tongue despite it dancing in your ears, redeemed?

You want that. All of it. Even it means risking getting the (after) life beaten out of you.

And on a rare free morning you sneak out and make your way to the front door and a tiny (cute, but, horrifying) little maid answers but before she can get a word in edgewise, a blonde woman--the literal princess of Hell, you realize--jumps into the doorway and grabs your hand to shake it vigorously and welcome you in with the biggest smile you've ever seen that isn't (for once) tinged with something awful behind it.

You practically trip inside as she excitedly pulls you into the foyer where a gaggle of people are sitting on a velvet couch and oh, shit, you know one of them.

Angel. You knew he was here--Val would not stop bitching about it--but it's different hearing about him being involved in this little project and actually seeing him out of the studio.

When Angel sees you, he freezes, his eyebrows shoot practically to the sky. And you're about to beg him not to tell Val, please-please-please, Angel might get away with being here but you don't have that kind of sway, when someone slides in front of you.

Red hair, pointy teeth, a fantastically red coat.

Alastor, of course.

You're not supposed to talk to him. Val and Vox made it clear to everyone in the studio. The Radio Demon is an "old timey fuck" who needs to fuck off and any one caught fraternizing with him might as well be fucking dead (or they'd wish they were) so stay away.

And his reputation wasn't any better with what you'd heard on the street.

But... he doesn't seem all that bad. And you were already taking a Big Fucking Risk by coming here, it's not like Val would go easier on you if you pleaded that sure, you snuck out, sure you came here when you knew you shouldn't, but you clamped your mouth shut and didn't talk to Alastor, you swear!

"Greetings," he says, and you want to smile a little. Because he really does sound like a radio, the kind your mom used to listen to when you were young, even though they were going out of style. Sometimes you missed that, sitting around the table while the radio played, tinny voices and music playing.

"Hi," you manage, voice quiet. "I mean, greetings," you say, stupidly, really.

But he doesn't call you a moron (like Val might) or ignore you (like Vox might)--instead he dips and picks up your wrist gently and he actually kisses your hand, a perfunctory gentlemanly peck of a greeting, instead of licking a slimy trail up your arm like Val is prone to do.

Can you help the little "oh!" that escapes your lips? No. Can you help the heated flush that creeps up your chest? No.

And if he, to everyone's surprise, winds up taking you under his wing--can you complain? No.

He doesn't tell you, like Val did, that you'll pay him back every red cent when he conjures up a closet full of clothes to replace your scant wardrobe. The clothes are modest and lovely and again, your mom springs to mind. The stuff she'd pull out of her closet and hold to her chest sometimes, because they no longer fit.

You wish you'd worn those clothes, when you got old enough to fit into them. But they were moth eaten and out of style and you'd look at her aghast when she asked if you wanted them when you were moving out.

So you didn't. But now... well, they don't fit so bad, do they? You even look nice in them. Alastor says "you're a vision of loveliness, dear," when you wear one of the outfits he's picked out. And you're not sure if it's a pun on his name or a genuine compliment, but you thank him all the same.

Charlie agrees to set up a room for you and Alastor helps with that, too. Although his help mostly involved changing out the standard linens for something nicer, stocking your closet and dresser with old fashioned clothes, and removing the TV.

You almost protested, but he reminded you that "your old friend Vox just might pop in and see you" and ah, it all made sense.

Alastor was looking out for you. Like he did with the clothes. Like he does with the way he helps you navigate the vague, ever-changing lessons that Charlie tries to teach.

Everyone here is nice, all things considered, for Hell.

It's not perfect.

Sometimes you would like to wear something more flashy and stylish, but what outfits Charlie manages to procure never seem to make it into your wardrobe.

Angel always looks like he's going to vomit when Val calls because at this point you are considered "missing" and Val does not like it when his "whores try to ghost him," as you'd once heard him screeching on Angel's phone.

Angel always denies that you're here, denies that he's seen you, and for once, you're glad he can act well when it really matters.

And if Alastor gets a little too clingy... if he gets a little too controlling? If sometimes he reminds you of Val, pushing and pulling you in the directions he wants, you just remind yourself that he's not as bad.

He doesn't ever, ever hit you. He doesn't yell at you or even raise his voice, really!

He corrects, that's all.

Steers you to the right outfits, reminds you how to act like a lady (something he never seems to do with anyone else, to your embarrassment); gently grabs your wrist and brings you along with him around the Hotel, into the shadows of the streets where you won't be seen when he thinks you need some good old fashioned exercised or fresh air. (If the air in hell could be considered "fresh" is another thing entirely.)

So yes.

He might be a little controlling. You can admit that. Even if he has your best interest in mind.

But every time that little thought creeps into your head, you just remind yourself. He's not as bad as Val.

And when you're in Hell, "he's not as bad" might as well mean that he's good.

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere alastor #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes #oops this was supposed to be a short lil thing

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hirschkuh-im-traum · 1 month ago

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Night visitor

the plot is: something weird happens on Halloween night, and you know you're not alone in the dark bedroom anymore. But when you think that everything was just a bad dream, the man, whose name you know not only through hearsay, pays you a visit.

words ≈ 7.k

warnings: demon!alastor x human!reader, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex, voice kink or kinda, rough sex, mirror sex, multiple orgasm, tentakles, bondage, biting, a lil blood, a little angsty in the end but in a fluffy way idk

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

In a flea market you were told it was broken, but nevertheless you bought this old cathedral radio. You didn't ask why a woman was selling broken devices but she didn't ask you either why you bought ones. You hoped to make a bluetooth speaker from it, it would look just nice on your bedside table.

At home you wiped the radio with alcohol to remove the layer of oil and dust that formed for several decades on the wooden surface. When you’d done the smooth dark wooden corpus shone in the dull light of autumn sun, pouring from the window, as you twirled it in your hands. With a brush you dusted the speakers then, next you polished the curves forming the symmetrical pattern, and after all you wiped the radio again with a soft cloth to move away the remains of substance you used for cleaning.

Now the radio was like a new, with the exception of some thin scratches here and there. But you even liked them. They remembered that this thing had been used before. Someone kept it in their home, someone tuned the waves, someone ran a fingertip along the carved patterns, someone put their ear closer, listening to the music when in the dead of night they couldn't sleep but didn’t want to wake up anyone in the house. Being kept at someone's house the thing had become its soul. That's why you loved to shop in flea markets. This radio looked like it actually had a soul, a timeless one.

* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

A loud noise pulled you out from your dream. Something was rustling. Somewhere from the right, from your back. But you didn't worry, taking it as a part from half a dream, until you heard a man's voice. That second you jumped up in your bed, turning around, hiding half of your body behind a blanket. You lived alone, who could it be?

A radio dial was shining with soft amber light across the room. The smooth and deep voice was speaking from the speakers, but you couldn't understand a word, for his voice was swallowing with static, but even so you could say it was a pleasurable tone, if only the cold fear hadn't paralysed you. How could it be possible? The appliance was broken long ago, not only the woman in the market told you that, but you also checked it by yourself in the daylight. It was broken. Completely. Just a beautiful shell with nothing useful inside.

And still it worked.

For several seconds or minutes, you couldn't say for sure, you were looking in the direction of the radio, listening to whatever the host was saying. Gradually fear was replaced with curiosity and you left your bed. The chill embraced your bare shoulders, the cold parquet kissed your feet as you went closer to the mysterious radio. Maybe it was a dream?

Your fingers found a round regulator and you turned to the right, making the sound louder.

“...better lock your doors and windows, dear listeners. The number of murders has increased this year and we don't want to add to that list, do we?”

‘Murders? What murders? What is he talking about?’

“The Bayou Butcher has a distinctive pattern: although the bodies were mutilated in various ways, the brutality and... sophistication of the Butcher are apparent to the naked eye.”

Your eyes widened. First the broken radio came back to life in the dead of night, and then the radio host was speaking about a serial killer who died more than eighty years ago?! What was going on?

“So do go and check your locks, and do not go out this or any other night. Keep your safe, dear.”

You switched off the radio. You had enough. That was ridiculous, and you went back to your bed.

But you couldn't fall asleep. You were thinking about the radio broadcast that sounded like it was from the past. You knew about the Bayou Butcher. Of course you knew. Not only because you were New Orleans born and bred, and not only because you were a fan of true crime podcasts, and not only because the forest you lived next to was rumoured to be the forest, but also because this very murderer killed one of your relatives. It was a long time ago, but never was forgotten.

Your great grandmother, when she was alive, often told you this story, how one day she and her little sisters received news of the death of their brother, the only one who maintained the family but also the one who tormented it, how he was found on the bank of a swamp, all maimed and almost dragged off to the water by an alligator. She confessed to you how they were glad of the death of their tyrant and how incredibly quickly they were able to get back on their feet, something their brother had convinced them they would never be able to do without the help of a man.

It appeared that your family was connected with the Bayou Butcher himself in the most direct way. And as you were lying in bed, thinking how your ancestry found their salvation in the killing of their relative, you remembered another detail of the killer. His personality was found out only after his death. And it shocked the whole state for the murderer appeared to be the famous radio host.

“I told you to go and check the locks, my dear.”

Immediately you jumped from your bed and by the low laughter of the radio host you rushed for the enter door. Just one thought was swirling in your mind: It was him.

You ran down a long corridor, a single dark tunnel that led from the street straight into your bedroom. You pushed the handle and the door didn't open, but you turned the lock again. From your bedroom you could hear the old jazz playing. The piano and trumpet accompanied a male voice but you couldn't understand a word, just felt it wasn't something good. An old creepy song written for celebration of Halloween seemed to you a requiem. You looked outside through the window, and hardly had you discerned the tree trunks through a night haze when two red lights flashed among them. You gasped and stepped back as you realised it was a pair of eyes peering right at you. And you ran back to your bedroom, not paying attention to a still playing radio, and jumped into your bed, like a child seeking shelter under a blanket. You didn't take your wide open eyes from the little light of the radio dial on the other side of the room.

“My, my, what a frightening song that was! And what a haunting melody, must be stuck in my head for days.” The man was speaking in a cheerful tone, you could actually hear his smile. He spoke to the audience, not just to you personally, as he had done a few minutes earlier. You couldn't understand why and how he did it. It seemed like one minute you were listening to an ordinary midnight broadcast and the next minute the radio host was speaking especially for you. You heard it in his tone.

“Past midnight,” He pronounced almost solemnly, “Finally we've crossed the day boundary and stepped onto the macabre path of All Saints’ Eve.” Shivers ran down your spine, as the sound of the voice from the past, from the times when you weren't even born, flowed into your ears. He was speaking about Halloween, about how traditions of Christianity were forgotten and now people preferred to throw a spooky party instead of going to church, and he was speaking how much he enjoyed it. Nothing scary was in his speech anymore, just something especially charming was about his voice, low, velvety, and dark. No wonder he was so popular during his time. Listening to his broadcast for just a few minutes — the biggest part of which you were frightened to death — you could already call yourself his fan. And no wonder that even when his actual nature was revealed, some people still loved him, being unable to break the spell he once put on them.

An immoral thought creeped into your mind, what would you let the owner of such a voice do to you? The question wasn't immoral in its nature, but the answer, you were afraid to think of, was.

“And now I say goodbye to all of you. Something startling awaits you tonight.” The broadcast was over, but a new song didn't take its place, only a crackling of the atmospherics remained.

You sat in your bed, waiting for something without knowing what exactly. Maybe his voice would speak again — a weird message from the past. Or maybe he would speak to you.

The buzzing became louder, more and more louder, it became unpleasantly to hear, and when you were ready to leave your bed and switched the radio off again, the loud knock on the front door was heard by you. It's harsh, demanding, supernatural sound made you scream in fright. And then you heard the voice,

“So what do you think, my dear? In my opinion, it's a wonderful show, you can't find a better one!” Suddenly the bed no longer seemed like a safe shelter. The shadows around seemed to emerge from the darkness, became tangible and surrounded you. The night-lamp on your bedside table, that served as the only source of light for all this time, burnt out, immersing you in deeper darkness, where only a pale moon slightly illuminated your room. Your body began to tremble as the shadows approached you, and you felt the cold radiating from them.

You heard somebody trying to open the front door, but the lock didn't give in. And then the voice came from the speakers,

“Ah, you're a good girl, and did as you were told… Through the times, haha!”

So you did heard the broadcast from the 30’s. But the owner of the same voice was standing behind your door. You felt like you were losing your mind. You wished you could lose it already, then you wouldn't try to comprehend what was happening, then you wouldn't feel fear anymore.

You gazed through the room and the corridor at the entrance door. Since the knock was heard you were sure you saw a silhouette behind the cloudy glass. Its head hid above the glass, which was at eye level, so you saw only its thin figure. Obviously, it didn't belong to a human. The figure bent down, and two red sparkles shone through the opaque glass, making you gasp.

“Unfortunately, the locks can't stop me.” He spoke with a fake regret. And then you heard the click of the unlocked door, and slowly the door was opened.

In the doorframe was standing he. An eldritch silhouette with long limbs, tall and slender. He had to bend down to step inside your dwelling through the door frame, which was too small for his large body. And as he was stepping inside, you saw antlers atop his head and hair standing straight on his crown as the other couple of horns. Maybe they were animal ears? The door shut behind him without him even touching it, and he began to approach your room.

“You may be wondering why and how I am here but, my dear, I assure you that it doesn't matter.” The clatter of his shoes echoed through the darkness of the corridor as he smoothly headed closer. His every step stressed the words, coming from the radio, deepening their meaning. But all you could see was bright red eyes looking hungrily in your direction. “Let's just say, that sheer boredom brought me here, into your house, to find entertainment for myself.”

He stopped before the threshold of your bedroom, tilting his head to the side. The moonlight illuminated his large figure. The man, the devil, was dressed in all red and his suit was slightly torn on the hem. Between the lapels of his frock coat the two black lines drew an inverted cross on his crimson shirt. His skin was pale grey, hair red as the eyes, and he was smiling. A wide, lip closed smile across his whole face was uncanny and eerie. And as the next words fell from his lips, you understood his voice had the same static echo as from the device.

“Will you entertain me, my dear?” The sharp edges of his yellow fangs flashed dangerously in the moonlight, making you gulp the air.

You didn't realise that in an attempt to discern the sinister loom approaching you, you had moved to the edge of your bed and now were standing on your fours, clutching your fingers around the metal footboard. And now you couldn't make a move, being hypnotised by the creature in front of you. He looked like the most dangerous thing on earth and hell, but something in him lured you. Riveting your attention to him. The red eyes travelled all over your figure, and he smirked as if enjoying your submissive position.

Suddenly one word escaped your mouth, you didn't even realise it, until his expression changed into a pleasant surprise.

“Alastor.”

“Ohh, how nice it is when your name is remembered almost centuries later!” He made a step forward, now he was actually in your room, “A fan of my broadcast? Or misdeeds?”

Finally your fingers let go of the footbroad, that was now warm after your touch, and you sat with your back straight and the hands on your knees, looking up at the man in front of your bed. Still you looked like you couldn't wait to take everything he could give to you, and take it obediently.

“I-I don't understand..?”

“Now now, dear. Didn't I tell you the questions are unnecessary?” But seeing your wide eyes where the horror and disbelief had mixed, he decided to reveal some mysteries for you. Perhaps, it would help you to cast aside doubts that would interfere with what he was about to suggest. All your thoughts had to be focused on him, and not on causes and consequences.

“I returned to my hometown on this night because it is the only night of the year when the dead are allowed to visit the living. I came here because, whether it was a coincidence or not, you settled next to my house. And in fact on the territory that once belonged to me.” He looked up as if thinking over something. A mischievous smile appeared on his face, “Mayhap it still belongs to me, after all, my story was terrifying, who in the world would want to live where the most brutal serial killer operated?” And his gaze fell on you. His smile turned sharper and you felt something similar to shame. The red touched your cheeks and you lowered your gaze. “Huh, I just came home to mark what's mine.”

The fear and surprise in your eyes, where Alastor could still see the traces of tears after his performance, were delightful. He liked how you didn't move, didn't try to escape, and he didn't know whether it was your willingness to accept fate, whatever it may be, or your anticipation of what would happen next. Either way he loved it. Your eyes watched his every move, as he leaned to you, as he hid a strand of your hair behind your ear, as he climbed into your bed on his fours. You watched it all, holding your breath, while your heart was beating frantically in your chest.

“Let's begin, my darling.”

Alastor slowly lay you on your back and propped himself on his hands above you. His eyes didn't leave your face when his right hand reached to his bowtie to untie it and let the black ribbons hang loosely around his neck. He slowly then undid several top buttons, as if he was preparing for an activity that would make him breathe harder. You swallowed in foretaste.

“Now, my dear,” He leaned closer, now propping himself above you on his elbow, his other hand travelled down to your thighs. You smelt sulphur and something burnt, but then the scent of moss and conifer comforted your nose. It was a strange aroma, but you inhaled little more when he leaned down to whisper in your ear,

“Lie still and you won't be hurt.” And when you felt the light touch of his fingertips on your skin, you screamed, remembering the bright red claws reflecting the moonlight when he was undoing his shirt. His hands were of deep black colour, but the fingers were red just as his long sharp claws, curving as little moons on his fingertips.

“Shh, dear! It's not my intention to hurt you. Moreover, I am here for the opposite reason. So be a good girl as you are and lie still.”

His breath burnt the skin on the shell of your ear, his husky voice with a slightly chiding tone ignited something within you. Alastor put his whole palm on your thigh, and you understood how huge he was. You were sure if he squeezed your leg more his fingers would curl around you. His touch was warm, commending, and you didn't resist when he pressed your leg to the mattress.

“Good.” The way he prolonged the word made the wetness between your legs more felt. How insane you were if he could make you feel like this with just one word, one touch, one threat.

His fingers slowly travelled up, so ever slightly grazing your skin, causing a soft breath out from you, as he reached higher and higher. And finally he touched your labia, with a smile on his face he found out that you were already soaked. His two fingers easily slid to and fro, keeping your most sensitive part between his fore- and middle fingers. The little bud of nerves stuck out between his claws, his smooth movements were delicious but not enough to please the organ properly. He slowly burnt up your desire, making you slightly moan at the teasing caress.

“Darling,” He purred, “I didn't expect you would be so welcoming. Good for me, huh?”

“Ahh… Alastor, please…”

“Already begging? Good!” He cast a look at your entrance, which was pinkish and glistening after his stimulation, and almost held his breath at your beauty. He admired how you clenched around nothing, wanting and needing him, and watched how you were dripping with the juice that had to be so sweet from a charming thing like you. You blushed in shame when Alastor licked his lips with his gaze fixed to your entrance.

“Remember my advice?” He suddenly looked up at you.

“I must lie still,” You murmured.

“A very good girl!” He praised you with a soft smile and closed eyes, as if absolutely satisfied with your obedience. And he started with one finger, curling it as he slowly dipped inside, carefully, not to hurt you as he had promised. He felt how warm you were there, how tight, so deliciously tight, and he added another finger.

You couldn't deny that you were scared when you felt his fingers inside, and you even felt the claws, but somehow they didn't scratch you. He slowly slid deeper past the rings of your trembling muscles, keeping his crimson eyes fixed on your face, and you felt the intimacy you hadn't felt with anyone before. You felt him gradually reaching with his long fingers the parts you had hardly ever touched, and you threw your head back, moaning out his name in the growing pleasure.

“Yes, that's my girl,” There was something special in the way you pronounced his name, he had noticed it the first time he heard your voice. He wanted to hear it again and again. Your soft voice made his name sound like a dangerous charm able to captivate the speaker, and your moans even sweetened it more. Just so delicious.

As his digits went to their base in your core, his palm pressed on your clit, and you were quivering in needy anticipation under him, Alastor started to move back and forward, slightly increasing the pace.

“Ah, ah, ah, huh-uh!” He pushed in tenderly and yet with force, causing louder and louder moans from you; the squelch sounds accompanied your heavy breathing and whines, but you still felt like it wasn't enough. No, it was good, better than with anyone or yourself, but you wanted to feel him. Your head swirled as if you were in a carousel when you imagined what he could do not just with his fingers, but with that bloody red tongue he had stuck from his slightly open mouth, or with that growing knoll on his groin.

His palm began to slap on your pussy as he increased the pace, the slaps fell directly on your clit, bringing you even more pleasure blended with pain. Fucking you with his fingers, he leaned to your face. He wanted to feel your breath fanning his face as you were whining in bliss, curling on his palm. Alastor didn't realise he had stuck out his tongue in a type of hunger unknown to him before. Saliva dripped down on your chest. This sigh of a ravenous predator above you awoke a strange desire in you. You lifted your head, catching his tongue between your lips in a sucking kiss. The fingers inside you twitched, pushing on the very spot, but you didn't let go of his muscle. You went as far as you could, until his lips covered yours in a messy kiss, and you sent your moan right into his mouth. You whimpered because of overstimulation, while Alastor's tongue was intertwining with yours in the most dirty kiss you'd ever received. Your teeth clashed against Alastor’s, you felt that you were hurt by his fangs and blood ran down your chin, staining Alastor's lips. Alastor licked everything clean and kissed again before you had time to take a breath, and again his tongue embraced yours and explored your oral, while he fucked you harder and harder with his fingers. It seemed that with your mindless kiss you lit up something voracious in him.

Suddenly you felt a cold emptiness in your core — Alastor had retracted his fingers. He let go of your lips, sweet by nature and bitter with your blood, and stared down at you, waiting for you to rest a little.

His half lidded eyes and lips stained red only made the blood in your veins flow faster.

He smiled widely at you, and your heart skipped a beat, but you yelped when his hands appeared under your knees and he harshly parted your legs, bending them and pressing to the mattress. He lowered his head with an open mouth and lolled out his tongue. The bright red lights of his eyes never left your face. When his wet muscle touched your core you couldn't suppress a sensual moan. His tongue adroitly worked with your heat, rewarding your every moan and plea with a longer lick, with a deeper suck at your clit, with a sweeter kiss on your folds, turning you into a quivering mess beneath his mouth and palms. You held on the antlers on his crown, which were growing bigger right under your fingers, and moved your hips to press yourself closer to him, to give more of yourself to him. You stuttered his name, feeling that Alastor was bringing you closer to your release; his own growls against your skin, sounds of kisses and love bites became louder, muffling that was left from the pleas of your conscience. You'd been ignoring its voice since Alastor stepped into your room, and now completely forgot about it.

“Agh, I'm- mmm!” You arched your back, and Alastor pressed your body closer to his mouth to not miss a single droplet of your sweetness that wrapped his whole mouth as you came.

When your tremor ended and Alastor swallowed everything, he gently laid you on the sheets. Alastor's hands reached to your waist and you held your breath when you felt them on your stomach. You looked at the demon, he licked his lips clean and whispered,

“You look so beautiful in this nightgown, darling,” He purred, caressing the silk of your black clothes. You could feel his warmth through the thin fabric, “But I'm sure… You'd look even better without it.”

Barely had you time to stop him, when he ripped the silk on your body with one harsh move, you gasped at the impassioned act. Your body now was in full display for his longing look. His eyes travelled slowly from your face to neck, bosom, belly and pussy, then with the same thrilling retard he looked back to your lips and then eyes.

“Yes… That's much better.” He purred in low, the static in his voice made the words sound velvety, you wished they’d envelop you whole.

Alastor took off his coat and undid two more buttons on his shirt. You saw the scars on his chest and the fur of the same hue as his skin. And then he undid the belt.

But before you could view his shaft enough, you felt how something squeezed your limbs and then you were forcefully changed in the position. You found yourself, standing on your fours in your bed and looking at the other wall of your room. There wasn't Alastor in front of you.

“You were making such beautiful noises for me, darling. I wonder what other sounds you can make.” You felt his hands on your waist and how he moved your hips back. The touch thrilled you, filled you with both such familiar fear and excitement. Something cool slowly wrapped your legs, moved higher to your thighs, sending shivers of cold and intrigue all over your body. The strange cold appendage ringed around your waist and when you tried to look back to understand what it was, it squeezed you tighter and you were forced to keep your first pose.

“Ah ah ah, darling!” Alastor's cheerful voice chid you, before suddenly got lower, much lower than you'd heard him that night. Something too dangerous hid in his voice when he said, “Don't move.”

Alastor had a perfect view of you, propping yourself on your palms and knees. The moonlight blanketed your soft skin as a veil, bringing something supernatural to your mortal frame. The shadow of him and you were beautiful black spots on the white sheets.

Alastor brought his one hand to your hips, his other hand was stroking his already hard organ. You heard his soft inhalings, heard the movements of his hand, and you impatiently rubbed your thighs when he put his hand on your ass.

You opened your mouth, when Alastor pressed his tip to your slit and moved slowly up and down, moistening with his precum your already wet folds. He bit his lip when he just hardly pressed his cock to your cunt, you were so desperately needed him, and when he entered, he couldn’t help moaning slightly. Your soft walls immediately clenched around him, your pussy greedily swallowed his cock in as he was slipping deeply. He moved slowly, slightly retracting back but never leaving you and then thrusting forward again. He gave you time to get used to his size, after all, you were so small next to him.

The room filled with your quiet whines and the sound 'mmm' blended with buzzing static, that caressed your hearing every time Alastor pushed in you. The gentleness he was acting with almost drove you insane. You breathed deeply and loudly, with his every new shove he went deeper, but not once you felt his stomach pressing to you. And you were waiting until he would fill you with every inch of him. The wait filled you with fear of his size but also a lustful impatience. And when you were about to let his name fall from your lips to show him how much you wanted and needed, he stopped.

Alastor watched the connection between you and him, he saw how your elbows bent and your leaned forward, taking a little more of him in you. You then carefully began to move your hips back and forward again and again. He watched your pussy swallowing him but being unable to take everything without the help.

And when Alastor made you sure that now you were leading, he smiled wider and harshly thrusted forward, burying his whole length in you. You threw your head back, seeing stars, and Alastor began to thrust in a new, fast rhythm. The sounds of skin against skin now echoed in the room, the perfect accompaniment to your lascivious moans.

“That's right… Make it louder for me...” He growled and you obeyed, letting the salacious screams fall from your lips. Oh, you were sure you could be heard from the outside. And then you felt him so deep, as if he reached where nobody ever destined to be. It felt as if he destroyed the concept of emptiness itself, filling you up completely with him. It felt like you became one in sharing pleasure. The touch to the sweetest spot inside your body immediately brought you to the edge, your muscles tensed, the forceful thrusts in and out made you see stars again.

“Oh God! Ah-h, ah!”

Alastor felt his own release approaching. Everything in you was perfect: your skin, your voice, the sounds your body was making at his contact, the way you were embracing him inside you. Everything, but the choice of your words during a fuck.

“Don't be ridiculous, darling!” And he pushed you on his shaft, causing a pitiful whimper from you, “It's not god who's with you right now.” He leaned down and pressed his body to your back, his palms covered yours. You felt his hot breath behind the shell of your ear, as he whispered darkly, “You knew my name even before I stepped inside. Now, use it.”

Alastor made the tentacles around your waist wrap tighter and pressed you sharply to his body, preventing you from any move. If Alastor now crossed his eyes in bliss, your pleasure changed into pain. His strong hands firmly held your hips, the claws digged into your skin and spilt blood down your legs. The cold things now wrapped around your arms, and you finally saw that they were as if shadowed and yet so strong. You were completely immobilised.

“Ah, fuh-ck!” You cried out. The trace of your pleasure hadn't passed yet, and you desperated the release.

“Hmm, that's not what I asked you.” And he shoved in, his hips slapped against your ass, he growled, feeling as your walls squeezed him. “Ohh… Well?”

“A-alstor… Alastor,” You slightly lifted your head, trying to look back at the man, the demon, behind you. He was smiling down at you, lust radiated from his eyes. The hunger he was looking at you with, though he already was having you, turned your mind fuzzy. You felt his heartbeat against your back, felt his breath in your hair, his cock twitching in you. “Alastor…” You moaned once again.

“Good.” You closed your eyes when you felt a kiss in the nape of your neck. “Now let us see your face.”

You harshly opened your eyes at the sudden creaking sound, and your blood froze when you saw how the mirror from the corner of your room moved to the bed as if somebody was pushing it from behind. But there was only darkness. With a loud rasp against the floor the mirror moved closer until it stopped in front of you, and you saw yourself and Alastor above you. His wide grin with razor-like fangs was too close to your ear, the red eyes shone brightly from under half closed lids, the antlers on his head grew widely and you hardly imagined how he could still hold his head up and not collapse under the weight of that bone crown. Then your gaze lowered to your hands, covered with Alastor's huge palms and embraced with strange long tentacles. Your eyes traced up the reflection and you understand that these long shadows grew right from the demon's back.

Alastor's grin turned sharper when he noticed surprise on your face and followed the direction of your look. It seemed his dark appendages attracted your attention. The tendrils let go of your stomach and creeped to your breasts that erotically dangled. A soft moan escaped your lips when the cold tips titillated your hard nipples. They lightly caressed the sensitive skin. In the reflection you saw how your lips parted, the tongue seductively lolled out.

“Don't we look beautiful together?” Alastor murmured against your skin. He still slowly thrusted in you, his member twitched so deliciously in you.

“Mmh.”

“Use your words, dear.” His eyes didn't leave your face in the mirror, his burning look only ignited your desire.

“Y-yes… We do.”

“And what about this? Do you like it?” You saw how your expression changed, a moan escaped your lips, for the shadows slipped down to your slit and nestled themselves between the folds. Smoothly they swirled around your clit, patted and pushed on it. Alastor intertwined his fingers with yours, shoving himself in you. He idly pushed past the tight ring of your muscles and didn't stop until his shaft was fully inside; the fur that was around his cock tickled your higher hole.

“It seemed to me that you looked frightened when you saw my appendages, so I decided to change your mind on the matter.”

He increased the pace, intensified the thrusts. Skin slapped against skin, while the tendrils adroitly worked with your tender nub. Everything was too much for you, your heart was beating in a madly rhythm as if it was about to break through your chest, you were dizzy with such hard breathing, and soon you cummed on his cock still thrusting you mercilessly in and out.

“Yes…” Alastor growled and licked the sweat from your temples, “That's quite the view. Look at us, dear!” And you looked up, barely seeing with your teary eyes anything but the red eyes flashing over you.

“Ah, A-alastohh…” You cried out. You were so overstimulated, but he still was fucking you, and your clit was still being licked and patting by the shadows. Alastor felt he was losing control — the heavenly pleasure you were giving him aroused the devilish side of him. He felt you trembling under him, heard your pitiful mewls, but he couldn't help abusing your tight cunt more and more. You were just so perfect for him.

When his vision turned black for his eyes had turned into dials, the weight of his antlers pressed too much, and he felt how he was growing in size, Alastor closed his eyes. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, made himself to slow down the animalostic pace he was fucking you with. He concentrated on the way you whispered his name. The silk sweet sound of your voice. Alastor peppered your crown, nape and shoulders with kisses, he slightly sucked on your skin then and there, sometimes bit through your skin, but mostly just covered your trembling form with hot kisses. You in your turn felt another wave of orgasm coming closer. His sudden gentleness made you weak, you bent down under him, and the changed angle let him dig a little deeper. You rolled your eyes back, swooned with another orgasm he gave you.

Alastor opened his now red eyes when he felt you changing your pose and screamed out his name. He made one, two, three smooth movements in and out before he came in you, burying his cock deeply, pressing your ass firmly to his pelvis. He painted your walls white with a low growl, while you were moaning out his name. After that both of you collapsed on the mattress, fagged out but drunk with pleasure none of you had ever felt before.

Alastor's arms held you close, though there was no power in the embrace, just a wordless sentence that he was next to you and you belonged to him. His breath accompanied with the rustle of static tickled the skin on your temple. His member was still inside you, you felt how it became weak but he didn't retract and you were glad for this. You didn't want him to leave. You wanted Alastor to stay with you. For this night, and the next day. For several days and nights. Forever. But the night seemed to be passing too quickly, you would curse it for this, but unfortunately this very night brought you the best lover in your life. And you only thanked it.

Alastor moved closer, his cock slipped out of you and you felt how his fluid slowly dripped out of your cunt, painting the sheets under your bodies. He turned you on your side so your nose was buried in his chest. He still was in his shirt that was sweaty now, nevertheless you buried your nose in his furred chest, inhaling the scent of burnt wood and conifers. You put your hands on his back, your legs on his hips and pressed yourself to him — not an inch had to separate you.

Alastor chuckled and left a peck on your crown. His clawed hands, which hours ago you were sure could tear you apart, now gently caressed your back. He could admire the little work he did there, the love bites were visible and they would remain for several days more. On your thighs he left the same marks. Stepping in the world of the living, he didn't expect he would find something fascinating, but there he was with a precious captivating little thing in his arms. You.

A clawed red finger lifted your chin up. You looked into the red eyes that dimly illuminated his and your faces. The thin but soft lips crushed on yours in a tender, deep kiss. His hands caressed your hip, kept your head in place for him to shower your face with kisses.

“You know, my dear,” He said, parting his lips from yours, “I didn't really have a chance to introduce myself, there was no need, you knew me. But! You never told me your name.”

The thrill poured down your back. The realisation you gave yourself to the man you knew as a serial killer, a brutal one, had to bring the colour of shame on your cheeks. But it didn't. Maybe something was wrong with you, you didn't care. His smile was too luring, the touches were too irresistible, the voice was too tempting. You were happy to be with him, happy that not only this night bounded you together, but even the past of your family. Maybe it was fate, you thought proudly.

You said to him your name and he repeated it, as if savouring each consonant and vowel and the way they supplemented each other. For sure your name had never seemed to you so beautiful as in the moment it fell from Alastor's lips.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl, hm?”

You chuckled at the compliment. When you looked up at the man again the room seemed lighter. It wasn’t the sunrise, was it? But the worried look Alastor cast at the window and the greyish light filling the room told you otherwise.

“I'm very sorry to leave, dearest.” He murmured and sat up. You followed him. The singing of the earliest morning birds reached your hearing. Alastor snapped his fingers, the clothes in perfect condition appeared on him, as well as your silk nightgown. All the traces of passionate night had dissolved, only the love bites and scratches of his claws were still on you. You even felt his seed still filling you, though the stains on the sheets had disappeared.

“Don't you say goodbye,” You frowned. The tears of regret filled your eyes.

Alastor turned to you with a surprised smile,

“I'm not saying goodbye to you,” Alastor said your name and looked all over you. His smile he never dropped for this night turned sad. The crimson eyes looked softly in yours. He cupped your cheek, his thumb wiped away the tear falling from the corner of your eye, “We'll meet again, darling.”

The kiss he gave you was heavenly and bittersweet. His lips brushed against yours gingerly, as if it was the first time and he wasn't sure you would turn away. You bit on his lower lip, you were angry with him leaving you and with the morning taking him away from you. Your tongue slipped into his mouth to start a slow last dance with him. You collected the quiet moans he gave you, buried your hands in his so soft hair. But Alastor also wasn't ready to let go. He tried to remember all your curves with his hands that were running all over your body now. He swallowed the noises escaping your mouth.

He parted his lips from yours, palms cupped your face gently. And then his devilish smirk returned to him. The eyes gleamed with danger under the first sunbeams falling on his face, colouring his eyes with brighter and deeper hue of red. His toothy smile and passionate gaze gave bravery to you, and you smiled back as he said,

“See you in hell, love.”

When he dissolved through the shadows, the cathedral radio on your dresser switched on by itself. A jazz yet melancholic melody filled the room. The rhythm was the same as of your heart, the same rhythm Alastor started in you, every time giving you a kiss.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

author's note: can you believe that i'm writing again???? somehow to post again feels even scarier than when i posted my first work haha

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x you #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut

329 notes · View notes

written-in-flowers · 6 months ago

Text

His Student: Demon!Yeosang x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubus!Yeosang x Fem!Human!Reader | side pairing: demonline x reader

Word Count: 11k

Genre: smut (lots), angst MINORS DNI

Summary: YN's animosity with Yeosang reaches a head after a cruel prank. Will the teacher be taught new things by his insolent student?

Tags: enemies to FWB, master/salve dynamic, enslavement, mentions of domestic abuse, sex fighting, sex wrestling, degradation, name calling, nipple play, breast play, breast slapping, spanking, humiliation, light cock and ball pain, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, oral sex, rough oral sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, slight blood play, tickling, tickling feet, self-lubrication, tit fucking, thigh fucking, exhibitionism, voyeurism, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, gangbang, cream pie (massive), belly bulging (slight), hate fucking, fight fucking,

@pirateeznet

Previously on Pretty Pet | > Next

***

Sunrises. Chittering birds. The warmth of a lover. The smell of a hot breakfast or dark coffee. There were many things you’d rather wake up to aside from the pallid, stern face of your handler, Yeosang. Blinking your eyes open, you let out a soft groan seeing him on the side of the bed. You wondered how long the weirdo had been watching you, since he said nothing to you. It unnerved you. You rolled on your side to turn your back on him. Could he not see you're recovering from San?

Two months of living with your new masters was exhausting, if nothing else. Being San’s housewife proved more difficult than expected. Lots of travels into the city, buying ingredients for dinners you don't make, having clothes he tore apart mended, and pretending to tidy up a house that is already clean was a lot. Hongjoong remained undecided about his “schedule”, so it changed regularly: you’d either be enduring sex training by him or one of the servants, sitting in a cage with kitten ears waiting for him, or whatever he felt like assigning for the day. Interchange that with lessons with Yeosang, who was not the most understanding or gentle of teachers. He was critical, bossy, and demanding. If you missed a note, he made you play the piece again. If your voice cracked on a high pitch, he rolled his eyes and told you to sing again. According to him, musical talents should come easily to someone, and you kept proving him wrong.

“You’ve been in bed long enough,” you heard him say. “Time to get up. You’re going to miss your lessons.”

You’d never, ever, ever tell anyone how much you’d enjoyed taunting him that first day. Seeing the strict, austere demon crumble in your hand gave you a sense of triumph. It felt good getting back at him in the best way.

“Boo-hoo,” you grumbled into your pillow. The toll the previous night took on your body showed in your sore muscles. Thankfully, the creams helped with the tender areas. “I’m sick.”

“You’re not sick.”

“Yes I am,” you gave several coughs, “See?”

“You can’t get sick in Hell, idiot,” he scolded. “You’re already dead. You only get sick if someone curses you with pestilence, which you’re tempting me with if you don’t get up right now.”

“Do it, Demon Boy,” you challenged. “Then you can tell Master Seonghwa why he can’t have sex with me tonight.”

Brown eyes rimmed with crimson glared at you. For a second, you saw him considering it before his loyalty to Seonghwa won over.

“You were permitted to miss breakfast with Master Seonghwa, but you aren’t missing your lessons. The Masters are at work, Jongho is on his way to start your morning routine, and I have to prepare us for the day. Get up.”

“What if I don’t?” you shot at him.

“I’ll have Mingi throw cold water on you and drag you out of that bed,” he threatened. “Then, you can walk around cold, naked and wet.”

“Bet you’d love that, huh?”

He didn’t answer you, but instead turned on his heel and left. Rolling onto your back again, you soaked yourself in San’s bed. The youngest brother worked you particularly hard the previous night. He’d gotten worked up from his day at the arena, so in usual fashion, he came home half naked and harder than a rock. It started in the living room, where he tore at your dress and panties before taking you in the hallway towards the bedroom. Heated passion drove the both of you last night. You simply couldn't get enough of one another. You knew you'd have a similar night with Seonghwa, if he wished.

“Morning, sunshine!” Jongho poofed into existence as you slipped off the bed, holding the thin chemise he always put over you. “How’re you feeling? I heard Master San was pretty wild last night.”

“It was nothing unexpected,” you answered, sliding on the chemise. “That cream you made helped with the bruises.”

“Master San can get a bit rough when he’s in the heat of things,” he said, “So I knew you’d need it. I’ll bring you some tea while you’re bathing.”

“Thanks, Jongho.”

He let you walk into the bathroom alone while he disappeared to the kitchen. It took several minutes of convincing and reassuring your handlers that you can bathe yourself. You told them you weren’t a baby. Not that you hadn’t minded the extra-close attention, but the bathtub seemed the only place nobody disturbed you. Sliding into the water, you added a few drops of bath bubbles and watched them form in your hands. The calming scents wafted up from the surface, which you inhaled deeply. Bath time was always the best time. Wiping the cloth over your skin, you let yourself soak in the relaxing warmth.

You’d grown to enjoy your life in the Black Keep. It was extremely more preferable than the House of Kisses. During San’s days, walking through the streets in your casual dresses and heels, you’d pass the brothel district to see the other slaves. You pitied their situation, even if Mingi insisted they deserved and chose this fate. He didn’t understand the reality of the circles. It’d been one of the realizations you made about the high-borns: they don’t visit the circles. Those places are for the damned to endure, not the demons. The farthest they’d gone, you’ve assumed, was to their different workplaces. You’d explained to Mingi that a life of servitude was more appealing than suffering a brutal punishment. Yes, they lived in poverty, subjected to vile sexual acts every night, and abused by their “owners”, but better than the circles. Much better. You in particular were especially lucky.

“Fucking pet…”

She’d been a skinny, unwashed thing. You’d walked back through the district from the merchants’ street when you came across her. Her body wrapped in a sheet of muslin fabric, the young woman stood outside a brothel peddling herself to passersby. You knew from experience that being put out was a form of punishment. They’d work, eat and sleep outside the brothel rather than in the comfort of the inside. She’d seen your fancy dress and lace collar, and glared at you. You couldn’t help glaring back. It’s not as if you asked to become their pet. It was fate. You don’t even know if they bought you legally. San only slit Rufus’s throat and they took you as theirs.

“Are you planning on marinating in there like a chicken or are you going to get out? We’re on a schedule that you’re already late for.”

Where you’d expected Jongho, you received Yeosang instead. You huffed in annoyance, “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, preparing for the lesson? You know, tuning the piano or the cello or finding the right books to put my nose into?”

“I already did,” he said stone-faced. He walked over to the shelf of toiletries and towels, grabbing one of them for you. “Sorry that I don’t dawdle. Unlike you, I understand schedules and adhere to them.”

“It’s not the end of the world if I don’t show up on time.”

He came to the tub, extending the towel to embrace you. “Out. Now.”

You grumbled, standing from the comforting water into the cold air. He wrapped you in the towel, and began drying your body. “I can dry myself, you know.”

“I do,” he said, starting at your feet and working to your knees, then your hips. “But I have a job to do and I do it.”

As he dried you, you noticed he caressed certain spots. At first, you thought he was being careful with the areas San spanked in his heated moment. Yet, you couldn’t help seeing the heavy lidded eyes and longing stares. You rolled your eyes. He lingered over marks San left on parts of your body. Absent-mindedly, he traced the light bruising he found with delicate fingers regardless of location. His cold digits left goosebumps on your skin.

“I thought we were on a tight schedule, Yeosang,” you interrupted his admiration.

He coughed awkwardly, “Yes, we are.”

He hurriedly dried the rest of you, put you in your chemise again, then took you to your dressing room. Wooyoung stood there waiting with a Seonghwa-approved dress: a wrap-around pale pink dress with flowers painted onto the hems. Your hair done into a braid, he tied a matching ribbon to the end of it. In the mirror, you saw the angelic, innocent virgin Seonghwa wanted. You also spotted Yeosang looking at you in the mirror. The same lust-filled stare gazed over your body, no doubt undressing you piece-by-piece again. You ignored him, and walked out of the room first.

“Morning, Mingi,” you said to your bodyguard who stood outside your doors.

“Morning, YN,” he replied, nodding as you passed by him. “Have fun last night?”

“Loads,” you grinned. “Have fun listening to it?”

“You know I did.” You sensed him watching the ends of your dress swishing in each stride, and stifled a laugh. “You’re a demon’s weakness, you know that?”

“It’s becoming more obvious by the day.”

Yeosang came into step with you, then walked ahead. You shook your head at him. Seeing his straight strides, his proper posture and head tilt, Yeosang showed his superiority even while walking. Even with his status as a “servant”, he thought himself above everyone around him. Mingi claimed they are cousins, sons of Satan, the Prince of Wrath. It explained Yeosang’s quickness of anger, even if subdued by his sophisticated manner. If he is so important, why was he content with servitude and not having his own lands?

“You’re a son of Satan, right?” you asked him from behind.

“A grandson.”

“Then how come you don’t have your own lands like The Masters?”

“I’m not part of the direct bloodline,” he said stiffly. “I am a son-of-son. Only those with direct relation get the finer things.”

“That still makes you his blood though. You’re his grandson.”

“And not directly from him. Direct bloodline implies it is someone right after him like Master Seonghwa, Asmodeus’s son from the 18th generation.”

“18th?”

“Those demons born between 1701 to 1800 obviously,” he said over his shoulder. “We won’t be covering the 18th generation for a while. We're still covering the 12th generation.”

“The medieval period, I know.”

“The High Middle Ages, YN.”

“Well, what generation are you, Mr. Know-It-All?”

“20th,” he said. “I was born in 1904. My mother was a demon of wrath and my father, Satan, took a liking to her. She was his mistress for many years. Same for Mingi’s mother. The Princes don’t take ‘wives’, if you couldn’t tell on your own.”

“What generations are Masters Hongjoong and San?”

“Master Seonghwa is from the 18th generation as well; he was born in 1754, while Master Hongjoong was born in 1755,” he said. “Master San is the youngest, being born in 1910.”

“I guess I’d be a 20th generation, if I was a demon?”

“Yes.”

“Which would make you older than me?”

“Psh, I’m much, much older than you, but that doesn’t seem to matter to you. You’re generally disagreeable and insolent to anyone regardless of age.”

“No, Yeosang, I’m only disagreeable to you.”

He opened the doors to Seonghwa’s apartment without retort. You liked shutting him up even if briefly. Mingi stayed by the doors while you followed Yeosang into the music room. You’d missed the cello lesson according to the clock on the wall, so he took you over to the piano next. Sitting beside him on the bench, you watched him open the music book on the stand for you to read.

“Let’s start with Chopin today,” he said, turning the page to one of the compositions. “He truly is one of the greats. Small children are able to play this, so let’s see just how much better a seven-year-old would be compared to your mediocrity.”

You wanted to kick him under the bench. It made you want to prove him wrong. You paid close attention to each note he played and repeated them back. He kept a distasteful expression every time you matched his notes. You remembered bits and pieces from those piano lessons your mother’s friend gave you. Mama hoped you’d become a famous musician one day; she said you had the talent if you practiced hard enough. Eight-year-old YN wanted to make her happy, and playing the piano and singing did that. That is, until He broke the small electric piano she’d saved up for your birthday.

‘Nobody wants to listen to that shit!’ he’d shout, kicking it aside before sitting down.

You never played again.

“Well, I suppose you aren’t entirely useless after all,” Yeosang said when the lesson ended. You’d played the song perfectly, and you knew it bothered him. “Master Seonghwa will be pleased when he hears you after dinner. Try to remember it between now and then.”

He stood up from the bench, and you stayed behind. You heard him gathering books in the next room, but you let your fingers trace the black keys. A melody came to you in particular. ‘Johnny Angel, Johnny Angel, Johnny Angel…You’re an angel to me.’ She always sang while she cleaned, even if under her breath. Her voice became your welcoming jingle. It was how you knew she was home. You'd learned how to play it by listening to the tune enough and working on it secretly in your room. Her face had lit up when you played it for her on her birthday.

You missed her smile.

“What song is that?” Yeosang’s voice cut through your memory. It irritated you. Are you not allowed even a few minutes to yourself? “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a song from home,” you answered. “You wouldn’t care.”

‘You’ve got natural born talent, baby girl.’

“Ugh, you humans are so sentimental. It’s-”

“-Fuck you, demon-boy,” you snapped over your shoulder, fingers slamming down the keys in emphasis. “Not everyone had parents who didn’t give a shit about them.”

“I’d rather have no parents than one who smacked me around,” he remarked. “Come on, Master Seonghwa will be here soon and he’ll be cross if he sees you all weepy like that.”

You heard him leave, and anger boiled in your veins. It angered you because he was right. You would’ve rather not had a father than the one you lived with.

“YN!”

Leaving the bench, you walked through the apartment to the dining room. They’d already put down the fine china and utensils for lunch. You pushed your father from your head as you sat down. Putting the cloth napkin on your lap, you wondered what you’d be having for lunch. Mama used to make peanut butter and jelly, with fruit and juice on the side. She’d put a cookie and a note inside for you. She loved you, and you treated her so terribly. You remembered purposefully leaving the bag in your locker so your friends didn’t ridicule you. Having loving parents amongst your friends was embarrassing, even though now you wished you hadn’t cared.

“YN? Yeosang?”

Yunho appeared in a puff of smoke, in his usual servant attire. “Morning, Yunho,” you said politely.

“Sir,” Yeosang bowed. “What can I help you with?”

“I’ve come to inform YN that Master Seonghwa won’t be coming home for lunch,” he said. “He has a lunch meeting with his superiors, so he can’t stop by. You’ll be dining alone today. He sends his deepest apologies and hopes you enjoy lunch.”

“That’s fine,” you said. “I understand. Thank you, Yunho.”

He nodded, disappearing once again. You sighed softly to yourself. Finally, a moment of peace. When the servant brought the first course, you thought you might scream.

‘Sorry, Kitten. I hope you enjoy your day. I’ll see you tonight.’

The pink post-it note was attached to the tray cover. Inside, you found apple slices and a cup of caramel sauce. Mama added caramel because she knew how much you liked it with the apples. It was cruel. It was a sick joke. Seonghwa must have read your mind or learned or guessed and thought it’d be funny to taunt you. To spite your master, you ate them. He likely expected you to storm out and not eat for the day. You'd prove him wrong. You'd show him. You can be strong. You've been strong and tough your whole life.

Main course hurt equally: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with barbecue chips. Your favorite brand specifically. Tears blurred your vision, but you held them back. You could feel Yeosang a few feet away; you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You ate the sandwich with a dry mouth.

“You must be thirsty,” said Yeosang. “Here.”

A juice box. The cartoon apple beamed at you delightfully, the brand name over their head and another apple in their hands. Yeosang stuck the tiny plastic straw in the box for you and put it where your wine glass usually sat. It became apparent whose idea this had been.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

He only laughed, walking away and back to his corner. You drank it anyway. It reminded you of the time fourteen-year-old YN brought lunch on her first day of high school. The kids, dressed in the popular fashion of the time, laughed when they saw the ham and cheese sandwich and loving note. You’d never felt more embarrassed than that moment. Was that when you stopped loving her? Or was it when she called you ‘sugar bear’ in front of your friends? Or when she wore a t-shirt with your face on it for your birthday? Your throat clogged up with sadness, and you stopped eating. She loved you and you were embarrassed by her.

Dessert? Chocolate chip cookies. Her chocolate chip cookies. You knew by the texture and misshapen outlines. In a fit of rage, you grabbed the plate and tossed it across the table. The expensive plate bounced off the edge and shattered on the wooden floors. You glared at Yeosang, who’d gotten a kick out of your reaction.

“What’s the matter, YN? You don’t like cookies?”

The juice box in hand, you hurled it at him. The distance was quite impressive, and the stain it’d leave pleased you. Yeosang gave you a shocked expression that turned sour quickly. You threw your napkin onto the ground and stormed towards the doors. They slammed closed the second you reached the threshold. They might have hit you if you’d taken another step.

“Where do you think you’re going, slut?” Yeosang growled, fire in his voice.

Anger normally burns like hot coals in one's belly. It scorches everything in its path through the blinding red rage. Yet, that rarely happened to you. Your rage stung. A real, hateful, borderline murderous rage pinched your nerves, and flowed through your chest like a bad heartburn. A biting pain started in your chest and rushed to your hands and your feet. This wrath never daunted your anger. It seemed to add it.

“Away from you!”

The doors suddenly burst back open again, wood cracking the edges and a door knob flying off. You breathed deeply, fighting back the caustic acid in your throat. You charged through to the front doors, pushing them open with force. The sudden burst startled a quiet Mingi, who sprung into action right away.

“YN, what’s going on?”

You didn’t answer him. Immediately, the Black Keep felt suffocating. The elegant white walls and carpeted floors smothered any air in your body. The sun glowing through the tall windows felt hotter on your skin. For the first time since you arrived, you resented this stupid house. This pretentious, obnoxiously wealthy home for horny demons. It sickened you. Mingi’s deep voice called after you, echoing in the high ceilings, but you kept moving. You never explored the mansion yourself because you’re so confined to your “schedules”. Fuck schedules. Fuck rules. Fuck everything. Fuck your snobby, self-serving bastard masters.

You found your way outside after several turns and staircases. Glass doors led to a grand staircase down into the vast gardens of the Black Keep. Outside, you finally found a refuge to make your own. The faint sweet scent of flowers and fresh air filled your lungs and cooled your hot skin. Everything felt electric. A growl came through your throat that you didn’t think possible. In the seclusion of a maze, the scathing pains cooled down with each breath. Hot tears finally spilled from your eyes. You wished they’d killed you that night or sent you back to your brothel. That way you wouldn’t be wishing to see her again.

Finally, you found yourself in an enclosed space. Gravel covered the walkway in and around the fountain and benches. The fountain, you saw, was three tiers of water and flowers spiraling and blooming from the top. Flowers in various shades of pink and white grew from the green leaves and vines. You plopped down on one of the benches and stared at it. Briefly, you thought about her again. She loved flowers. She claimed your father once liked them too; he owned a florist shop in town, but you found that hard to swallow. Flowers are delicate; he was anything but that. Your masters are exactly the same. They hide behind their pretty belongings and silly aesthetics. They dazzled you with good sex and pretty things to pacify you. Just like your bosses. Just like every other man in your life.

But you turned their games back on them. You used them like how they used you. You stepped on them to reach the top. You’d been a college drop-out with no references or experience in anything. Jobs weren’t hard to find, but good paying ones were. A pretty girl working in an office full of men, you knew what you had to do. You destroyed long-standing careers, marriages, familial relationships and friendships to get what you wanted. No man or woman could say no to you. Your beauty rendered them powerless. A flash of a smile, a touch of a hand and a suggestion pulled them into you like fish on hooks. You heard the whispers around the office. You knew what people said behind your back.

“YN’s a maneater.”

“She’s a snake in the grass.”

“A viper with pretty teeth.”

“Who exactly do you think you are?” Yeosang came into the space, and you didn’t look at him. “Hello? Answer me, slut.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You lost that-”

“-I said leave me alone, slave,” you let the insult drip from your voice.

“You don’t get to be alone anymore. You lost that-”

“-And I’m taking it back!” You fisted a few pebbles from the ground and launched them at his shiny, black shoes. “Go away! Now!”

Yeosang growled deep in his chest and charged at you. The moment he gripped your wrist, you slammed your fist into the center of his face. Your knuckles burned, but it felt worth it to see his nose bleed. The two of you scowled and snarled at one another. Like two animals in a cage, you clashed at once. Yeosang punched your cheek hard, bringing on a stinging you’d grown used to right away. You wrestled him to the ground, something you didn’t know how to do but did it anyway. Dirt and gravel shifted as the two of you slapped, punched and kicked one another. You saw the red in Yeosang’s eyes fill them completely, dark and angry as he bared sharp fangs. The brief second let you slam your fist into his jaw.

His body felt hard and hot against yours even under all the layers. You could tell he had a similar build to Mingi, albeit smaller and shorter. Grabbing at his arms, the hard muscles flexed under your hands. When your body collided with his, you took in the slight, strong frame. He'd be fuckable if you didn't hate him. The two of you paused for a moment, both of you panting heavily and bleeding. You stared up into his face, seeing his wide eyes and soft lips. He gazed down your own face as if really taking you in. Then Yeosang ripped the ties keeping your dress closed.

“Fucking slum slut,” he grunted through his teeth, tearing the fabric with his sharp nails, “You think you have power here? You think you’re something special? Think again.”

“Like you’re any better!” you hit his kidney area, and rolled him over. You tore at his clean, white shirt. The buttons popped off when you opened it to reveal his smooth, chiseled chest and abdomen. Grinding your hips, you pinched and rubbed his nipples. “Look at you,” you growled, rolling his nipples while moving your hips, “You’re just as slutty as me. All of you are.”

“Fuck you!”

He slashed at your cheek and pushed you off him. Falling onto your back, you knelt upright as he went for you. His body flung in reverse, he pushed you onto your back and grabbed at your panties. You kicked your legs and bucked your hips as the arousal built up in your lower region. The sound of tearing fabric, and the cool air brushing your sex made it clear. He'd torn them off. You grabbed at his black hair, pulling at it while he resisted. Burying his face in your crotch, he wildly licked and sucked your clit. You didn’t dare let out the noises in your throat. His tongue slipped and slid over your hard clit. Two could play that game. Roughly removing his belt and unzipping him, you spat on his semi-hardon and stuck it in your mouth. The two of you laid on your sides, each one trying to coax a single moan from the other and resisting.

“Fucking whore,” he seethed, rapidly rubbing your clit, “You never say no to dick, do you?”

You nearly ripped off his pants when you broke out of his grip. Dick hard and red, it pulsed in your hand as you grabbed his balls underneath. “And you don’t say no to my mouth,” you shot back, spitting on him more and wetting his delicious cock. “You act like you’re better than me, but I see how you look at me. You want to fuck the shit out of me every minute of the day.” You tugged at his ballsack, earning a loud hiss, “My pussy dripping in your mouth…My ass gripping your tiny cock.”

“It’s not tiny!”

It really wasn’t, but you’d never tell him that. He rolled you onto the ground, straddling your hips and roughly tugging on your bra. Your tits filling his hands, he squeezed them as he placed harsh kisses on your neck. His dick, throbbing and wet, pressed right to your sex. You reached down to him, and continued stroking him while he bit and sucked your nipples. Heavy breathing, grunting and groaning came between you. You hungered for him. You hated that your body betrayed you so easily; it gave him a power you never gave up to anyone. His expert tongue teased the tips of your nipples, sucking the pebbles until they grew harder. His large cock leaking into your hand, so close to your sex, you thought you might go insane with need.

You shoved him off you and started humping him. Focusing on your pussy rubbing the head, you smirked in pleasure at his whimpering. Yet, he refused to show any arousal. Yeosang kept squeezing your tits, which sent you into a new whirl of pleasure.

“Slut,” he slapped your breast hard, “Slut, slut, slut.”

He emphasized each word with a slap to your tits, which had you pinning down his knees. You saw his dick standing straight up, and you smacked it hard. It wagged in the air, and you heard Yeosang give a painful hiss.

“Slave, slave, slave,” you mocked him, slapping his dick and balls. You knew he liked it by how he grew even harder. “You’re a bigger whore than me. Each of you,” you lifted his dick to slap his testicles and make him jerk. “All of you are a bunch of whores. I only have to flash you and you all drool like fucking dogs.” You stroked him while smacking his balls, the combination of pleasure and pain making him leak in your hand.

“Don’t make me laugh!”

He grabbed your hair and pulled you over again. His dick slipped into your throat, choking your airway with his girth. “We only have to touch you a little bit, and you get soaked! Look at you now,” he shoved himself in and out of your mouth, “Taking my dick like a champ as your little cunt gets wet for me. You slum sluts love cock. You crave dick all day.”

You started sucking him earnestly, humming around him in your throat and grabbing his pert ass cheeks. Yeosang groaned when you forced a finger into his asshole, the move making him fuck your throat faster. Snug walls sucked your finger further inside him, pulsing at this new intrusion. You felt his hole growing wetter, but not with what you expected. What appeared to be a thin, clear cum worked as a lube. Self-lubricating. You never found anything hotter. Yeosang grew louder, moaning against your pussy and pushing into your throat.

“Going to make you my cum dump,” he said, eyes closed, “I’m going to make you swallow my whole load. You’d fucking love that.”

Sinking two fingers into you, you grabbed his arm and pushed him onto the ground. You continued sucking him off, straddling his head, and forcing his knees apart. Yeosang groaned and panted loudly as you fingered and sucked him. He hooked his arms around your thighs, and pulled your pussy onto his mouth. Neither of you spat any more insults. You’d make Yeosang cum like that whore he truly is. You’d get one over on him with your throat and fingers. Reaching deep inside, you found the spongy parts of his prostate. He moaned loudly on your clit, flicking the sensitive nub and sucking on it obscenely. His walls tightened around your fingers, and you matched your fingers' pace with your mouth. You grinded against his tongue, whimpering when it slipped inside you. He slapped your ass much harder than San ever could. You dug your nails into the fleshy part of his inner thigh before dragging them down. He bit the inside of your thigh. You smacked his balls hard. A primal hunger came out of each of you. Your body wished to give in, but your mind didn't let you. You tasted him leaking into your mouth, which you used to spit into your hand and shove back into his ass.

“Too bad I don’t have a dildo to fill this pretty hole,” you taunted him, “Whores like being fucked in their ass.”

“You would know,” he said, mouth full of pussy. He grabbed your hair, holding you in place as he pushed up into your mouth. “You’d fucking know, wouldn’t you, bitch?”

You kept his legs open as you fingered him faster, spit making it easier to slide in and out. He was practically riding your hand after a time, and you started riding his long tongue. You wouldn’t cum first, even if the sensation started building behind your clit. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Cum for me, bitch,” he smacked your ass with both hands, “Cum like the fucking whore you are.”

“You first, asshole,” you used your hand to smack his balls while you throated him again.

His tongue reached up to your g-spot, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head. You heard his moans grow louder, much like when you’d given him the handjob. The slick sounds of his wet cock and hole being used nearly sent you over the edge. The moment you taste thick salty cum, you begin sucking him harder and fingering him deeper. Once your thighs trembled, Yeosang kept the same pace and forced you to his face. It was too close to tell, but you both came. His cock stifled your feral groans and your pussy muffled his high moans. You hated to admit he tasted so damn good. You stroked and sucked each drop, loving the slightly sweet taste in the process.

When you both finally came down, you moved away from him and wiped your mouth and fingers on the end of his coat. He did the same with your dress, the wetness clear against the cotton fabric.

“Just couldn’t get through lunch without some dick, huh?” he spat with a smirk. “You slum sluts are unbelievable.”

“You didn’t complain when I was finger fucking your ass.”

“And you didn’t when I came down your throat. Cock-hungry, cum-eating skank.”

“Not as bad as being a desperate, small-dicked prick.”

He spat in your direction, and stood up. “Get cleaned up and come to the library. We’re not done with your lessons today.”

You didn’t dare flop down into the ground. On jelly-legs, you used the fountain water to clean your hands and mouth before following him through the garden. Neither of you said anything on the way back to the library. Mingi spotted your limping and torn dress, and glared at Yeosang.

“What did you do?” he said, hands clenching at his sides. “The Masters will whip you for this.”

“I didn’t put it in her,” Yeosang said, walking past him without stopping. “I know her cunt is theirs even though it should be everyone’s with how horny she is all the time.”

Mingi’s glare diminished when he saw you. Removing his jacket, he put it over your shoulders and buttoned it to cover your body. “Are you okay?” he touched your tender cheek, pulling away when you winced. “They’ll put him on the whipping post for this.”

“I’m fine, Mingi,” you assured him. “It was just a bit…rough, that’s all.” He tried hiding the intrigue in his eyes, but you caught it and stepped closer to him. “You know I like things a bit rough,” you said in a whisper, “Especially rough enough to make me cry.”

“I should’ve gone with you then,” he said, wiping underneath your lip. “I’d give you something to really cry about.”

“Sounds like fun.”

You brushed yourself against his crotch as you turned in his arms and walked into the room. They make it so easy. It was amusing. Finding Yeosang in the library, you saw he’d pulled out several leather books. By their worn out spines and the corners, you guessed they must be several centuries old. The one scroll he’d taken out seemed delicate and frail as he carefully unrolled it on the table.

“Lose the jacket,” Yeosang ordered, “If you insist on acting like a whore, Master Seonghwa should see it when he returns home.”

Rather than argue, you removed the jacket.

And the dress.

And your bra.

In nothing but your heels, you sat in front of him and took one of the copies on the table. “What’s first in the curriculum?” you asked, pretending as if you sitting naked was entirely normal.

“Oh, so you do know words with more than two syllables,” he said, acting surprised. “Look at you, little scholar.” He took his own copy of a book titled ‘Literature of the Kings: A Collection of the Middle Ages'. “We’ll start today with writings from the high middle ages. Master Seonghwa likes to talk about them, so try and keep up. Maybe you'll actually remember the time period.”

“The middle ages are all the same to me.”

While you both went over the first collection of old writing, you knew Yeosang kept looking at your body. You liked the attention and obvious struggle he faced. As he told you about something called The Cranberry Tales or whatever, you stretched to show off your chest to him. He’d finished with you in the garden, but here he was struggling to focus on his lesson plan. You wanted him to admit he was hornier than you and his masters combined. The men you used in the previous life liked to think themselves superior to everyone; they acted like the titans in their fields. You knocked them down a few notches with your pussy. It felt particularly good with men who acted above you, the secretary or office manager. Once you sat on them, they crumbled like broken cookies.

Yeosang made it through the literature lesson, and you moved to History and Geography of Inferno. The map on the table detailed the various circles, inner and outer rims. Each part in different colors, it depicted which territory belonged to which prince. You'd seen the map before, since he brought it out every lesson. Seonghwa and Yeosang believed if you lived in Hell, you should know its lands. You decided to stand on his side of the table, hands on the edge as you moved in front of him.

“Where are we on here?” you asked, rolling your hips into his groin casually.

“In Prince Asmodeus’s domain, as I've told you before, the Lands of Depravity,” he pushed right back into you, arms going through yours to point to the light red space on the map. One hand casually grabbing your breast, he continued, “Everything from this end of the circle to this end is his. The whirling winds where you came from are on this side away from the main city. I understand why you were put there now…” he pressed his lips to your ear as he pinched your nipple, “You just had dick and now you want more. I guess you like my ‘tiny dick’.”

“I don’t know what you mean. You’re the one pushing your dick into my ass.”

“Because you make it so readily available to me.”

“Like you wouldn’t take it if I didn’t dangle it in front of you like a dog wanting a treat.”

“I’d fuck you like the bitch you are.”

“The only bitch is you.”

You squeaked when a hand smacked across your ass again. He went back to explaining the areas of the map, the others areas of Hell and which families owned them. The Rivers of Wrath belonged to Satan's clan, while the long mountain area called The Golden Range was Prince Mammon's domain. Prince Belphegor saw over the Forest of Agony above the seventh circle; Prince Beelzebub, Prince of Gluttony, owned the vast, fruitful food resource of Hell called The Meadow. Anyone related to Prince Leviathan lived in the cold, stormy seaside Port Envy. Every prince had an heir, someone who watched over their land for them. Some princes had more offspring than others. Yeosang mentioned Prince Belphegor having the least amount, since children do not interest him. Asmodeus had the most, understandably. He told you one of the biggest rules in Hell:

"You don't enter another prince's territory without permission."

When he demanded you repeat the information back to him, he cupped both your breasts and squeezed them. It only mildly distracted you. As you described every prince and their heirs, Yeosang nibbled at your neck and slipped his hand between your legs. Your pussy, still wet from the garden, felt sensitive to his touches.

“-And this is our family,” you pointed to the serpents around the thorny rose, “Master Seonghwa is the heir to the land, with Master Hongjoong and Master San right after him-”

“-Yes, I am the heir of this land.”

Yeosang and you jumped apart when Seonghwa stood in the doorway. Removing his tie, his dark eyes glinting with interest. “And the heir wishes to know why his Kitten is naked and grinding into his loyal servant?”

“I was hot,” you said, standing straight and killing the desires inside you.

“Very,” Seonghwa said, eyes gazing up your body. He stopped and gasped when he saw your split bottom lip. “Kitten, what happened?” He went straight to you, cupping your face to see it more closely. “Oh, Kitten…Yeosang, what-Wait, what happened to your face?”

The redness on the bridge of his nose stood out against his porcelain skin, and so did the welt on his cheek. Even though he'd tried fixing himself up, he hadn't done a supreme job.

“Did you two have a fist fight?” he asked him.

“Yes, Master,” Yeosang admitted. “She was being disobedient and having a temper tantrum.”

“After you pulled a mean prank on me at lunch.”

“You humans are so damn sensitive,” he remarked. “It was only a joke. It's not my fault you can’t take a joke.”

“Nobody was laughing but you-”

“-Enough,” Seonghwa intervened, “You two argue like children.” He straightened his jacket as he said, “And you decided to fight? Where? In the dining room?”

“No,” you answered.

“Then who blew the dining room doors?”

“Yeosang!”

“What?! It wasn’t me! It was you!”

“I’m a human. I couldn’t have.”

“You did it somehow!” He snapped. “You slammed them open or pushed them hard to frame me.”

“Shut it,” Seonghwa snapped. “Where did you do it?”

“In the garden,” you said.

“She’d stormed away from me when I told her not to,” Yeosang explained quickly. “I only followed her to bring her back into the house.”

“And instead of bringing her back you decided to hate fuck her again?” he asked, hands on hips. “Yeah, I can smell it on both of you. What did you do?”

“Hit each other,” you answered.

“I mean sex-wise,” he elaborated, “What did you do to one another?” Not getting an immediate response, he said, “Oh, now you’re both suddenly ashamed?”

“I finger fucked him,” you answered, “While I sucked him and slapped his balls.”

“And I…” Yeosang hesitated. “I tongue fucked her pussy and fucked her throat.”

“Oh yeah?” The small descriptions intrigued your master, a smirk spreading on his face. He lifted your chin and examined your other injuries. You winced at the thumb touching your jaw, and he placed a soft kiss on it. “How many times did you both cum?” he asked, licking the caked blood on your broken lip.

“Only once,” you replied, your body warming to his hot tongue.

“A quick one then?” a low rumble came from his chest, and you knew what ran through his mind.

“Yes,” you answered in unison.

He looked between the two of you, then said, “Come with me.”

Nervousness killed the arousal Yeosang started up again. There’d been no specific rules against sex with the other servants. They only said nobody could have vaginal sex with you. Is he punishing you for the door? It was Yeosang, not you. Maybe for fighting him? You can imagine that. Seonghwa likely believed fighting wasn’t lady-like. Reaching Seonghwa’s bedroom, you took in the tall canopy bed with its white floral curtains and white bed covers. The sunlight dimming outside left the room in a golden glow, bringing out the bright colors in the room. Seonghwa removed his jacket, putting it behind a chair he brought closer to the bed.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, taking a seat and relaxing in his chair. On a table beside him, he poured himself a brandy. “And finish what you two started in the library.”

“Sir, really,” Yeosang huffed a laugh, “This isn’t necessary-”

“-Do you both need to be fighting for the sex to happen? Is that your foreplay?”

“It’s not my fault he gets hard berating me all the time,” you said, shooting him a glance. “He’s always calling me names and insulting my intelligence.”

“I’m not saying anything untrue,” he replied. “You’re a cock-starved slum slut. Is that not true?”

“And you’re an uptight, snobby small-dicked bitch boy,” you spat. “That sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Seonghwa laughed, sipping his brandy, “You two really can go at it, huh? Keep going. This is fun.”

“If my dick is so small, how could you gagged on it when I fucked your mouth?” he challenged, stepping to you.

“Psh, you call what you did ‘gagging’? The only thing that made me gag is your gross tasting cum. I wouldn’t eat it even if it was the last edible source in the world.”

“Look who’s talking. Master Seonghwa says your pussy tastes like honey, but I think it tastes like rotten fruit.”

You pushed him, and he pushed back. That sharp feeling in your chest returned, pooling like saliva in your mouth. You swallowed it back even if it hurt. Showing any sign of desire would mean Yeosang won. You wouldn’t let him.

“Slap her,” Seonghwa said, eyes trained on both of you. “You’re going to let a slum slut talk to you like that? She’s a filthy human, and you’re a grandson of Satan. How dare she disrespect you that way.”

Yeosang took his words to heart and smacked you again. “Ooh, that was hard,” Seonghwa laughed, “Kitten, don’t just stand there. Hit him back.”

So you did. Yeosang blocked the hit and slapped you. When he reached for you, you turned him onto his back on the bed. Once more, you tore at Yeosang’s clothes much more harshly this time. The broken buttons made it much easier, and it came off with his coat as well. Yeosang squirmed when you took his nipple between your teeth. As you teased his nipples, he reached down to your own to pinch them hard.

“Come on,” Seonghwa drawled, “You two can do better than nipple stuff. Bite each-Haha, yes! Like that!”

Yeosang sunk his canines into your shoulder, making you yelp in pain as he drew blood. You did the same back, and the taste of his blood stirred your hunger. It tasted like a good rare steak. You supposed demon blood tasted that way. You’d started grinding into Yeosang as you bit across his collarbone. The sting of pain didn’t stop him from pushing you onto your back. He straddled your stomach and started slapping your tits again, using wide swings to add extra pain. You cried out as he did it to them at the same time, enjoying the stings of pain with your arousal. Trying to wriggle out from under him, you undid his pants to pull his cock out again. You held his hands on your tits as you slipped his length between them.

“Oooh a nice tit fuck,” Seonghwa said, “How delightful. You’re not going to give in that easily, are you, Yeosang? I didn’t think the sons of Satan could be so weak.”

“He is weak,” you confirmed, glaring at him as you pumped him with your breasts. “He’s already dripping on my tits. He loves my tits, don't you, Yeosang? Huh? My soft tits and hard nipples?”

“You fucking bitch,” Yeosang growled.

You laughed mockingly at him, and he slapped your face. Still laughing, you grappled with him as he tried getting you onto your front.

“Pin her down,” Seonghwa cheered, “Get her ass in the air.”

“What’s going on here?” a curious voice came from the door. San appeared, fresh from work, and he stopped next to Seonghwa when he saw you and Yeosang on the bed. “Are they wrestling?”

“Hate fucking. Care to watch?”

“Absolutely. I love a good hate fuck.”

Forced onto your front, you tried lifting Yeosang off your back. Laying on your horizontally, he held you down while he began landing hard slaps to your ass. Your kicking and jerking amused the three demons.

“Finger her,” Seonghwa called out, “Make her cum first.”

“Darling, just grab his dick. It’s right there.”

You curved your body as much as possible to reach Yeosang’s hardening cock. Yeosang in return slipped two fingers into your aching pussy. Seonghwa cheered for Yeosang when he spotted the butler listening to his instructions. Yeosang spread your legs further, putting one hand under you and another over you and he fingered your pussy and rubbed your ass hole. Whining and whimpering, you spat on your hand and worked him up and down. You felt him pulse with each stroke. With a hard squeeze of his shaft, the brief pain distracted him enough to lose his grip on you. Sitting on his chest, you spat on his dick and stroked him with both hands. Yeosang’s fingers tickle the tops of your feet until you become ticklish. You kept jerking him off even as you fought the tickling sensation in your feet. He went further up your feet until he reached the center of your sole, which had you kicking to escape them.

“Ticklish much, slut?” Yeosang teased before grabbing both ankles.

He rolled you onto your front, pinning you down with his body and continuing to tickle your feet. Laughing from the tingling feeling, you tried moving your feet from him but when he turned around against you, using the empty space like a chair, it was over. Strong arms wrapped around your legs, he kept tickling your feet and backs of your legs.

“Is it weird that I’m kind of into this?” San asked his brother.

“Hongjoong’s into it, so let that be your answer.”

“Tickling isn’t that weird…”

You eventually kicked a foot out, and scrambled away from Yeosang. On the other side of the bed, you stood ready to tackle him.

“Uh-oh, she got away, Yeosang,” Seonghwa jeered. “Just grab her!”

Yeosang lunged for you, managing to yank you onto the bed by the hair. Bent over, he brought you into the middle by an arm around your thighs. You struggled in his grasp. Your lower half in his lap, Yeosang resumed tickling your feet with one hand while holding your face into the bed with the other. Shimming your hips around, your pussy pressed to his cock easily. Yeosang let out a soft moan when you slipped him between your thighs. Grinding up and down, you fucked Yeosang with your thighs.

“She’s thigh fucking him even in that weird position,” San chuckled. Finally seeing him, you saw he’d pulled up his own chair and drank from a brandy glass. “God, that’s hot.”

The door opened again when you rolled off Yeosang. “Ah, so this is where everyone is!” Hongjoong walked into the room, and saw you and Yeosang on the bed. “Well, well, what is going on here?”

“Fight fuck,” San answered, “Pull up a chair.”

All three men groaned and laughed when you slammed a fist into Yeosang’s face. “Pet can really throw a punch!” Hongjoong laughed, shocked by the blood dripping from Yeosang’s mouth.

“Put him inside you, Darling,” San suggested. “Milk him with that delicious pussy of yours.”

“And he’d love it,” you growled at Yeosang, not hesitating to slide him inside you. Bouncing fast and hard, you pinned him by his shoulders and fucked him. “Who’s the fucking whore now, hm? Who’s the whore now?”

“It’s still you, bitch!”

Yeosang punched you this time. Teeth cutting into your cheek, he used the moment to force you onto your back. Blood tinged your mouth, which you gathered and spat on him. This only angered him more.

“Fuck her, Yeosangie,” Hongjoong called, “Fuck her!”

The three brothers hooted when Yeosang curled you and shoved his dick into you hard. The bed bounced in every thrust. You refrained from moaning in each blissful push. Stars exploded in front of you whenever his dick went particularly deep. You swore the man was drawing out your sanity bit by bit. You clawed at his arms, his hands and back to distract him but he kept on going. The stabs of pain did not stop him at all. Even as blood peeked out of the hard scratches, Yeosang seemed unfazed.

“You can tap out any time, Kitten,” Seonghwa said, “You can give in and let him fuck your pretty holes.”

“N-No,” you grunted, trying to slide out from under Yeosang even if his cock hit your g-spot perfectly. “Oh fuck, no. No, no, no, fuck you, no!”

Sensing your orgasm, Yeosang started pushing deeper. The brothers having a perfect view of Yeosang inside you, they started counting his thrusts.

“Bet she cums in, like, ten more thrusts,” Hongjoong said.

“I bet five,” Seonghwa replied. “She’s already curling her toes, look.”

“Darling, come on, don’t give in that easily. You hold on so well for me in my bed.”

You used all your strength to get Yeosang off you. Once separated from him, putting one arm on his throat, you squeezed his balls as you started sucking him.

“That’s my girl,” San said approvingly. “That’s it. Give him a nice blowjob.”

“Fucking hell, Yeosang! You almost had her!”

“Kang Yeosang,” Seonghwa scolded him, “If you don’t turn that bitch around and get back to fucking her, I’m going to put you in the greenhouse. You remember how stretched your ass hole got when Dennis finished with you, don’t you?”

This threat caused you and Yeosang to roll onto the hard floor. A shock of pain went from your head to your back, with you breaking Yeosang’s fall. Scrambling over you, he took advantage of your hard fall and lifted and spread your legs. Your head stuck against the bed frame, the awkward position nearly choked you. Keeping himself up on his hands, Yeosang fucked you in a reverse position that pleased your audience.

“I bet you she passes out,” Hongjoong tapped San’s arm. “He’s got her in a rough position.”

“Darling, don’t give up,” San encouraged you.

“No, do give up, Darling,” Hongjoong said, “I want to fuck you after Yeosang.”

“Hell no,” said Seonghwa, “It’s my day so I’m fucking the loser first.”

Using Yeosang’s tactic against him, you started tickling Yeosang’s feet. He collapsed right at the first few brushes. To keep your audience happy, you managed to maneuver yourself on Yeosang so they could see you jerk him off with your soaked cunt.

“She’s so fucking wet,” San moaned. You saw the bulges in each of their pants. San palmed his down to focus on you instead of his own pleasure. “How long have they been at this?”

Seonghwa told his brothers what you and Yeosang did in the garden. While he recounted the story, Yeosang knocked your elbows so you fell onto his chest. Locking his legs around yours, he stuck his hand to your pussy and started rubbing your sensitive pussy quickly. You managed to stick him between your thighs again, grinding into him. Both of you grunted and groaned, restraining your needy whimpers as you fucked on the ground. You refused to let him win. Even with your bloody mouth and aching muscles, you fought against him.

“Holy shit, they did that?” Hongjoong laughed. “Sounds to me like they’re both whores. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Neither do I,” said Seonghwa, “But it riles them up. I figured a one-on-one will settle things between them.”

“By how they’re fucking, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Yeosang turned you into your front and stuck himself in your ass. Your sudden scream delighted the three men. “She loves it in her ass,” Hongjoong said, “Give it to her hard, Yeosang.”

“Fuck her ass,” Seonghwa chanted.

The three brothers began chanting as you clawed at the hardwood floors. Pleasure pounded into you in every thrust. When your moans finally broke and became louder, the chanting ended and you heard clapping.

“Make her cum,” Seonghwa said, “Get that slum slut to cum really hard. I want that pussy nice and sloppy for me.”

“Darling, stop being a wimp and fight back!”

“She’s too fucked out to care about fighting-Oh, oh, oh, I think it’s happening!”

You punched at Yeosang’s arms, hoping it might cause him to collapse, but he held strong. Your face pressed to the floor by his hand, you trembled and pounded the floor as you came. You felt humiliated and defeated. Yeosang laughed in triumph. Hongjoong and Seonghwa cheered at your quaking legs and stiff muscles. They encouraged him to keep going, but Yeosang pulled out and stood over you. He kicked you over onto your back, smugness on his blushing face as he put his foot on your chest. His muscles tensed and body rocked back and forth. Thick drops of cum fell right onto your face and neck. This time, you didn’t catch them in your mouth but instead turned your head. You hated how he laughed in the face of your defeat, humiliating you further by cumming all over you.

“Oh, all of a sudden you don’t want cum in your mouth?” Seonghwa asked in disbelief.

“Darling,” San moaned in disappointment, “You were doing so well. What happened?”

“Yeosang’s cock happened, that’s what,” cackled Hongjoong, who stood to unbuckle his pants. “Now, it’s my turn.”

“No, it’s mine,” argued Seonghwa, taking off his shirt. “Like I said, it’s my day with her so I go first.”

“Then I’m going second. San goes last.”

“What? Why me?”

“You’re the youngest.”

“And the biggest,” he argued back.

“Oh give me a break. Don’t use that excuse again.”

“On the bed, bitch.”

Seonghwa took your ankles and Yeosang took your arms. In a single swing, they threw you onto the bed. “Fuck, look at that,” Seonghwa groaned, removing the rest of his clothes and climbing onto the bed, “Her pussy is so damn wet.”

“She’s a whore,” Yeosang said, tapping his dick on your mouth, “They’re always wet.”

“Isn’t that the truth?”

He swiftly slid inside, and immediately began pounding into you. They both laughed at your instant moaning. Hearing you moaning, Seonghwa shook his head and slapped your cheek. “Losers don’t get orgasms,” he said, “They get their slutty hole fucked and pumped with cum. They don’t get to finish.”

“You should’ve considered that before fighting me,” Yeosang said, swiping his dick on your face. “Unless you lost on purpose, which is just pathetic. So, so pathetic.”

When you wiggled, Yeosang grabbed your arms to hold you down. San and Hongjoong appeared to keep your legs spread wide as their older brother quickly finished inside you. You quivered feeling hot cum shoot all over your walls. Being held down made it hard to escape the overstimulation each one brought. Hongjoong and Seonghwa switched places, and he swished his hard tip over your gushing sex. He chuckled when you whined, doing it even more to hear you cry out. He fucked you exactly how you expected, hard and fast. His hips snapped into yours while he rubbed your nipples. You nearly came again until he did first, adding his milky cum to Seonghwa’s load.

“Oh fuck, look at this.”

They all groaned at the cum oozing out of your pussy. “Let’s see how much it gushes when I fill her up,” San said, sticking himself in you next. “I thought for sure you’d win, Darling,” he said, fucking into you hard. “I thought my wife was a winner.”

“Ma-Mas-t-er…”

“Shut up, whore,” Yeosang said, smacking one tit until you cried. “Keep talking and I’ll shut you up myself.”

“She’d probably like that,” said Hongjoong, tweaking your nipple hard. “She’d suck dick all day if we let her.”

“I wouldn’t complain!” Seonghwa whimpered, on the verge of an orgasm. “I’d take her to work with me too. Let her suck me under the desk.”

“We should do that,” Hongjoong said, eyes brightening at the new idea. “It’d make my work day so much more fun.”

The thought set San off. He came in several deep thrusts, bulging your belly like always, and pushed back all the cum that leaked out of you. Yeosang, hard from watching them use you, finally took his turn. Your masters laughed and beckoned him to go faster inside you.

“I’ll pay you fifty-gold if you make her cum again,” Hongjoong told Yeosang.

“Fifty-gold and a weekend off,” added Seonghwa.

“And your choice of a brothel whore,” said San.

Playing with your clit and pounding your sweet spot, you saw stars as you came. Your high-pitched squeals and quaking body amused them, but angered you. Yeosang forced himself as deep as possible as his cum joined the mess already inside you. Your masters finally released you, watching you cry from the overwhelming sensations running through your body. When you moved to close up, they held you apart.

“I want to see it,” Hongjoong said, looking to see their combined fluids seep out of you. “Haha, it’s so full. If she were even half a demon, we might’ve just knocked her up.”

“If only,” said San with a pout. “She’d look so pretty pregnant.”

“I’ve never fucked a pregnant chick, surprisingly.”

"Are you okay, Kitten?” asked Seonghwa, cupping your face and kissing you. “Sensitive? Any pain?”

“Yes.”

“Here, lay back against the pillows.”

“I’ll call Yunho. Yunho!” San called into the room, the butler appearing when summoned.

You hardly paid attention to anything else. You glared at them, “You’re a bunch of whores too. If there’s a House of Kisses, then this is the Palace of Whores.”

They laughed at your frowning face, and Seonghwa cooed. “Don’t be a sore loser,” he said, smiling and kissing you again, “You did well too. You’ll get him next time.”

“If you want,” San came up next to you with a wet cloth, beginning to clean your face, “We can practice together. I’m quite good at fight fucking, I’ve been told.”

“He really is,” agreed Seonghwa.

“I’m more of a spectator.” Hongjoong knelt in front of you, another damp cloth in his hand. He went to touch your sex, and you clammed up, shaking your head. “I’m not going to do anything. We need to clean you, baby.” He gently moved your legs apart and cleaned the sticky mess coming out of you. “We can’t have you walking around dripping like this.”

“Just get some rest, Darling,” San pecked your lips, “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You promise?” you asked softly.

“I promise,” he said, nuzzling your nose gently. “Be a good pet and sleep.”

The last words you heard as you drifted to sleep were Hongjoong’s:

“Dude, what happened to your doors?”

****

Yes, what had happened to the doors? Yeosang wondered about this as the masters converged on you. His body slumped into a nearby chair, sweat sticking to his skin and matting his hair. The grappling and fighting took a lot out of him, leaving his body sore and bruised in places. All the adrenaline in his veins died out after his third orgasm of the day. Surely, he’ll be needing that weekend off. The smell of apples clung to his nostrils even with the sweat and sex in the air. Your fruity fragrance always stuck with him after being around you too long. He wondered which perfume you owned had such potency. It usually wears off after a short amount of time, but yours always stuck around.

“Yeosang,” Master Seonghwa approached him, pouring a brandy for him, “Here. For you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he nodded, mustering energy to grab the glass and sip from it.

“She’s something, huh?” he asked, leaning in his own chair and finishing his brandy. “I’ve never had a human who can take such a pounding like that. They usually give up in the first few minutes.”

“She’s a whore, Master. It’s what she’s made for.”

“Humans are made to be blank slates for the world to fill up as they grow,” he said. He saw his master staring at you intently. Yeosang only saw that stare in one situation: when his mind was turning. “They’re meant to be given choices, leading them one way or another, and they’re given free will to choose. Kitten chose herself each time…”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“What does she smell like to you, Yeosang?”

“Master?”

“When you are near her, what does she smell like?”

“Apples,” he answered, “Apples covered in cinnamon.”

“Are you fond of cinnamon-apples?”

“I do enjoy them on occasion.”

“Hm, interesting.” He poured himself another brandy, “She smells like honey to me.” He smiled softly, “Golden honey spread over fresh, warm bread.”

“I am aware, sir.”

“Hongjoong tells me she smells like strawberry ice cream,” he said. “You know how partial he is to strawberries in general, but he says she’s like the ice cream specifically.”

“Huh,” Yeosang said, leaning in his chair. “That is interesting.”

“San says he smells orange slices.”

“So fruit based scents,” Yeosang concluded. “What does that tell you?”

“Remember when I kissed her?” he said, “Licked her bloody lip and all?”

“I do.” He’d found it a pleasurable sight.

“My throat stung.” The silence that followed the words left many things unsaid. “It stung as if I had acid reflux. At the time, I thought it was something I ate but now…”

“Do you believe otherwise?”

“I do. You tasted her blood. How do you feel?”

Yeosang took a moment to think about it. In the heat of passion, he’d owned the stinging in his throat to his low growls and snarls. He thought it might’ve been the deep breathing drying out his mouth. Yet, as he took a purposeful swallow, he realized it stung slightly. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach might have been his tensed abdomen or another thing entirely.

“The same.”

“Huh…And the doors-”

“-I would never damage your property, sir,” Yeosang interrupted. “Not even in the hottest of rages would I do that.”

“Then who did it?”

“I’m not sure. She might have touched it without realizing and pushed them hard. This house is very old, Master. It is possible.”

Seonghwa chuckled, “Yeosang, you are not so blind.”

“Then what do you believe happened?”

“I think Kitten hasn’t been entirely honest with us,” he said. “I must think about this more.”

Yeosang felt a pit of worry break through him. “Master, what happened between-”

“-Dennis…” the name came from Seonghwa without realizing.

Yeosang’s blood went cold. “What about him?”

“Let’s put her before him,” he suggested. “I’d like to see what happens.”

“What happens? Sir, I don’t believe that is the best idea. Dennis will drain her, then rip her apart. You’ll have lost-”

“-Let me worry about that. You go and enjoy your weekend off. I recommend that brothel in the high street. It’s called Scarlet Silk. They truly have a nice selection there.”

“Master, the greenhouse is meant for disobedient slaves and for the maids,” he said, not letting it go so easily. “YN might be a bit untamed, but she doesn’t deserve such a harsh and cruel end. What happened between me and her was nothing. It was a spat between rivals. I would never truly harm her or wish her to be harmed. I could’ve easily have crushed her if I-”

“-I said I will worry about it, Yeosang,” he said with finality. “Clean yourself up and get some rest. Jongho can see after Kitten tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master.”

Regret tore his insides as he left the room in nothing but a sheet. Walking through the quiet palace, he worried about what he’d just done. He’d played the prank in hopes of heating you up for sex. Yeosang enjoyed the small spats and insults you threw at one another. He knew if you figured that out, he’d never have a peaceful moment. He’d struggled to keep himself together in the library, where you left yourself bare for him. He might have taken you right there if Master Seonghwa had not intervened. The two of you could always have an amicable relationship like you and Jongho.

But, where was the fun in that?

***

Y/N: hmm, interesting, no? We might start learning a few new things about YN now. As always, thanks for reading, and please reblog and like <3

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #kang yeosang #yeosang ateez #yeosang x reader #yeosang x you #yeosang x yn #ateez smut #ateez x reader #yeosang smut #kang yeosang smut

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moonstruckme · 9 months ago

Note

I’d love to see you write James and reader who’ve suffered the ‘never the right time’ trope, and finally, it’s the right time. It’s like so soft and just a moment of peace, like ‘finally, finally, it’s our time’. I have literally no ideas further than that, but I know you’d kill this Mae <3

hope you’re having a lovely day!

Thanks for requesting my love! Also, is that a new theme I see?? It's giving me renaissance vibes, like the clouds are going to part and there'll be an oracle and it'll be you ! I'm so here for it

cw: alcohol

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words

Sirius and Remus keep fighting over who gets to play the music. Sirius more pointedly, tracking Remus down every time he has to change the record, whereas Remus just sneaks over while his boyfriend is occupied to switch it out again. Now Fleetwood Mac’s come on, and James can only assume Lily has finally stationed herself by the record player.

A knock sounds at the door. Someone must have ordered pizza, he thinks. Anyone who goes to these things knows that Sirius always leaves the door unlocked. Being the closest to the door, James answers it.

He thinks he stops breathing when he finds you on the other side, clutching a dissolving paper bag in both hands and nearly wet through.

“Oh.” You look as surprised to see James as he is to see you. Which doesn’t seem strictly fair, because the last time he checked, he spends practically all of his time here and you live far away. Have since you took that cushy job right after school ended. “Hi, James.”

“Hi.” His voice is mystified, tinged with the joy of the smile he can’t repress. “What’re you doing here, sweetheart?”

“Remus invited me.”

James stares at you. You look somehow exactly the same and yet impossibly more beautiful than he remembers. It’s odd seeing you out of your old school uniform, in a very adult-like coat that comes down to your knees and ties primly at the waist. Your hair is slicked straight by the rain, stuck in damp tendrils to your shoulders, and he swears your face has changed, too, a droplet of rainwater curving over a cheekbone he doesn’t remember being as visible when you were younger.

“Um, can I come in?”

“Yes! Yeah.” He steps out of the doorway, and your shoes squelch slightly as you wipe them off on the rug inside the door. James looks around as if for help. He thinks he spots Remus’ head poking out of the kitchen, but then it disappears. “Here, let me take your coat.”

“Thanks.” You undo the tie for yourself, letting James pull it off your arms. “It’s really good to see you.”

“You too.” He’s beaming; he can’t stop. “God, I just can’t believe you’re here. Are you in town for a visit?”

“No, I—” You pause to give him a bemused sort of smile. “Did Remus not tell you? I moved back.”

James feels like his chest has been hollowed out. Like someone’s taken out his heart and put the sun back in its place.

“Really?” It comes out more breath than word. He fumbles for his voice back. “You’re back for good?” You nod, biting down on a smile. “When did you get here?”

“A couple weeks ago,” you say, looking down to step out of your shoes.

“What?” James’ tone is doing nothing to disguise his astonishment. He’s in no state to try and conceal it. “And we’re not hearing from you until now? You’ve only spoken to Remus?” His hurt goes unvoiced: Why didn’t you come find me?

You look sheepish. “I just ran into him at the store yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t want to assume…”

You look like you’re trying to shrink away, but James gives chase, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. The cold of your clothes and hair sinks into him, and you both shiver. He only holds you tighter for it, scrubbing a hand up and down your shoulder blade.

“You should have called,” he says next to your ear. “You know we’ll always want you here, love. We’ve missed you.” I’ve missed you.

“I missed you guys, too,” you reply, squeezing him back. The paper bag you’re holding digs into his spine.

James gives himself a couple more seconds before he releases you, taking the bag and unearthing a bottle of wine.

“Nice of you,” he acknowledges. “Sirius will appreciate it, he loves reds. We should get you warmed up, yeah? Do you want some of this, or I could make you a hot buttered rum?”

You look like you could melt in relief. “A hot drink sounds amazing.”

“Great.” He grins at you, knowing you have to go but unwilling to let you. If you leave his sight now you might very well disappear for another several years. After a second, his better sense wins and he juts a chin towards the stairs. “Go find something to wear. It’s the last door on the left, and the closet across from the bed should have things that’ll fit you.”

James sees your protests in your face before they start spewing from your mouth. “Oh, I shouldn’t—”

“If you go into the kitchen all dripping wet, Remus will only bring you up there himself. Save yourself the time, love. He’d want you to help yourself, trust me.”

You chew your lip, hesitant, but then another shiver takes you, and James gives you a good-natured shove towards the stairs.

“Alright,” you capitulate, going. “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”

“No hurry,” he calls up after you. Then high-tails it for the kitchen.

“I cannot believe you’ve set me up for ambush like this,” he says as the door swings open for him. His two closest friends look up with expressions of equal guilelessness, though Sirius is putting on far more a show of surprise than his boyfriend.

“I had no idea!” He insists while James stalks to the cabinet, helping himself to a mug and the supplies to make your drink. “Moony kept it from me, you know I’d have told you if I knew.”

James glances up at him, then shakes his head, reaching over to flick the kettle on. “No, I don’t believe it. You’ve both been colluding against me.”

“It’s only against you if it’s not good for you,” says Remus. “And I don’t see how y/n being here is all that bad for you.”

“Yeah, I’d have thought you’d be fairly chuffed about it,” Sirius agrees, forgoing the innocent act as smirk curves his lips.

“I am.” James blows out a breath. “I just wasn’t expecting to see her. I didn’t even know she’d moved back.”

Remus shrugs, cracking open the oven to check on something inside. “Well, I think she might have been afraid to seek you out.”

“Why would she be?”

Amber eyes meet James’ with disbelief written all over them. “You know why,” he says softly.

The kettle finishes boiling, and James turns to pour it over the contents of your mug. “Well, I directed her to Sirius’ closet as retribution.”

He hears a gasp behind him. “You prick—”

The door to the kitchen swishes open, and you breeze in wearing one of Sirius’ hoodies.

“Sirius!”

“Hi!” He’s all smiles as he folds you into a hug, glaring sharply at James over your shoulder. “Fuck, haven’t you become stunning? It’s been awhile, gorgeous.”

“It has,” you agree, looking slightly flustered by Sirius’ complimenting. Which, James notes, is an improvement over your school days; you were never able to weather it then. “It’s so good to see you.”

You go to Remus next, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders fondly. “Glad you could come,” he says.

“Thanks for having me.” Your eyes move between the three of them, seeming to note their placement throughout the kitchen. “Sorry, were you all busy talking about something?”

“Actually,” Sirius says, “Remus and I were just canoodling when James interrupted, quite rudely I think. If you’re going to join the party, please take him with you.”

“Alright.” James takes your drink and grabs a cider for himself, nudging you towards the door. “No need to be a dick, just come find us later.”

Sirius winks at you both as James ushers you out, Remus sending him a long-suffering look from by the oven.

“Nice to know some things don’t change,” you laugh, finding a space on the couch for you both.

“Yeah,” James sets your drink down in front of you, “I doubt those two ever will.”

“Thanks. Ooh, this is nice.” You take the clear mug between your hands, lifting it up to admire the liquid inside. “When did Remus get so posh?”

“Well, Sirius lives here now.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen, surprise and maybe a little of something else. “Wow, that’s so lovely for them. Then, is this Sirius’ sweatshirt I’m wearing?”

James chuckles. “You could tell, huh?”

“None of those looked like Remus’ clothes. Are we punishing him for something?”

He raises his own drink to his lips, hiding his smile. They’ve always come especially easily around you. “Perhaps.”

You hum, take a sip from your mug, and hum again. “Shit, this is really good. Thank you.”

The praise settles comfortably in James’ stomach, as warm and mind-fuzzing as if he’s had a gulp of your drink himself. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

This time, he notices your eyes flicker away from his at the endearment. “So,” you say conversationally, “how’s Lily?”

Ouch. James glances behind you to where Lily has pulled a chair over near the record player. She’s sipping from a glass of red wine that’s only a couple of shades darker than her hair, smiling at something Pandora’s saying.

“She’s good,” he says. Then, somewhat abruptly, “We’re not together anymore.”

Your eyes flit to his, something almost like guilt twinging across your features. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say. The caring in your face is nearly too much; James wants to take it between his hands and kiss it all over. “Are you okay?”

He gives you a smile. “Yeah,” he says sincerely. Perhaps with too much feeling, because your eyebrows bunch slightly. “It happened a long time ago. Not long after you left, actually.”

“Oh.” You nod, and James finds himself watching you more carefully than he normally might. He waits for the sense of bliss he’s feeling to find its way into your expression, but you still appear hesitant. “Can I ask if something happened? You just, you were together for so long…”

It’s true. Most people they knew, even Remus and Sirius, thought Lily and James would be married someday. In the end, it just seemed that they’d been together for so long that their relationship had become a routine instead of a choice. They were cohabitors more than partners, and when they were doing everything they could to spend time away from their shared home, Lily had been the only one brave enough to call them both out on it.

“We just wanted different things,” James says. Namely, Lily wanted Mary and James wanted you. Had for too many years.

You make a soft sound. “I suppose that’s how it goes, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So, come on—you’ve had my update, let’s have yours. How did you like your job?”

You pair your shrug with a small smile. “Not very well, honestly. I don’t think I really fit there.” James tsks sorrily, and you shrug again. “It’s just as well. I missed you all too much. I wanted to give it a try there and I did, but I’m glad to be back.”

“Ah, well,” James says. “I suppose that’s how it goes, isn’t it?”

It’s a terrible joke, but you laugh, the sound like water trickling over stone. He feels the smile spread on his face.

“I really have missed you,” he says, earnestness aching in the back of his throat.

A similar sentiment reflects back at him in your eyes. “Same here.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I am, too.”

“Would you want to get coffee tomorrow?” With anyone else the invitation would seem abrupt, but your smile looks something like relief. You’ve both been waiting for this for too long.

“That sounds nice,” you say.

“Great.” James can hear the love in his own voice. It’s probably written all over his face, too. Just as well. “There’s a new cafe by my place that has really good almond croissants, would you want to meet there?”

You nod, not trying to downplay your happiness. His heart swells to see it. “I love almond croissants,” you say.

James remembers. It’s one of the things he’s glad to know about you. There was a small, censured part of him that took satisfaction in knowing those things even when he was with Lily. It’s not something he’s ever been proud of, but a spark of that satisfaction comes back now.

“Perfect,” he replies. Behind you, Remus is letting Sirius pull him out of the kitchen. Remus folds himself into an unoccupied chair, where Sirius happily sprawls across his lap. They’re both pretending not to be watching you. “How’s one?”

“Not soon enough,” you say without hesitation. You take another sip of your drink, miming unconcern, but your eyes are playful. “Ten?”

James feels like his face could split in half. “Ten it is.”

881 notes · View notes

notspiders · 7 months ago

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Liminal Spaces w/ 141

A thought I made with a few friends who fleshed it out more:

Liminal spaces! But you know, 141 are the monsters :P Now, the rule is that as long as you're compliant and not trying to escape, your liminal space is going to be heaven. They'll make sure of that to ensure you don't associate anything negative to their space. Can't have that, hmm?

Each man has their own domain. :)

Price - Suburbia:

Quiet, infinite neighborhood, everything looks the same. There's people but they all seem to act exactly like you'd imagine Stock Images people would act.

You can't really talk with them either. Strange how when you approach one of them, they just disappear in a blink of an eye.

Price would prefer if you act as his loving partner :)

The fridge is always stocked! Beds are warm and cozy. The television plays anything you want.

You also get WIFI. Don't bother messaging anyone (that isn't your husband.)

You can try to 'exit' the neighborhood. There's a car even! You can drive in it. There's unlimited amount of fuel. Too bad the road never seems to end and the houses are still there...

Not to worry. You can exit out of the car and enter any one of the houses. Price is always waiting :)

Got that all out of your system, hm?

Gaz - Shopping Mall:

Shopping mall has everything and anything.

Movie theaters, designer clothes, outlets, cafeterias, anything you want- it's there! Have fun exploring :)

It's just you though. No one else is in this mall.

Gaz's voice will always guide you over the speakers, should you ever get lost.

Or, your favorite music always plays over the speakers. You can ask Gaz to skip any song or play whatever you want at any moment of time.

Arcades, cafes, even a pet shop! Gaz will be happy to join you if you wish for company :)

The doors to the exits don't budge open. Stop trying.

There's an Internet cafe and library in this mall. Anything you want to read, watch, listen- it's all there. Still can't talk with anyone... Shame.

But you have Kyle. Who else do you want?

Soap - the Woods:

The Firewatch tower in the endless, dense woods.

It's pretty cozy.

Food is always stocked in the fridge. Plenty of water too. If you want something fresh, just ask! Soap is happy to hunt for you :)

You can watch sunsets and sunrises with him. He loves it :)

No WIFI here unfortunately, but, really- say goodbye to your electronic devices and embrace nature. It's good for you.

If you want to explore the woods, always have Soap beside you. He'll guide you around. Maybe you might find a small, beautiful clearing beside a lake. It's a perfect campsite. Could go swimming, fishing, canoeing...

Don't worry. No harmful bugs or creepy crawlies you dislike.

Oh? You want to go rock-climbing? Why how convenient that there's this cliff right beside us. With harnesses and such attached to the wall! And would you look at that, it's very easy to climb.

Plenty of things to do.

Starwatching. :)

As long as you're with him, no harmful monsters are going to bother you two.

Never go alone.

Ghost - the Beach

It's... a lovely beach.

If it weren't so foggy in most days.

But that's what you have Ghost for. He's your personal heater. :)

Seriously it gets freezing at night and the small shack by the ocean isn't really keeping the cold out.

Don't you worry. Sand won't get everywhere. And it's smooth. Calm your tits, Anakin.

Some days, when the Sun is out, the sand is just the perfect warm bed for you to lay down and just... sunbathe.

You can tan with Ghost to get that impeccable bronze. Don't worry, you won't get sunburnt. Of course... could always ask Ghost to lather sunscreen on you. He'll be happy to help you with that :)

The water can vary in temperature- from freezing cold to a nice sunny warm.

You can swim and wade in it. And you can try to go deeper but isn't that strange? The depth isn't changing and you just don't seem to be leaving the shore too much.

The currents do get stronger when you keep on trying. Don't bother, you're never getting past it.

Plenty of food and water in that shack. And spare clothes, towels...

WIFI? Babe, this is the beach. You don't need it. You have Ghost.

Bonus:

Credits to @angelcqre for this line:

something about the boys all going to Gaz’s domain at random points to pick up shit they don’t have in their own domains [...]

Yes.

Yes they would. They absolutely would.

799 notes · View notes

knowmysingularity · 1 month ago

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♡︎ boynextdoor as your boyfriend

warnings: mention of food/eating, mention of illness (nothing serious, just a cold)

requested: yess (thank you i love you @terrytyun10)

a/n: hii lovely! sorry for the long wait, school got me busy these days TT anyway, hope you like it, i really loved writing this one ♡︎

♡︎ Sungho

Treats you like a baby

But you're his baby :(((

BIG ON GIFTS!!!

Every kind of bracelet, earring, necklace you want

Will spoil you with everything he can

You want cuddles? Food? Clothes? Kisses? He'll get it for you.

Always makes sure you eat enough protein

"And what about some meat, jagi? You need it, you know?"

Drags you to the gym with him, just because he "needs some motivation"

And who are you to deny him something? He's too pretty for you to say no to him

other members under the cut!

♡︎ Riwoo

So shy

He would be so affectionate, yet so scared of kissing and holding you :((

He would treat you like you're made of glass

Foodie

Would take you to any kind of cafeteria just to make you try all the different dessert

Playing video games with you

Date nights where he's playing league of legends with you in his lap

"Wanna try playing sweetie? Here, I'll help you..."

Laughs when you lose on your first try

But definitely helps you with the commands on the next round and makes you win

Kisses you when you win as a prize

"See? You're so good, sweetie..."

♡︎ Jaehyun

Clingy baby

Will literally not leave you alone for not even a second

Kisses everywhere and anytime

Says "I love you" like a hundred times daily

Just because he needs you to know that you're his whole life

Gets jealous when you play with Woonhak instead of him

"But...I thought you loved me?"

Drama queen, will definitely cuddle with Riwoo afterwards because "you don't want him and he needs comfort"

His favourite activity is to make you laugh

So he does anything to see your sweet smile

Tickles you

"If you don't smile, I'll tickle you to death"

You smile, but he tickles you anyways because he's so weak for your laugh

♡︎ Taesan

I feel like he wouldn't be too big on cuddles/kisses in public

But he will definitely make sure you feel him standing beside you

Might even hold your hand sometimes, under the table at a dinner

In private, he's so clingy - always on you

Will DEFINITELY gift you his favourite vinyl for your anniversary

Saying he reminds him of you :((

Will make you listen to all his favourite songs

Late night dates where you're just in the car listening to music and singing until you're breathless

Literally so weak for you

Takes care of you when you have any type of illness, even the smallest one

"Baby was that a sneeze? Come here, take my jacket"

♡︎ Leehan

Never beating the prince allegations

Takes you everywhere you want

So weird but so lovely at the same time

He would cook for you (don't rely too much on that tho)

Names one of his fish after you

Gives you one of his sweet smiles when you find out, you can't even be angry at him, he's too adorable

Loves to hear your voice

Will ask you about your day just to hear you ramble while he looks at you with heart eyes

"Wait, what happened? Say it again, I didn't understand"

Aquarium dates

Will make you choose a fish for his tank

Definitely calls it your child afterwards

♡︎ Woonhak

Plays video games with you like Riwoo, but he's more competitive

Always betting on the most random things

"Bet I can beat you at just dance." "Bet"

Kisses you all over your face when you lose the bet because he can't bear seeing his baby sad

But when you win, he'll be all pouty because he wanted to win :(

Drama queen #2

He's so offended

You'll have to give him so many kisses before he even talks to you

Karaoke nights with him

Singing hip-hop songs all night

"Come on baby, give me a sskrrt!"

Hypes you up when it's your turn

Definitely ends the night with a serenade for you :(

Passes the rest of the night cuddled up with you, talking about anything

But it's okay, because he loves you and you love him

209 notes · View notes

missnxthingg · 8 months ago

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𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood's newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 4.5K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - SMUT & swearing 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - Four is our lucky number, so let's spice things up! As I wrote this, I could only think about the song Conflicted by Halestorm (pardon the hard rock). Hope you enjoy this one!

series masterlist | main masterlist | main blog | taglist

𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 - 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃

Lando woke up a little lost the following morning. His cheek was pressed to the top of Y/N's head and his arms were loosely still around her waist. She was still deep into sleep when he opened his eyes. Too afraid to wake her up and having to face an awkward conversation, he stood very still, taking the first minutes of his day to look at her and think.

Whatever happened between them yesterday was weird, to say the least. People don't simply go from hating each other to being vulnerable and sharing a bed in a matter of hours. He didn't know what had got into them and it scared him how much he enjoyed the moments they shared the previous night. It scared him how good it felt to be vulnerable to her. And the feeling he got on his chest every time he looked at her was the most terrifying of them all.

Feeling a clench on his chest, Lando carefully slipped out of bed and changed into fresh clothes, did his entire morning routine and, in less than 15 minutes later, he was downstairs in the restaurant for some breakfast. Since it was so early, and everyone was still tired from the weekend, he managed to sit alone and think. The last thing he needed was company.

Eventually, the hotel started to get crowded, and a few fans were starting to recognize him among the people at the restaurant. Feeling cranky, he thought it was best for him to go back to his room and get ready for his flight later that day. Zak had already texted him, saying he hoped to have a meeting on the flight. So he needed to rest his mind.

Lando hadn't decided how to behave around Y/N yet. She was woken up by the time he arrived, but was having a shower while he was gone. He packed everything he needed while she kept the bathroom busy. She only came out ten minutes later, dressed in comfortable clothes for the flight.

“Good morning”, she opened a small smile for Lando, who didn't retribute it.

“Morning”, he mumbled, taking his needed things for a shower.

Y/N was surprised with his behaviour, but decided not to comment on it. Who the fuck goes from cuddling to no reaction in only a few hours? Only someone as complicated as Lando Norris.

“At what time we'll be leaving?”, she ignored how he acted and decided to act just as cold.

“We have to be at the airport at one”, he said and Y/N only nodded to his response.

But she just couldn't help herself. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Fine”, he shrugged before locking himself in the bathroom.

The rest of the trip was exactly like that. Y/N only heard Lando's voice when necessary. He only shifted his mood during the meeting he had with Zak on the plane. Not very interested in talking about racing, she chose to put on her earpods and drift away into music.

They only met again a week later, when Y/N was invited to attend the Cannes Film Festival. To not make it seem like their relationship was one-sided, they took advantage that his off weekend was supposed to be during the event. Lando met her in France, where they had booked a suite with two rooms this time, so they would only have to meet in common areas such as the living and dining room.

What surprised Y/N was that Lando was back to his asshole behaviour once again.

“You never, ever shut up, do you?”, he sighed, taking a spot on the living room's couch.

"I'm just saying that we're late for a brunch and you're fucking sitting down, Norris", she folded her arms and puffed her chest, making sure he knew how upset she was.

"I'm not required to be at this brunch. Just need to be with you at the red carpet", Lando put his feet up on the coffee table and turned the TV on, pretending not to care. Y/N promptly removed his feet from the table.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I literally always go out of my schedule, fly out away from home, just to be at your goddamn work events, and you can't do the same for me?”

"We're not a real couple, Y/N. I don't know if you realized that", Lando squinted his eyes as he spat out the words. Words to which were daggers right across her chest.

She didn't know why it pained her so much to hear those words; to see how aggressive he was behaving. That was not the same Lando that a week ago begged for her to comfort him and pulled her closer before falling asleep. He wasn't the bubbly and happy Lando Norris she saw on track.

Trying to fight back some tears, Y/N turned her back and retreated to her room. “You do you, Norris. I'm gonna finish getting ready because, contrary to you, I care about my career”.

She had to fight really hard to not call his PR team and call this whole thing off. Lando wasn't committing to his part of the agreement, so she didn't feel like it was fair. But she washed her face, took a deep breath and got ready for brunch. By the time she was out the room, Lando was waiting dressed in a linen button up and short's, perfect for a casual spring day.

Y/N didn't say anything and carried on her way out, him right behind her. When they got to the hotel lobby, they put on their little show, with his hand on the small of her back and opening doors for her. Later that day on the internet, people were melting with the pictures of them in line for brunch, with the sweet kisses being shared between them.

But the real commotion came on the next day, when they attended a Martin Scorsese film premiere, looking like the hottest couple in Cannes. Lando dressed up in a beautiful and classic black suit, while Y/N chose a draped baby pink dress that made her feel like a goddess. When she came out of her room after hours with stylists, makeup artists and hairdressers, Lando felt the air being knocked out of his lungs and he did his best at pretending not to care.

Their fans, on the other hand, cared too much. Their names climbed up to worldwide trending topics; their picture on the red was all over Instagram. People loved how amazing they looked together. Lando and VN really could be a breathtaking couple if they were actually together. It was the perfect combo: the rising star and the sunshine athletic boy.

“A match made in hell”, he whispered in her ear as all the cameras blinded them with the flashes.

"I fucking hate you", she whispered back, and Lando felt like those words were a stab right in his chest.

Of course he knew Y/N hated him. He himself has made sure those feelings were known. But this is the first time he's heard it since the night they shared in Miami. Why does he now care that she hates him?

The words flowed so easily out of her mouth. She was angry at him. Absolutely livid by his behaviour on the previous day, or the fact that he simply pretended the last grand prix didn't happen. So if Lando was going to be petty, two can play this game.

The entire night was filled with snarky comments. Lando made sure to show how he wasn't enjoying the premiere, and Y/N had a comment for every comma that came out of his mouth. She could say anything to try pissing him off. What was making Lando angry, on the other hand, was seeing other men looking her up and down, just like a piece of meat. Didn't they have anything else better to do?

After Y/N spent good ten minutes talking to a very hot model, who was flirting with her the whole time, Lando gave up on waiting for him to leave and approached them, letting his hand go around her waist, securing her close to his body.

“Jesus, don't they realize you're taken?”, Lando mumbled, as he frowned at the model, now long gone.

"I thought we weren't a real couple. So there's nothing wrong with other men flirting with me", she provoked, feeling his fingers tighten around her waist.

“There is when, publicly, you're still mine. Or don’t you remember my one and only rule?”, you could see the red creeping up his neck. Was he actually jealous? It can't be.

“You really are a book I can't read”, she sighed, making an exit towards the theatre where the movie would be exhibited.

Thank God for long movies, because they wouldn't have to listen to each other's voices for three hours. But after a standing ovation once the credit's started rolling up, Y/N proceeded to try talking to as many people as she could at the cocktail party after the session. At the end of the day, she had talked to really important directors and producers, who in the future might think of her while doing a new project.

Lando, on the other hand, stood by her side and looked bored. He hated the film, thinking it was too conceptual for his liking, not to mention too long for a fucking boring plot. Y/N was getting angry at his behaviour and was making their deal go through the sky.

“I swear to God, if you keeping doing this, I'll call our team and end this whole fucking thing”, she complained, making him roll his eyes.

“Fuck off, you're still full on flirting with other men in front of me. I'm not the only one fucking this agreement”, by that time, they were alone in a secluded area of the party.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Norris, I'm working, not flirting, for fuck’s sake. This is the same thing as talking to sponsors. I'm not fucking flirting with any of them”, she was visibly angry at his behaviour.

“Well, it doesn't look like it”.

The fight was taken back to their hotel room and they did their best to make their discussion go unnoticed by other people. But once the doors were closed, they fought like they were married with children.

“This is disrespectful”, Lando shot when they brought up the men she talked to through the night.

“It's work, Norris. I don't know why you're so fucking jealous”.

“Because, we're in a goddamn relationship, Y/N. You can't go out all flirting with other men”.

“You said yourself we weren't in a real relationship. So why are you so jealous?”

“I'm not”, he reaffirmed, making her chuckle.

“Prove it”, she crossed her arms and daringly arched her brows.

She made every molecule of his body agitated. Once, Lando thought it was anger, for all the times they fought without having a reason and all the days she behaved like a brat, making his blood boil under his skin. Now, after the crash and the moment they shared in that tiny driver’s room, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

He was furious; absolutely livid, without knowing exactly what he wanted. Normally, Lando is a very decisive man. But when it came to Y/N, things were just a mess in his head. And right now, looking at her with her arched brows and folded arms, almost daring him to explode at her, he knew that there was only one thing he could do to end up with the fire that was consuming him.

The next second, Lando had his lips on Y/N, furiously attacking them in the neediest kiss of all time. She was taken by surprise and actually had to wait a few seconds to reciprocate anything. She had that look on her face, provoking him into the edge, waiting for a shout that would give her a single reason to hate him. Now he’s got her on the hook and there was no way to run. Actually, Y/N didn’t actually want to run anyway.

Lando had pressed her against the wall, a leg right between her thighs, keeping them apart and their bodies close. He had a hand around her neck, and another one on her hips, securing her against the wall. The pressure he put on her throat felt delicious. No one had ever held her like that before. Her panty was soaking wet not even two seconds later.

It only felt better when he moved his kisses down, trailing them to her neck. His lips sucked on her sweet spot, right under her ear, making her moan with the hot sensation over her skin. Also, if she wasn’t turned on at that point, feeling Lando’s hard on her thigh absolutely did the job. And if he was playing a game, she knew how to dance around it as well. Quickly, one of her hands was palming him over his trousers. He moved back to her mouth, kissing her as if his life depended on it, and biting her bottom lip when the pleasure got too much for him.

“Stop it”, he moaned against her lips, making her smile. “You can only touch me when I say you can touch me”.

“Bullshit”, she dared. “Look at you, Lando. You can’t get enough of my touches. I know you want them all”.

“Fucking…”, Lando removed his knee from between her legs and helped her kneel on the ground right in front of him. He leaned forward and softly landed his hand on her chin, making Y/N look up. She tried to put her best innocent look and he was absolutely done for her. “Open your mouth, baby”.

Y/N opened her mouth for just a little bit, and Lando slipped his thumb in so she could suck on it. Then after a while, he replaced it with his middle and index finger, going in deeper and making her almost gag on his hands. Tired of playing games, he kneeled as well, levelling their eyes, before letting his hand travel to the zip on her back.

“Come on, pretty girl. I want to see you”, he left a few soft kisses on her cheek and daringly opened the zip. “Can I take this off?”, she nodded, but Lando wasn’t satisfied. “I need to hear you say the words”.

“Yes, please”, she pleaded and soon her dress was on the floor, exposing her bare tits from the lack of bra and lacy black thong. Lando didn’t waste a second before dipping his head into her nipples, sucking, biting and playing with both of them. Y/N was a moaning mess in second, pulling his head closer to her body as she felt fantastic with just his lips on her nipples. “Lan, oh my God. Please, I wanna feel you”.

“You misbehaved”, he smirked, getting away from her tits to undo his belt. “I told you not to touch me and just wait. Now, if you wanna touch me, you better open up”.

He quickly lowered his trousers along with his underwear and his hard cock came hard, slapping on his stomach. Lando was sure he could die happily at the sight of Y/N’s eyes brightening and her mouth automatically opening wider for him. “Good girl”, he praised, taking her face by the chin and bringing his cock to her lips.

Y/N’s mouth felt so warm and amazing; Lando was losing it. He started trusting his hips into her face, making his dick go deeper in her throat and her gagging sending delicious vibrations up his body. He was surprised when one of her hands grabbed his balls and massaged them, sending him over the edge just quick enough. He had to pull away before coming on her throat. Y/N pouted in the absence of his cock, still being attached to it by a string of spit and pre-cum. Lando used one of his hands to wipe it off before kissing her again.

“Baby girl, I need to last longer, and you’re not helping at all”, he whispered on her lips once again, making Y/N giggle. What she wasn’t expecting, though, was a hand sneaking into her pussy, his middle finger gathering the juices pooling on her panty. She let an audible moan out, making him know how much she was enjoying that. “Do you want my fingers?”

“Yes”, she breathed out and Lando picked her from the floor, quickly taking her to bed, where they could get more comfortable. He slowly removed her underwear and tossed it around the room, the place getting filled with her glorious smell.

“Spread your legs wider, love”, Lando commanded and she immediately responded. “Good, just like that”. Y/N was going feral with the praise, and he got it right away. “You have a praise kink, pretty girl? Oh, that’s so sweet”.

Now that he knew that, Lando was going to put that information to use. He went back to her mouth though, this time slowing down the pace of her kiss, but the intensity was just like before. As much as he wanted to jump right in and just fuck the shit out of her, he would do anything to make this last for as long as he could. “If I am to have her for only one night, I want it to be unforgettable”, he thought.

Y/N was drunk on his kisses; feeling her soaking wet core brushing on his bare thigh and his tongue furiously sliding against hers. She just wanted to feel him, so she guided his hand to her pussy and pleaded with her eyes. Being a good boy, Lando slipped a finger inside her and pumped it inside slowly, making her lose it, throwing her head back in pleasure.

“Yes, right there. Oh my… Lando”, her hands flew to his back, fingers digging on his skin. Y/N started to roll her hips against his hand and he smiled at her attempt to feel even better. “I need more, please. One more”.

“One more finger, baby?”, Lando immediately obeyed, loving the sweet moan that came out of her mouth right after. “Come on, tell me what you want”.

“Kiss me, Lan”, she pulled his head closer to hers and her lips met his midway. Lando could’ve died happily just like that. He was getting addicted to her kisses, specially now that they were wanted and asked for. They weren’t a stunt act. They were behind closed doors. She was doing it willingly.

“Does that feel good?”, he asked between kisses and she nodded, feeling a knot tightening around her stomach.

“I’m gonna cum”, she grunted, making him start circling her clit with his thumb. “Shit, shit. I’m cumming”.

Her pussy clenched around his finger and now he was covered with her juices. Knowing it would make her go crazy, Lando brought his fingers up to his lips and licked them, moaning at the taste of her sweetness. “God, makes me want to get it straight from the source. You taste so good, baby girl”.

Y/N sat on bed and jumped right into his neck, wrapping her arms around his head to kiss him intensely. Lando was surprised by that, but he couldn’t get enough of her kisses. He has been learning to love them for a long time now, but it was so different; so magical.

“You want to eat me out, uhm?”, she asked him, making Lando arch his eyebrow and smile. “I asked you a question”.

“Well, I would not be opposed to it”.

“That’s not an answer, Lando”, she stopped kissing him, throwing her back against the mattress and getting comfortable between the pillows. She was not going to make him say it. He was the dominant; he wasn’t the one to say those kinds of things. But when Y/N spread her legs and started to play with herself, he just couldn’t keep it to himself.

“Fuck yes, I do. I want to eat you out, pretty girl”, he fell down, head right between her thighs, and started to trail kisses up her legs, until his lips were wrapped around her clit. If Y/N was trying to contain herself, she just couldn’t do it with how good it felt to him eating her pussy so deliciously.

But with their history, she just couldn’t help but provoke him. “You can do better than this”, Y/N dared, as if she wasn’t a moaning mess a few seconds before. And Lando wasn’t one to turn down challenges.

He pulled both of her legs over his shoulder, securing his head on her pussy and making her more comfortable. This time, he started sucking on her clit while working two fingers inside of her. He was too busy to say anything, but Y/N had a whole fucking lot to say about his work.

“Fuck, baby, you’re doing so good. Shit, you just know how to find the right spot. Gonna make me cum again, uhm?”, she was almost screaming in pleasure. When Lando started brushing the right spot inside of her, she felt like she was going to explode. It was different than any other orgasm she ever had in her life. She cummed so hard on his mouth, screaming his name in response.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen”, Lando had a beautiful smile on his face, that was covered in her juices. “Shit, that was so perfect”.

“You did so good”, she let a hand up to his face, rubbing circles on his cheek with an adorable smile on her face. But then, her hand fell to his cock, pulling him closer to her as she jerked him. “But now it’s time for both of us to feel good”.

Lando kissed her once again, just because the kisses were an addiction by now. Her hands pumping him only made it all feel so much better. Just the thought of having her around his cock made it twitch.

“Eager much?” She smirked on his lips, but Lando didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled her legs to wrap around his torso and guided his cock to her entrance, head brushing her pussy and collecting all the wetness. Y/N moaned and whined just with the contact.

“Eager much?” He joked back before putting just the tip inside. She felt so tight around him, Lando had to take a second to put it all in, needing to push one of her legs over his shoulder, just to give him more access. “Holy fuck, you feel so good around me. Baby, so tight for me. Fuck yes”.

He had closed his eyes, but she gripped on his throat, making him look down again. “Let me see your eyes, Lan”, she asked. His ocean green blue-ish orbs met hers and he quickly wrapped one of his hands on her throat as well.

“Say my name again”, it was his turn to ask, and she moaned with the request. “Say it”.

“Lando”, she whispered, his cock now moving delicately inside of her.

“Louder”, he demanded, picking up the pace.

“Lando!”, she screamed, making him slammer down his cock inside her. “I want you to ruin me”.

“Your wish is my command”. Now it was a matter of honour, and Lando was going to give what she asked. So he found the best pace, keeping the movements firm, yet slow enough to not be too much.

“You’re so big, love”, she praised, brushing her hands on his cheek, making him look her in the eyes. Lando looked so pretty while trying to contain his moans to speak. “I can’t get enough of you. I’m so full”

“You take me so well, my love. Fuck me”, his movements were getting sloppier, and she could feel his cock already twitching inside of her. Y/N also noticed that he was holding back his force, trying not to overstep.

“Don’t hold back, baby. You can use me”, she encouraged, and that was all Lando needed to hear before quickening the pace. And then, it was getting too hard for him to hold back. He wanted to last longer, but it all felt so good. Lucky enough, Y/N started to clench around him. “I’m gonna cum, Lan. Please!”

“Let’s cum together, pretty girl. Come on, we can do this”.

He glued his eyes with her, the hand on her throat not letting them break eye contact as the waves of pleasure crashed over their bodies. Y/N came first, but less than 5 seconds later, he pulled out to come on her stomach. She pumped him outside, getting him dry, while he retributed the favour with his fingers until they were both done.

Y/N had to wait a second to come back to her senses, but Lando promptly took a cloth from the bathroom and cleaned the mess he made over her. Then, too tired to function, he dropped his body over her and pressed a few kisses all over her face. It was like now that he had finally had her, he just wanted to curl up with her and forget about the whole world. And she was willing to let him do just that, because that was exactly what she wanted as well.

He fell asleep just a few seconds into their comfortable silence. Y/N continued to roll her fingers through his curls, lulling him into deep slumber, as she thought about what had just happened. It was still unbelievable in her head, but she kept replaying every moment, already missing his touch. And if her feelings for Lando were already confusing because of that night after his crash, this only made things worse. But having him sleeping on her arms, his digits digging on her skin as he clings tight onto her, made her forget about all her worries.

He woke up for just a few seconds and caught her staring at him. Instead of pretending she wasn’t looking, Y/N cracked him a smile. Lando opened an even wider smile before pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep, angel. Come on”, he got off her to turn off the lamp on the night stand, turning the room dark.

He found a spot for his head on a pillow and missed the warmth of Y/N. So he pulled her closer until she was lying on top of him. The skin to skin contact felt so intimate and comfortable for them. No fabric or cloth between them, just their bodies holding in together. And with his soft hands on her hair, Y/N fell asleep listening to Lando’s heartbeat, who had his own funny pace: quick in adoration for her, and then slow, after she calmed him down.

She would be the death of him someday.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - @celestialams @lizaschronicles @kapsylia @igotnorrrizz @hiireadstufff @bishhhitsaurionn @mrsmaybank13 @bborra @sltwins@riccdannyf1 @kapsylia @67-angelofthelordme-67 @ctrlyomomma @lan4cha16 @alltoomaples @ellen3101 @hellyesjaehyun @tastebaldwin @sweate-r-weathe-r @carmenita122 @m0cha-bunny @lqvesoph @itscrzy @fangirlvibez @poppyflower-22 @livelovesports @logischeroktopus @happy-jj @saturnbloom77 @cmleitora @formulaal @secretgal66 @taisferrari-blog @ellen3101 @sunsshinesunny @eclipsedcherry @tems13 @readingbringsjoy @naanibubbletimmispeach @kenzeyeballs @alilcloudy @architect-2015 @tillyt04 @eringaitskill @honeyhatty12 @dreamercrowd @demig0d0fapollo @mxmtewnz @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @beyond-the-ashes @ijustgomessitupx @floraav @laiba26mindflay3r @books0fever @marialovesf1 @sltwins @ourteenagetragedy @katieschry1 @loveofmylife12 @diaa-20 @urfavsgf @chilisandmilk @elleeeee21 @likedbygaslyy

crossed means i can't tag you! dm me and maybe we can get it fixed

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